This is a work in process; nonetheless, I'm going to add my disclaimer that any reproduction of this piece by any means is strictly forbidden, as is its performance, without my express permission. The piece is obviously very autobiographical, which makes it rather difficult for me to view it with any measure of objectivity. I'm intending it to go either with a sermon on prayer or on sacrifice. Constructive feedback is welcome and desired.

"The Christian at Prayer"
By David Learn

All is dark on stage except for a single spot illuminated by a spotlight. Framed in that spotlight is Andrew. He is sitting on the ground, wrapped tightly in the fetal position, with his face not visible. He sits like this for a while, saying nothing and barely moving. When he does speak, it is with deep emotion barely suppressed.

ANDREW: Just tell me one thing. Why?

He pauses, but only briefly. The first crack has appeared, and the dam is slowly beginning to burst. Andrew lifts his head, and he begins to speak. He's talking to God, but it's not one of those formal let's-hold-our-hands-and-pray types of prayers. He's speaking as though God in the room with him.

ANDREW: I meant, it's not as though I don't have a right to ask that much. I'm not asking you why I'm suffering. If I suffer, it's because I either sinned or because I chose to follow you, and either way it's because of a choice I made, and I have no right to complain about that.

No, what I want to know is why Isaac has had to suffer. I accept that I have to suffer for me my sin, and I accept that following you is difficult. But why him? Ian isn't even 3 years old, Lord. What sin has he committed? What decision did he make that's left him like this? What was his great crime against you, except to be born to a father who doesn't understand responsibility and a mother who doesn't know how to love anyone but herself?

Andrew rises to his feet. He is beginning to brim with anger, but fighting hard to contain it.

ANDREW: This kid's been abused. (He points a finger accusingly, at God.) You know better than I do what he's had to go through, the way his mother has sacrificed him and his sister to her own happiness, stunting their development so they'll need her longer. (Now he starts to tally off on his hand the various problems Ian had.) This is a kid who barely even knew how to walk when the state put him in our care. He didn't know how to feed himself, and he couldn't say anything more advanced than gootchy-gootchy-goo. You saw what he was like when he came to stay with us -- he was practically dead inside. He was as close to being a poster child for reactive-attachment disorder as you can get.

You're such a big one for talking about what increases your glory. Tell me, how does the suffering of a child like Ian increase your glory? I see that what he's going through is wrong, and if I, sinful as I am, can see that, why the hell can't you? And if you can see it, why won't you stop it? Come on, tell me: What great ineffable purpose of yours did it serve for Ian to spend a single hour like that, let alone the two years he had for them to ignore him and stunt his growth?

Damn it, give me an answer! (He grabs something at his side and pushes it the floor, where it breaks. He stops and stares at it, and slowly regains his composure somewhat.) I've given you everything I have, Lord. You know that. But you still find a way to take more out of me and wring out more tears. What do you want from me? I've given everything -- everything -- for this child.

I've taught him how to walk, how to talk, how to eat with his fingers, and with a fork and spoon. I've taught him how to speak, and even though I know I shouldn't, I can't help but smile every time he calls me daddy.

And now you want to send him back to his parents. What for? So they can finish what they started? You disgust me.

Why are you so intent on destroying him? You're sending him back there, and he's going to lose everything he's gained here. He's going to lose the only real parents he knows, he's going to lose the sister he gained in our household, and he's going to lose the love, the support and the discipline we've given him. Do you have to take even that away from me?

What do you want from me? (Andrew pauses, and in the silence he hears something whispered. His response is filled with disdain) Follow you. I have followed you, and this is where you've led me. If this is how you treat your friends, Lord, it's no wonder you have so few of them.

He pauses and looks about him. Everything around him is in darkness, and there is no indication what lies ahead if he takes a step in any direction. He appears to get ready to take a step, but before he does, the light goes out and the curtain falls.)

FINIS

Copyright © 2003 by David Learn