God is not dead. She's been replaced. By multinational conglomerates and fast food...View Full Monologue Text
God is not dead. She's been replaced. By multinational conglomerates and fast food chains and scientific theory. God didn't abandon us. It was the other way around. We ran from her. We hated her. And as much as we knew we were made in her image, we couldn't accept the humanity in her. We expected no less than mathematic perfection from our uncaused cause. Fetal deaths, and cancer and car accidents make us look up and ask God "Why?", never knowing that all things: people and plants and animals and time slip through her fingers like sand.
I am who I say I am. I am? because if I'm not... If I'm not?
Anne has a crisis of faith.
PlayName: School of Jesus Fish
Rating: Contains adult content
Copyright Status: Copyrighted
AuthorName: Rick Robinson
"Anne, you can't possibly know how much I care about you. Every time I...View Full Monologue Text
"Anne, you can't possibly know how much I care about you. Every time I think about us at that prayer meeting and what happened this great hurt just wells up in me. You blaspheme the Lord when you say those things, and I'm afraid that His vengeance is great."
Never one to pull punches, Matt.
"I'll keep sending money to the hospital. I owe you that much."
(Puts the letter away.)
There was a time when I felt like our marriage fell apart because I couldn't get pregnant. Or it ended because of that accident that 'changed his life' or because we didn't communicate well enough, or because we hadn't taken enough time just for us, or his addiction to pornography or his newfound faith in false men of god and his involvement with these promise keepers. That's an ironic name for his organization, don't you think? Or the bad spell where I lost interest in making love to him because I knew I was barren. There's this whole chain of memories one right after the other that I wonder where it was that things got weak, where I messed it up. Where he messed it up. But the fact is we didn?t love each other anymore.
Anne talks about her estranged husband.
It was such a well-hidden secret, that I scarcely breathed a word it to myself...View Full Monologue Text
It was such a well-hidden secret, that I scarcely breathed a word it to myself. Much less anybody else. The whole idea is nuts. I know that. But it's true. God's voice is as real as my skin, my hands and my tongue that translates. I wish you could hear. Because me telling you what she says to me is like Beethoven played on a recorder. It's too simple. That she loves us isn't right. She envelopes us. She's responsible for us, good or bad, and she feels the hate of that people have for each other like a festering cancer.
So I have no patience for charlatans who weave their webs on innocents and claim that they speak with God's own judgment. Hellfire and brimstone. Hate and greed. For it is him or her who robs those less fortunate that will never know God's love.
So I sat next to my estranged husband, who had brought me to that place to see miracles, and thought that only miracle is that I didn't spit in his face. The trickster up front used hypnotism and plants and dumb show demagoguery, to convince us that we needed to dig a little deeper. And so the lie that had festered in me dug itself out, and I told them who I was and that this place was no house of God, but a den of thieves. And with every ounce of strength that I have- that I've ever had- I tore that place down with my bare hands. Or, at least, I tried to. Speakers, and mikes and gilded crosses, and every artificial trinket, I rent and tore until my hands bled. The cops who arrived first poked me with their sticks and taunted me with their tongues. "You'll see, you crazy bitch. They've got a place for people like you."
Anne relates the incident that landed her in St. Lucy's.
Age Range: 20s - Late, 30s - Early, 30s - Late, 40s - Early, 40s - Late
Dialects: Standard American