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Strange Blindness: A Play in Two Acts
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Prologue
Joseph and Jesus knew that perfect timing—
and not plain, unforeshadowed proclamation—
would show the deepest truth about life’s drama.
Its plot twists often need a drawn-out comma
for characters who need some preparation
before they can perceive the play’s full meaning.
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Act I
“So Joseph recognized his brothers, but they did not
recognize him.” —Genesis 42: 8
As one long-dead to these eleven others,
omniscient Joseph leaves them blind. He sees
the past and future starting to converge,
as in his childhood dreams. Emotions surge.
His flair for improvising emerges, and frees
his mind to write new roles for these wretched brothers.
Having their sight restored would overwhelm
them at this point, and cut the drama short
of its potential power—would avert
its climax. So, with no apparent qualm,
he keeps contriving more suspenseful scenes
for them to act without knowing what the play means,
to show them a haunting, shadowed silhouette
of the truth they were determined to forget.
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Act II
“. . . Jesus himself drew near and went with them. But
their eyes were restrained, so that they did not know
him.” —Luke 24: 15-16
Supporting characters don’t recognize
the lead, who makes his re-entrance quietly
from somewhere far beyond the footlights’ blaze.
During an intermission of three days,
the disillusioned audience has withdrawn,
assuming that the play had ended when
the lead had died. Not knowing night from dawn,
forgetting that the curtain’s not been drawn,
eleven friends who should have known the script
are waiting in the wings, bewildered, dazed.
Too paralyzed by grief to see the signs
of rising day, they’re fearful, unequipped
to play their parts, not knowing they have lines.
Two minor characters, in cameo,
oblivious that they are on a stage,
are joined by One whose speech comes from a page
they’ve read before; yet still they do not know
this one who’d left his friends three days ago.
He won’t unblind them at this moment, though,
because to fearful eyes he needs to show,
not tell. They walk and talk until a change
of scenery: a table; breaking bread
with perfect timing, he unveils a strange
new vision of the Word who once had said
that they would see him risen from the dead.
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from Foundations of the Cross and Other Bible Stories
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Cynthia Erlandson is a poet and fitness professional living in Michigan. Her third collection of poems, Foundations of the Cross and Other Bible Stories, was released in July, 2024 by Wipf and Stock Publishers. Her other collections are These Holy Mysteries and Notes on Time. Her poems have also appeared in First Things, Modern Age, The North American Anglican, The Orchards Poetry Review, The Book of Common Praise hymnal, The Catholic Poetry Room, and elsewhere.
Dear Cynthia,
I love the perspective you take to flesh these dramas out and weave them together. None of these men (except Jesus) knew that their lives would be stories told for thousands of years. Thank you for this clever and fresh way of viewing these narratives!
Gigi
Thank you, Gigi! There’s something almost incarnational (I hope that’s the best word) about the act of writing, in that it causes the writer to imagine what might have been going through the minds of the characters, and to empathize with them — more than I, at least, would have been able to do by just reading the story.
Cynthia, this is a heartwarming story which is a perfect passion play inspired by the stories of both Joseph and Jesus separated only by centuries, but not by similar circumstances. Bless you for giving us this pre-Easter sermon and Happy Easter to you.
Thank you, Roy. There are so many prefigurings and foreshadowings of Christ in the Old Testament that fascinate me; but it took many readings for those things to reveal themselves. A blessed Holy Week and Easter to you, as well.
Here are two resurrection dramas, each stage-managed by the person whose return from the dead has immense significance. The progenitors of Israel and the apostles who will impart the life of Christ to His universal Church need to realize their roles in order to perform them capably. And the earlier drama is a type of the later. Good recognition, Cynthia, of the two-act play, each act with eleven important characters. Still more significant is the recognition that Christ will give His resurrected life throughout all history to come in the Eucharist, where the Emmaus disciples come to recognize Him. Presentation of this expanding drama today, as we are about to enter Holy Week, gives us a “comma” (in the rare sense of a “pause”) to consider its many ramifications. Fine foreshadowing!
Thank you so much, Margaret! Somehow, I didn’t even catch the parallel of eleven brothers and eleven disciples — thank you! (I probably would have tried to include that in the poem if I had.) Yes, the Emmaus Road story is my favorite. It gives me the chills to imagine being one of those two disciples who suddenly realized who Christ was, just as He performed the sacramental act of breaking bread, and disappeared!
What a great way to kickstart this Holy week. I’ve always been drawn to the story of the walk to Emmaus. I’m certain that I’ve made that walk all too often without recognizing who I’m walking next to.
Indeed, Warren. Thank you. I love Easter Monday especially, because of this mysterious and exciting Scripture reading. The incarnate — but to us now invisible — Christ is always with us, especially in the Eucharist.
Thank you for this beautiful poem serving to keep the connection between the Old and New strong.
I’m very grateful for your comment, Dan, especially since the unity of Old and New Testaments has been a major theme of mine. (In fact, it’s the whole idea behind “Foundations of the Cross and Other Bible Stories.) 🙂
An interesting juxtaposition of Old and New Testament episodes, with drama serving as an interesting metaphor for the Passion, Death, and Resurrection. This was an insightful mediation for the season.
Thank you so much, Adam. I love the way the two Testaments connect to each other. In some situations, the truth — as Christ showed by not answering Pilate’s question “What is truth?” — is better left unspoken, at least until the proper time.