Why Didn't You Tell Me?
A convicting monologue about the importance of sharing the gospel.
Cast: One person. Either gender. Written for teenager, can be adapted for any age.
Speaker: You were my best friend. In preschool our moms made play dates, in elementary school we were always partners, in middle school we hung out every day, in high school we signed up for the same classes and clubs. We told each other every secret, every crush, every bad thing we’d ever done, everything important. At least I did.
Then, in the second semester of junior year, I got into my car to drive home like normal. I was going down the big hill by the store when my brakes failed, and I plowed into a tree. They rushed me to the hospital with a broken back, and after my parents, you were the first one there. You held my hand as I was taken into ICU and told me not to be scared; you said the doctors could heal me.
But you were wrong.
After a few days, my heart failed and I died. I’m sure you cried for days, and that you spoke at my funeral. I’m sure you talked about how close we were and how you could tell me everything.
But you didn’t tell me everything.
When I closed my eyes in that hospital room, I opened them again in a very bright light. I saw a gate in front of me, a huge bright sparkling gold gate. There was joyous singing coming from inside, and I knew instantly that it was the gate to Heaven. I had thought about what happens after death before, but I always assumed I would go to the good place. I didn’t steal, didn’t lie, did well in school, tried to be nice to everyone… I even waited to have sex. Since you did the same things, I figured we’d go to the same place and be able to hang out forever.
In front of the gate was this man holding a book. I walked up to him, and he asked for my name. I told him, and as he started to search I began to get nervous. What if I hadn’t done enough? What if I was missing something? When he looked up with this sad, sad gaze, I knew. I knew I couldn’t go in.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “it's not here.”
“Why not? What didn’t I do?”
“You never trusted me,” he said. “You never put your faith in me.”
I could have argued. I could have said I didn’t know. But deep inside I knew that I had had my chance and I’d missed it. Then I started to worry about you. Did you know about this? I knew you went to church, but if you didn’t know about it, you wouldn’t be allowed in either…
“They know,” he said. “They’ve known for a long time.” And he showed me your name in the book. (Beat)
Why didn’t you tell me? We were so close, I was sure if you knew something as important as this, you would have shared it. Maybe you were afraid I’d laugh, that I’d think less of you. Maybe I would have, I don’t know… but at least I would know that you cared enough about my eternal life to try. At least you would have tried to share this gift with me.
Its funny. I always thought we knew everything about each other. Turns out I was wrong. And now I’m gone.
For everyone else listening, if you know me, tell me. Tell me about salvation. Tell me the truth. (Blackout)