A man decided that he would make the best garden there had ever been. He bought a beautiful plot of land on the top a mountain, with picturesque views in every direction. He brought in truckloads of the finest black mulch and laid it out in perfectly straight rows. He gathered the most expensive seeds he could find, and carefully hand-painted intricate designs on each of the shells. He set each seed on its own white pedestal with a bronze nameplate and a large glossy picture of the fruit it could grow. Finally, he built walls and a ceiling over his garden to keep it safe from the weather. It was an amazing thing to behold, and he spent many hours admiring it.

The man visited his perfect garden every day, observing his seeds carefully. If he noticed any seed starting to crack, he would throw it out and replace it with another. No imperfection was allowed in his garden.  As the weeks passed, the thrill of his new garden began to wear off, and his visits became less frequent. They became weekly, then monthly, and eventually yearly, though at each visit he was sure to rid his garden of any seeds that had cracked or had odd green or brown things growing on them.

One night a terrific storm rocked the mountain. The wind shook the walls of the garden and the frame creaked. A massive gust ripped the roof from its place and sent it spiraling into the valley. Pounding rain poured into the garden for the first time, turning the carefully planned rows of black mulch into a sea of mud. Winds whipped through the garden, knocking the beautifully painted seeds from their white pedestals. They sunk into the watery mess. The perfect garden was ruined.

After the storm had moved on, the sun rose over the remains of the perfect garden. As the weeks passed, green sprouts began to appear in the black soil. Eventually the man returned to see his perfect garden, but he found a shocking sight. The beautiful order he had spent so long creating was gone, and in its place, plants of every variety filled the damaged garden.

Balsamic vinaigrette salad dressing is just another name for Worchestershire sauce.

Jesus's death had shaken Peter to his core. He had believed Jesus was the Messiah. ((Luke 9:20)) Never had he believed in anything so strongly. When Jesus had been executed, it shattered his world. Then God had brought Jesus back to life, demolishing Peter's understanding of the long prophesied Messiah. In the forty days that followed, Jesus explained, yet again, the scriptures. ((Luke 24:44-45)) Now, freed from old preconceptions, Jesus's life, ministry, death, and resurrection finally made sense.

God's plan had not gone terribly wrong. It had all been laid out in plain view, for anyone with eyes to see. It was only their twisted souls that had made the scriptures difficult to understand. Yet despite their lack of understanding, God's plan has succeeded even when every human being had failed.

Now Peter did his best to explain these same things to his fellow Jews in the temple courts. ((Acts 2:23)) "My family," he called, "I am offering you nothing except what the prophets have already told us must take place. Yes, he was dead, but what is death to God? It cannot hold back his plans. Death is not his master. ((Acts 2:24)) Death answers to him. You have heard that Jesus is not dead. If you will listen, I will tell you why that must be true."

It was sometime in early 2012 when one of the teenagers we knew revealed his plan to host a murder mystery dinner. He had bought a used murder mystery kit for a dollar, and wanted to use it to raise money for an upcoming trip to the Dominican Republic.

"Those are horrible," I told him. Kelly, who had experienced boxed murder mysteries before, agreed. "Well, it's what I have," he told me. My annoying urge for excellence jumped into the conversation. "I'll write a real mystery for you."

I decided to write something that would draw an audience, generate some repeat performances, and maybe raise a few bucks for the trip. All murder mysteries need a victim, but I didn't want some nondescript character that no one would care about. I needed someone whose death would add to the drama. A quick search for names that garnered a lot of attention in the likely audience turned up a result, and thus I decided to plot the murder of Glenn Beck.

Writing the first draft of the script took only a few days. I had a couple of friends proofread it, then did a bit of rewriting based on their inputs. Since it was supposed to be for a murder mystery dinner, I wrote four acts, so that a meal could be served between scenes. By the end of the third scene, the audience would have all the information required to determine the identity of the killer, and (while eating their desserts) could fill out a card naming the person they believed to be the culprit.

I presented the script to our young friend, and he set out to line up actors from his circle of acquaintances. Sadly, that proved harder than he had imagined, and eventually he announced that the play was canceled. The Murder of Glenn Beck was covered up.

A year later one of the original actresses remembered my script and asked if she could perform it as the finale of her acting class. I was delighted to know the script might finally get a performance and lent it to her at once. Unfortunately, the playhouse vetoed its performance, not because of its controversial main character, but because it involved a murder. The Murder was covered up a second time.

Two more years have passed, and by now the play has become quite dated. Its references hearken back to a different age, but I still find some elements of it quite delightful. Rather than leave it to languish in my directory of past writings, I decided to dust it off and present it for your amusement. The truth of the Murder of Glenn Beck must be known.

Cast:

Reginald Winchester - Self proclaimed “World’s Greatest Detective”, he has an unflagging thirst for the truth and the ability to take any set-back in stride. The only element missing from his detective's toolkit is deductive ability. Occasionally adopts a fake British accent, especially when saying something he considers to be of great importance.

Caitlin Axelrod - Talk show host bumped by Glenn’s show. She is stable and methodical, a no-nonsense type, and her style has won her leagues of fans and enemies.

Justin Harding - Arms manufacturer supported by Glenn. A true professional in every sense, he is never out of control, and constantly on the lookout to expand his company or his influence.

Gary Lexington - Eager fan impersonating honored military veteran Dan Jacobs. Overwhelmed at the prospect of meeting Glenn Beck, he is in way over his head.

Tabitha Reed - Socialist who broke into Glenn’s compound. A true child of Reddit, she was raised in a conservative home, and sought the liberal elite as a form of rebellion in college. She has never looked back. She views her role as one of bringing freedom and transparency to the evils of the right wing.

Therese Fischer - Glenn’s faithful maid. She moved to the US from Austria as a teenager and still speaks with a noticeable Austrian accent. Seemingly simple, because that is what people expect her to be.

Jess Thomas - Glenn’s publisher, about to be dropped by Glenn. She is frazzled and overwhelmed, but trying to make the best of everything. She constantly has too many irons in the fire and worries that any misstep may ruin her future.

Officer Daniels - Police officer called to investigate the murder. Jaded at the world, but efficient and effective in most situations.

Setting:

Glenn Beck's home in Westlake, Texas. In particular, a lounge area in the house. It has, among other furniture, a large desk with a red phone, a chalkboard, a dresser with a lamp near the door, and at least six chairs spread out around the room. (The audience is seated around a table in the center of the room)

Act I: Gathering

Ms. Fischer: (starting offstage) You may wait here, gentlemen, until the other guests arrive. Mr. Beck will be along very soon.

Ms. Fischer, Reginald, and Mr. Harding enter the room.

Ms. Fischer: (to Reginald) Feel free to look around. Mr. Beck’s art collection is not to be missed.

Mr. Harding: That’s for sure. Glenn has wonderful tastes in portraits, especially the Revolutionary War portraits. Very stirring. I hope you will get a chance to check them out, Mr....

Reginald: Detective. Detective Winchester. (waits for recognition) Reginald Winchester, the World’s Greatest Living Detective. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.

Mr. Harding: Well, you’d think with a name like that I’d remember. A detective, eh? I guess I should consider my suspicions confirmed, then.

Reginald: Suspicions? Did something seem suspicious to you?

Mr. Harding: Nothing to get excited about, detective. I just mean that it looks like Glenn is up to one of his tricks. He had an odd gleam in his eyes when I saw him downstairs. That usually means he’s on the tail of some crazy idea. And your presence here would certainly seem to confirm that.

Reginald: Of course. (recovering his superiority) Yes, I noticed the same thing. I said to myself, there is a great mystery afoot, and Mr. Beck is depending upon my deductive skills to solve it. And his confidence is well placed, I should dare say.

Mr. Harding: In that case I look forward to a very interesting, and hopefully enlightening, evening.

Jess Thomas enters

Mr. Harding: Ahh, Jess. It’s so good to see you, again. Do you have the night off, or are you here on business?

Jess Thomas: A bit of both, actually. Officially, I'm only here because Mr. Beck invited me for dinner. Unofficially, I’m hoping to convince him to give me the updated manuscript for his new book. We’re on the verge of missing the scheduled release date.

Mr. Harding: You said the same thing the last time I saw you.

Jess Thomas: It was …

Now the moment had arrived, the time for Peter to explain to the waiting crowd what the God of their fathers had done. It was something that Peter himself was still struggling to grasp. God had done all that the ancient prophets had foretold, but in a way that no one had imagined. And that fulfillment was summed up in three words: "Jesus of Nazareth". ((Acts 2:22))

News traveled slowly in the ancient world, but there was little chance that those listening would not have known the name. The apostles reminded the crowd of the many miracles God had performed to confirm his selection of Jesus. ((Acts 2:22)) Even those who had only heard the criticisms from the Pharisees would know that strange signs had followed Jesus wherever he went. They also knew that, despite the many wonders he had performed, his split with the Temple had eventually led to his arrest, and no miracle had come to spare his life.

Peter himself could not forget that arrest either. He had been there, wanting to take a stand before the Sanhedrin and tell them that Jesus was a righteous man. ((Mark 14:13)) Instead, he hid in the courtyard and lied about who he was. ((Mark 14:66-72)) The blood of the Messiah hung heavy over all of them. Peter pulled no punches as he screamed into the temple, "You used sinners to carry out the dirty task of executing the one sent from God himself." ((Acts 2:23))

What is the sickness that inspires us to divide the world into Christian and non-Christian? Why do followers of Jesus think that hanging out with non-Christians is either backsliding or missions work? Why do we ask questions like "How do I love someone without condoning their lifestyle?"

Did Jesus want his followers to provide one more cultural division? Did he intend for us to literally and figuratively put up walls to keep out the world?

Why would I ask six questions in a row? Why does one of the questions quote another question? Is anyone still reading this?

I know Paul says that the message of the cross is an offense, but when I read the accounts of the apostles, the people offended were the powerful and the religious. A local radio station is running a series about how to share the gospel without ruining our relationships, as though somehow those two were related. It's only because we've spent so long believing that "sharing the gospel" is code for "preaching at people until they hate you" that we worry so much.

The world has enough people preaching at them from atop high horses. Maybe we should try sharing the gospel in a new way.

No foreign nation, no hacker, should be able to shut down our networks, steal our trade secrets or invade the privacy of American families, especially our kids.

— President Barack Obama's State of the Union Address

Peter had the crowd's attention, and he wasn't about to let go. "Do not dismiss what you see here. It is the fulfillment of everything God has promised. The prophet Joel ((Acts 2:16,  Joel 2:28-32)) spoke of these 'last days', and gave you a sign that you would see God's spirit poured on everyone, man and woman, young and old, slave and free. That is what you are seeing today!"

The shock reverberated through the crowd. Every man and woman in the crowd knew that the day of the Lord was coming, and with it the Messiah. They knew the prophecies that had been given. They had meditated on these scriptures, prayed for their fulfillment, and yet in some sense they had never really imagined it. It was a great event, beyond what the human mind could grasp. To run into it on an ordinary day, while life went on as normal around them, seemed absurd.

At the same time, they didn't want to miss out on God's rescue ((Acts 2:21)). They had waited in captivity for nearly five hundred years, with eager expectation. If there was the slightest chance that these men and women had information about how they could be freed, they had to hear it.

I've heard, more than once, someone refer to the Bible as "God's love letter". I confess that I haven't received that many love letters in my life, but not one of them included accounts of war, a detailed architectural layout, or scathing denunciations of foreign governments. My question is, what sort of love letters are these people receiving?

If this is what their love letters tend to contain, I can understand why they're having so little luck at impacting the world for good.