“Alms, Thomas?”
     The party of guards and secretaries stopped when their master, a tall man in rich robes, stopped.
     “Lord Thomas,” chided one guard, emphasizing the title, but Lord Thomas waved him aside dismissively.
     “Here, Martin,” Lord Thomas called, chucking a small silver coin into the beggar’s basket. “A blessing to you.”
     “May God bless you, Lord Thomas,” thanked Martin, setting the basket on his withered legs to examine his take as the party swept on.
     “Yes, indeed,” Thomas muttered to himself. “Yes, indeed.”
     Thomas’ step was brisk as he continued on past the beggar’s habitual place and on down the lane. He nodded briefly as passers-bye would curtsey. Above on either side the magnificent, gilded towers of the Realm gleamed in the sunlight. Their owner looked neither to the left nor to the right as he passed on into his office. As he passed through the tall, carved doors the gatekeepers bowed, averting their eyes. The more senior of the pair called out to announce his Lord’s arrival.
     “Lord Thomas, Principle Viceroy, Benefactor of the Poor, Regent of the Realm!”
     Thomas took even less notice of them today than he usually did. Indeed, he swept on unheeding past genuflecting supplicants and clerks, pausing only slightly for the obligatory gesture toward the large crucifix attached to the wall in each room. Perhaps he could be forgiven his preoccupation. After all, it wasn’t every day that even the powerful Lord Thomas was to go to meet God.
     “All is ready, Lord Thomas!” The small, gnarled man clasped his hands together and bowed as Thomas strode into the specially prepared room. Thomas stood there, surveying the scene. Glowing lines of light traced down the walls and ceiling of the mostly spherical room, outlining strange clusters of unfamiliar things.
    Thomas nodded approvingly. Although he did not know any one particular item’s function, he knew that each one was there for a purpose. The men who stood about awaiting his approbation understood well enough what all the strange articles were for, and with that Thomas was satisfied.
    “Let them harness the power of the world,” Thomas thought. “I will harness them.”
    “Then I am ready,” commented Thomas aloud. “Proceed.”
    “All is in order,” explained the man. “When word came that you approached, we prepared the chamber.” He pointed to a small doorway in one wall from which every line of light emanated. Across the doorway was drawn a veil, at Thomas’ insistence. He wished to be the only one to see what lay beyond.
    “All your Lordship must do is step through the veil. At that moment, the power we have drawn will pierce the great gulf of time and space which separates us from the time of our Savior, Jesus of Nazareth, and you will stand,” the man’s voice trembled slightly, “in the very presence of God.”
    “And to return?” asked Thomas.
    “Merely step back through the veil.”
     Thomas looked around at his entourage, at the other men. He took each man’s measure, judging what each man must be thinking. Was that envy he saw, envy of the chance to meet God, to walk with him, to petition Him, to share a moment with the Lord of Creation?
     “You are witnessing something no other men have ever witnessed,” he announced to them. “You are seeing a man go to talk with the Christ, in His own time.”
    Then, boldly, he stepped up to the door, parted the halves of the veil, and stepped through.
    The air on the other side was chilly. Thomas wrapped his robe tighter around himself. The area was dark, lit only by a single torch that flickered and flared.
    Thomas strained to see. He was in some sort of bare room or alcove. To his left was a doorway. There was movement before him on the floor. Thomas looked down.  The man was sprawled on the floor, face down. His back was a purple-black mass of shredded skin, exposed
sinew, torn muscle. Manacles on his wrists and ankles connected by chains to a thick wooden pole threaded under his arms and behind his back. His clothes hung on his frame, sodden. As Thomas stood there, shocked, the man groaned and pushed himself upright. He looked up at Thomas, his face bruised and battered. Tangled in his hair was a circlet of thorns.
     “Hello, Thomas.”
     Lord Thomas, Principle Viceroy, Benefactor of the Poor, Regent of the Realm, fell flat on his face on the floor.
     “Oh, no. Oh, no. I don’t believe it,” Thomas thought in a panic. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this!! This is the wrong time!!” He groveled on his face, knees bent under him, his arms outstretched on the cold stone floor.
     “Calm down,” he told himself, listening to his heartbeat thud in his ears. “This is Jesus, the
Servant-King. He’s humble and kind and gentle. He’ll accept my homage, then ask me to rise, to sit beside him like the Disciples did. Besides, what’s that passage in the Sacred Word? Something about not bowing before men, only bowing before ...” The thought trailed off in Thomas’ mind as a terrifying understanding came howling into his mind, paralyzing him with unreasoning fear.
     “Yes, Thomas,” came the voice. “I am God.” The word’s were slightly slurred, spoken as they were through swollen and bleeding lips.
     Thomas’ gut wrenched itself as if forming a coiled mass. He could barely breath, so terrified was he. He could hear every move Jesus made, feel every impact of every link of the chain on the flagstones as He dragged it across the floor. Thomas opened his mouth to speak, to justify himself, but his throat tightened and no word would come out.
     “There’s no need to speak, Thomas,” Jesus explained.
    ”I know your thoughts. You see, I’ve been expecting you.” He sighed and His chains rattled. Thomas could visualize Him rolling over, trying to seek a more comfortable position. “They dumped me here to wait while they go get Herod. I imagine they must get him out of bed. We have
a few moments before they come back for me.” His voice tightened at that last.
 “You know,” He sighed, “you needn’t have expended all that effort and expense to come here just to see me.  I’m with you, every day.” Thomas could feel that penetrating gaze focused on the back of his head. “I’m with you in your palace, I’m with you in your office, I’m with you on the road. I’m with you in the morning, before you even put on that rich, expensive robe. I know you, Thomas, your plans and hopes, your problems and desires. I see your circumstance, your great wealth
and vast influence.” Thomas listened as He sucked his breath in and out for a moment, as the pain overtookHim.
    “Yes, Thomas, you needn’t have come all this way just to see me. I’m always there with you.”
     There came a pause and Thomas heard Him catch his breath.
    “Did you hear that? They’re coming.” He sobbed. “Oh, Father, help me be strong. This is harder than I expected.” There came a pause. “No, no, they’re not coming. My ears are playing tricks on me.”
    As Thomas crouched there, his face inches from the stone floor, a rivulet of blood ran slowly into his view, running down toward his outstretched hand. He moved his hand aside, but the trickle followed. Thomas moved his hand again, but there was no escaping the blood. It flooded under his fingers and wet his palm, warm and sticky and live.
    He laughed, a weary laugh. “You know, this language of yours sounds so strange to my Judean ears.” He said something that Thomas didn’t recognize. “That’s the Aramaic form of your name, Thomas. Yes, Thomas, I know your name.” Thomas flinched at having his thoughts read aloud, so
plainly. “But I don’t have any doubts about you. I know you, Thomas, beginning to end.”
     A sound echoed up the corridor. Jesus gasped. “Now they are coming, Thomas. I’m afraid your visit must end. Quickly, get up!!” Thomas was on his feet without even seeming to move. “Leave now, before the guards return and see you. Oh, and Thomas ...”
     Thomas stopped and looked down into His eyes.
     “Yes, I die for you, too.”
 
    The veil burst open, tearing from its hangings.  Thomas staggered out into the spherical room, his eyes wide and wild. His glance darted around the room, from face to face, as the lines of light faded into darkness. His attendants stared back, amazed at this apparition they beheld.
     “It was Him! It was Him!” Thomas insisted, falling against a table. “I was there, with Him!!” He hugged himself.
    “It was cold ...” He stepped forward, but his cloak caught on the edge, stopping him. He looked at it as if surprised to find himself wearing it. “I could ... I should have covered Him with this ... I
could have ...” Thomas stripped the rich fabric from his back, throwing it on the floor. He slowly lifted his hand up before his face, his fingers still streaked with red. “His blood ... “ He looked around at the white faces of his servants. “Don’t look at me.  Don’t look at me! Look at Him!” He pointed up at the icon on the wall. “Look at Him!!” He turned, and fled out the door.
     Thomas wheeled and spun down the street for several yards, then slowed. No one seemed to be around.
     “Where ...” he began, then remembered. It was time for chapel. Everyone would be at their prayers. His heart began to slow again, as the sight of the familiar surroundings took hold. His familiar reality settled back around him.
     “Thomas ...”
     His heart leaped up to his throat and he spun about.
    There sat Martin, the beggar.
     “Lord Thomas, an alm?” He held out the basket.  Thomas’ hands grasped and tugged and tore at his purse in a frantic flurry, finally extracting the pouch. He upended it and poured its contents into the man’s basket before fleeing down the road toward his palace. The beggar watched him run for a long moment, then looked down into the basket, amazed.
     “Such a bounteous gift, Lord,” the beggar said aloud.
    His deft fingers began sorting the silver coins into piles of five. “And Lord Thomas seems rather upset! At what, I wonder.” He studied his treasure. “Six piles of five—thirty silver coins. Thirty—no, wait, thirty-one,” he remarked, pulling an additional coin from beneath his earlier gathering. He held it up and looked closely at it. Was that blood on it? “Hmmm.  Perhaps something pricked Lord Thomas.” He cast his eyes skyward. “Thank you, Father. Your mercy is truly great.”