Saturday.

The sun is shining brightly. We are outside of the house, looking in through the open window seeing Thomas standing at the open door. The table is no longer turned over. The stain on the wall is cleaned. Thomas’ personal effects lay neatly on the table, next to his satchel. We can’t hear the soft voice of the person Thomas is speaking with.

"No, I will not come Sabbath: the High Priest may still be looking for us. I will be leaving on tomorrow evening. They’re still in Jerusalem you say? Well, I’ll see them there then.

A pause.

"I have some words for them: even if He really isn’t alive the signs He did, the words He said, the authority He gave us: all those things are too much for a mere man. I still don’t think they’re specifically right about His being back that would imply–well, its not even worth thinking about that."

A longer pause.

"Yes, yes, I know: I’m not doubting you. I’m saying that when people hope so much, anything is possible but, let’s not argue. I think I understand some things about Him now that I didn’t have a clue about when He was still alive.

"He knew, Martha! He planned it! I intend to tell them this."