“The Gospel According to Laundry: A Trial of Faith and Fabric”
A Short Story
“My Jesus didn’t need an editor”
Scene: The town courthouse of Dry Creek, population 1,342.
The year is ambiguous — it could be 1955 or 2025. The courtroom fan creaks. Sunlight falls on the bailiff’s bald head.
Bailiff (sternly):
“All rise for the Honorable Judge Magnolia T. Birdwhistle.”
(All rise. The judge, a silver-haired woman with gardening gloves still in her coat pocket, takes the bench with a sigh.)
Judge Birdwhistle:
“Be seated. Now, what in the good Lord’s name brings us here today?”
Prosecutor:
“Your Honor, we are here for the matter of The People vs. Mrs. Ruth Francis — charged with misdemeanor battery for allegedly striking her neighbor, Mrs. Vera McGonicle, with a wicker laundry basket during a theological disagreement over the origins of the Gospel of Matthew.”
Judge (raising an eyebrow):
“A laundry basket? Was it empty?”
Defense Counsel:
“No, Your Honor. Full. Whites. Just out of the dryer.”
(Murmurs in the gallery.)
Judge:
“Very well. Let’s get to it. Call your first witness.”
Testimony of Mrs. Vera McGonicle
Prosecutor:
“Mrs. McGonicle, can you tell the court what happened?”
McGonicle (dabbing her forehead):
“Well, I was just hanging up my husband’s socks when I happened to mention that the Book of Matthew probably came together after the Temple was destroyed — told by word of mouth for a long time — and you can see parts of it that seem borrowed from Mark and maybe some lost collection of Jesus’ sayings.
Prosecutor:
“And how did Mrs. Francis respond?”
McGonicle:
“She hollered that I was blaspheming the literal Word of God, stormed across the hedge, and hit me over the head with her ‘Bless this Mess’ laundry basket.”
Judge:
“And did you suffer injury?”
McGonicle:
“Only bruised pride and a bent theology.”
Testimony of Mrs. Ruth Francis
Defense Counsel:
“Mrs. Francis, how do you plead?”
Francis (firmly):
“Not guilty. It was righteous indignation.”
Defense Counsel:
“And why did you strike Mrs. McGonicle?”
Francis (fiery):
“She called Matthew a storyteller! Said it was written decades after the Lord walked this earth! That it was stitched together like a gossip column! I won’t stand for that kind of apostasy in my backyard.”
Prosecutor:
“Are you aware, ma’am, that there are respected biblical scholars who support such a view?”
Francis:
“If the Lord had wanted scholars, He wouldn’t have picked fishermen.”
Expert Witness Called
Defense:
“Your Honor, we call Dr. Wilford Abernathee, expert in textual history.”
(A voice echoes from a nearby monitor.)
Dr. Abernathee:
The Gospel of Matthew is traditionally said to be written by the Apostle Matthew, but most scholars today believe it was written between 70 and 90 CE. It seems to rely quite a bit on the earlier Gospel of Mark, and also includes material that scholars think came from a lost source — something they call ‘Q,’ short for the German word Quelle, meaning ‘source.’ This ‘Q’ was likely a collection of Jesus’ sayings that was never written down in one book we’ve found. So while Matthew is a key part of the New Testament, it probably isn’t a word-for-word account from someone who was there — more like a carefully gathered and shaped version of earlier teachings.”
(Gasps from the gallery. Mrs. Francis crosses herself.)
Closing Arguments
Prosecutor:
“Your Honor, this case is not about theology. It is about the rule of law. One cannot assault a neighbor because of a disagreement over scriptural composition, however passionately one believes.”
Defense:
“But surely, Your Honor, there is such a thing as provocation — and what provokes more than saying Holy Writ is just a patchwork?”
Judge Birdwhistle (leaning forward):
“Enough. I’ve heard scripture, science, and socks. I find Mrs. Francis guilty of misdemeanor battery — but sentence her only to a six-week theology class at the local community center titled ‘From Scroll to Scripture: Understanding the Gospel Through History and Faith.’”
(Bangs gavel. The courtroom breaks into applause.)
***
Chapter II: “Mrs. Francis Goes to School”
or
“The Gospel According to the Expert Witness”
Scene: A fluorescent-lit classroom in the Dry Creek Community Center.
Folded chairs. A whiteboard reads: “From Scroll to Scripture: Understanding the Gospel Through History and Faith.”
Characters:
- Mrs. Ruth Francis – recently convicted basket-wielder, fierce literalist.
- Dr. Abernathee – the same scholar from the trial.
- Pastor Dale – local Methodist minister, peacemaker.
- Larry from the Rotary – inquisitive, skeptical, retired librarian.
- Sister Jean – retired nun, kind-eyed, quick-witted.
- Vera McGonicle – reluctantly agreed to attend class to “keep an eye on things.”
[Class Begins]
Dr. Abernathee:
“Welcome to Session One. Today’s topic: The Gospel of Matthew – Tradition, Text, and Transmission. Let us begin by acknowledging that faith and history often live in tension — and that this tension can be fruitful rather than destructive.”
Mrs. Francis (muttering):
“Fruitful like figs in winter.”
Pastor Dale:
“Sister Ruth, let’s give the good doctor a chance. He’s court-appointed.”
Dr. Abernathee:
“Let’s review. The Gospel of Matthew was likely composed between 70–90 CE, roughly 40–60 years after the crucifixion of Jesus. It draws heavily on Mark, possibly on a lost sayings source known as Q, remember, likely a collection of Jesus’ sayings that was never written down in one book we’ve found, and was likely written in Greek, not Aramaic.”
Mrs. Francis (raises hand like a rifle):
“Are you sayin’ Matthew didn’t write Matthew?”
Dr. Abernathee:
“We are saying the Gospel attributed to Matthew is anonymous, and that the attribution emerged later in early church tradition. There is no autographed manuscript.”
Mrs. Francis:
“That’s like sayin’ my wedding quilt just sewed itself.”
Sister Jean:
“No dear, it’s like saying someone sewed it lovingly, but we don’t have their name tag.”
(Soft laughter. Mrs. Francis eyes her warily.)
Dr. Abernathee:
“Our earliest fragment of Matthew — Papyrus 𝔓64 — is dated to around 175–225 CE by paleographic analysis. No original copy survives. No Gospel does. This is common in ancient literature.”
Larry from the Rotary:
“How come we trust these dates?”
Dr. Abernathee:
“Excellent question. We use multiple tools: carbon-14 for dating organic material like papyrus, paleography to compare handwriting styles, and codicology to assess binding and layout. Accuracy varies by ±50–100 years.”
Mrs. Francis:
“But the King James Bible is the Word of God!”
Dr. Abernathee:
“Yes. And the King James is a translation of a Greek text called the Textus Receptus, compiled from medieval manuscripts — often over a thousand years after the original was written. Later verses, like Matthew 6:13’s doxology, are not in the earliest manuscripts.”
Mrs. McGonicle (dryly):
“That’s the verse she hit me for quoting wrong.”
(Another ripple of laughter. Even Mrs. Francis cracks a smile.)
[The Tension Softens]
Pastor Dale:
“Maybe the point is not to shake the Bible loose from our hearts — but to see its journey as part of God’s unfolding work. Doesn’t that deepen, not weaken, our reverence?”
Sister Jean:
“Even the saints didn’t always agree. But they prayed through it.”
Dr. Abernathee:
“And let us not forget Syriac Christianity — a third stream, apart from Rome and Constantinople, often more poetic, mystical. Voices like Stephen Bar Sudaili imagined God becoming ‘all in all’ — a unity beyond division.”
Mrs. Francis (softly):
“I always liked that verse.”
Dr. Abernathee (cheerfully):
“Next week’s class: Matthew’s use of the Hebrew Scriptures — and how ancient prophecy shaped early Christian storytelling.”
(Chairs squeak as people stand. Conversation hums. But Mrs. Francis freezes, her purse clutched to her chest like a hymnal on a windy day.)
Mrs. Francis (to herself, just loud enough):
“Hebrew Scriptures? Lord have mercy… next thing you know they’ll have me lighting candles on Friday night and skipping bacon on Sundays.”
Vera McGonicle (tilting her head):
“Ruth, they’re not trying to turn you into a Jew. They’re just showing where the New Testament came from.”
Mrs. Francis (whispering urgently):
“But that’s what I’m afraid of, Vera. If they say Matthew’s just building off the Old Testament, then what if it all wasn’t new? What if I’ve been standin’ on old stones all this time, thinking they were fresh bread?”
(She looks shaken — not angry now, but uncertain, like a woman who just found a crack in the foundation of her front porch.)
Pastor Dale (stepping in gently):
“Ruth, Scripture isn’t a switch — it’s a lamp. It doesn’t make you someone else. It shows you more of what was always there. The Hebrew Bible isn’t another faith. It’s the soil our Gospel grew from.”
Mrs. Francis (muttering):
“Well, long as nobody asks me to speak Hebrew or give up red velvet cake, I guess I can come.”
(She gathers her coat, looks up at Dr. PT’s screen — and nods, just once.)
Narrator (voice-over style):
Mrs. Francis had weathered many things in her life: tornados, funerals, even a son who voted Democrat. But the idea that the Gospel she clung to might be stitched with threads from another people’s story — that rattled her in ways no laundry basket ever could.
Still… she’d be back next Tuesday.
“You know, Vera… even if Matthew didn’t write it word for word, the words still found me when I needed ‘em most.”
“That’s the part no historian can date,” Vera replies. “The moment it lands in you.”
***
Chapter III: “Wolves in the Scrolls”
or
“Mrs. Francis Draws a Line in the Sand”
Scene: Same classroom, second session of “From Scroll to Scripture.”
Chairs in a circle. A pot of weak coffee simmers on the back table. On the whiteboard:
“Matthew and the Hebrew Prophets: Threads of Continuity”
Cast (recurring and new):
- Mrs. Francis – defensive, watchful, dressed in her Sunday best.
- Vera McGonicle – quietly curious.
- Dr. Abernathee – Teacher.
- Pastor Dale – friendly mediator.
- Sister Jean – armed with gentle scholarship.
- Larry from the Rotary – eager note-taker.
- New Face: Mildred – an old friend of Francis and a silent observer, knitting something vaguely theological-looking.
[Class Begins]
Dr. Abernathee:
“Welcome back. Today we explore how the author of Matthew draws from Hebrew prophecy — especially Isaiah, Micah, and Hosea — to present Jesus as the fulfillment of long-anticipated hopes.”
Mrs. Francis (interrupting, standing):
“I was told this class was about understanding the Gospel. Not rewinding us back into the Old Law. My pastor, Reverend Mary David Dupree, says Jesus came to end all that. ‘We are not under the Law, but under grace!’ Romans 6:14. It’s right there!”
Dr. Abernathee (patient):
“And that is indeed Paul’s voice, which shaped early Christian theology deeply. But Matthew’s Gospel, which predates some of Paul’s letters, frames Jesus not as abolishing the Law, but fulfilling it — Matthew 5:17.”
Mrs. Francis (bristling):
“I don’t need a robot quoting Scripture at me. I’ve got the red-letter edition.”
Vera (quietly):
“He’s not disagreeing with it, Ruth. He’s just showing where it came from.”
Mrs. Francis (turning to her):
“I know where it came from. The Bible came from God. I don’t need some Hebrew scroll dug up in a cave tellin’ me otherwise.”
[Dr. Abernathee Displays a Slide: Isaiah 7:14 → Matthew 1:23]
“Behold, a virgin shall conceive…”
Dr. Abernathee:
“This passage in Isaiah originally referred to a young woman — almah — in the court of King Ahaz. The Greek Septuagint, however, rendered it parthenos, ‘virgin,’ which Matthew adopts.”
Mrs. Francis (sharp):
“So you’re saying the virgin birth was a mistranslation?”
Sister Jean (softly):
“No, dear. I think what he’s saying is — Matthew saw something more in the old words. He believed they pointed to something bigger than King Ahaz ever imagined.”
[Silence. Then a Reaction.]
Mrs. Francis (eyes flashing):
“Well I don’t like it. It smells of scholars tryin’ to outthink the Holy Spirit. Next they’ll tell me Jesus didn’t say the Sermon on the Mount!”
Dr. Abernathee (gently):
“The sermon, in its current form, is likely a composition of multiple teachings, woven together. This doesn’t make it less true — it may make it more powerful, more deliberate.”
Mrs. Francis:
“My Jesus didn’t need an editor.”
[Pastor Dale Tries a Bridge]
Pastor Dale:
“Ruth… Pastor Dupree also believes the Old Testament is the inspired Word of God, yes?”
Mrs. Francis:
“She does. But she says it’s a shadow, and Jesus is the light. I didn’t come here to crawl back into the shadow.”
[Tension Lingers, Then a Crumble]
Dr. Abernathee:
“Mrs. Francis, it is not my aim to take anything from you. But only to show that the light you love… has been shining a long time. Through Isaiah, through Moses, through exile and poetry and longing. And Matthew — whoever he was — saw that and stitched it together with trembling hands.”
(A hush falls. Even the projector flickers softly. Mildred stops knitting.)
Mrs. Francis (raising her voice):
“I was raised on Romans 6:14 — ‘For ye are not under the law, but under grace.’ That’s the Gospel I know. Jesus freed us from all that — the laws, the scrolls, the sacrifices. You’re talkin’ like we’re still Jews!”
Dr. Abernathee (on screen, nodding):
“Romans 6:14 is deeply important. But if I may, let’s hold it beside Matthew 5:17, where Jesus says—”
(screen displays slide)
‘Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfill.’
Larry from the Rotary (half-raising a hand):
“What does ‘fulfill’ mean here? Like… end it?”
Dr. Abernathee: “In Greek, the word is plēroō — to fill up, complete, bring to fullness. Not to discard, but to embody.”
Sister Jean (chiming in):
“Like the difference between a blueprint and a cathedral. Jesus doesn’t throw the blueprint away — he becomes the building.”
Mrs. Francis (crossing her arms):
“Still sounds like you’re trying to put us back under Moses.”
Dr. Abernathee: “Let’s clarify: Paul was preaching to Gentiles — non-Jews — in cities like Corinth, Thessalonica, and Galatia. His question was: ‘Must these new believers obey every part of the Jewish Law — circumcision, dietary rules, purity codes — to follow Christ?’”
Pastor Dale:
“And Paul’s answer was ‘No,’ right?”
Dr. Abernathee:
“Yes. But Paul never dismissed the Law as worthless. In Romans 3:31 he writes—”
(screen updates)
‘Do we then overthrow the law by this faith? By no means! On the contrary, we uphold the law.’
Mrs. Francis (softening, but firm):
“Then why did he say the Law is a curse?”
Dr. Abernathee:
“Because the Law without grace reveals human frailty but offers no cure. That’s Galatians 3:13 — Paul says Christ redeems us from the curse of the Law — not because the Law is evil, but because we are unable to fulfill it on our own.”
Sister Jean (turning to Mrs. Francis):
“Think of it like this: the Law shows us the door. Jesus opens it.”
🎭 [Mrs. Francis Pauses]
Mrs. Francis (quietly):
“My pastor says Jesus is the new covenant. No more yokes. No more stones. Just the Spirit.”
Dr. Abernathee (gently):
“Yes. But sometimes, when the Spirit speaks… it uses the language of the Law — just transformed. Jesus quotes Deuteronomy and Isaiah more than any other scriptures.”
(He pauses, then adds)
“And Matthew’s Jesus climbs a mountain — like Moses — and gives a new Law, not to abolish the old, but to fulfill it in love and radical inwardness.”
Mrs. Francis (clearly agitated):
“You keep going back to words — Greek words, scroll words, fill-this and plēroō-that — but you forget the Spirit. I don’t follow Jesus ‘cause of parsing and parchments. I follow Him because He saved me.”
(She stands again, this time her voice steadier, not angry — just resolved.)
Mrs. Francis (cont’d):
“You talk about ‘fulfilling the Law’ like it’s a riddle. But Jesus didn’t speak in riddles when He saved my sister from drugs, or when my grandson came back from Afghanistan and found peace in church. That’s the Gospel I know. Not this… wordplay.”
Dr. Abernathee (pauses):
“Mrs. Francis, you are voicing what many feel: that scholarship can feel cold, or even threatening. But I assure you, we’re not trying to replace the Spirit — only to understand how people, even in Jesus’ time, wrestled with what He meant.”
Mrs. Francis (interrupting):
“You can wrestle all you want. But faith don’t need footnotes.”
Sister Jean (softly):
“But sometimes it helps others find their way, Ruth.”
Mrs. Francis:
“Maybe so. But my way was already found. I don’t need it re-mapped.”
Dr. Abernathee (gently, conceding):
“And that is a testimony that speaks for itself.”
(He doesn’t argue. The room quiets. Even Larry puts his pen down. Vera leans over, pats Mrs. Francis’s arm.)
Vera:
“We don’t all have to walk the same path to arrive at the same grace.”
Mrs. Francis (still stiff, but not unkind):
“No, but don’t ask me to swap mine for another one written in Greek and wrapped in a question mark.”
Dr. Abernathee (calmly):
“We don’t all arrive at truth by the same road. But we’re here to listen, not to erase. To see how the Gospels breathed within a world shaped by Scripture — the Hebrew one included.”
Mrs. Francis (standing suddenly, her purse already in hand):
“Well I’ve heard enough!”
(The room goes still. Her voice trembles but her spine does not. She looks not at the screen, but at the ceiling — the way one might look toward a cross.)
Mrs. Francis:
“I came here hoping to learn more about Jesus — my Jesus. The Lamb, the Lord, the risen King. But this—this class keeps peeling Him apart like He’s some patchwork of Greek grammar and Jewish folklore.”
(She turns slowly, eyes sweeping the room — not angry now, but righteously grieved.)
Mrs. Francis (with force):
“You can keep your charts, your scrolls, your clever little turns of phrase. I don’t need a theology degree to know who my Savior is.”
(She walks toward the door, every step clicking like a gavel.)
Mrs. Francis (at the threshold, raising her finger):
“And I’ll not sit under scholars who second-guess the Word of God. I’m going back to the Judge of Jehovah — the only one whose verdict I trust!”
(She leaves. The door shuts with a solid wooden thud. A beat of silence.)
Vera McGonicle (sighs):
“She always was dramatic.”
Pastor Dale (gentle smile):
“And faithful.”
Dr. Abernathee (quietly, on screen):
“Sometimes even truth has to wait for the heart to be ready.”
***
Epilogue: The First Voice We Hear
Mrs. Francis never returned to the class. Her chair sat empty for the rest of the course, its cushion slowly rising back to form, but her presence lingered — not in her absence, but in what she had forced everyone to consider.
It was tempting for some to dismiss her as stubborn, even reactionary. But the longer the class went on, the more her voice took on a deeper resonance. Not because of what she said, but because of why she had to say it.
Religion, it turned out, was not born in footnotes.
For most people — Mrs. Francis among them — faith does not arrive wrapped in reason. It is not constructed from arguments, nor born out of academic comparison. It is first heard in the kitchen, in the pew, at a bedside. It is folded into the napkins at supper, sewn into the hands that teach us to pray. It is felt long before it is understood.
And that feeling — of belonging, of reverence, of being held by something older and wiser than oneself — is rarely undone by Greek etymology or textual variance.
Yes, there are some whose lives are interrupted by what they call the Spirit — who are overturned by visions, dreams, or a sudden softening of the heart. But for most, faith is not so much found as it is inherited, passed along through rituals and repetition, through stories told before bedtime, through verses memorized before their meaning can even be parsed.
By the time the intellect awakens, the soul has already been carved.
That is why Mrs. Francis could not stay. It was not merely a matter of disagreement — it was a matter of loyalty. To remain in that classroom would have felt, to her, like betrayal. Not of doctrine alone, but of her mother’s kitchen prayers, her childhood choir robe, her late husband’s underlined Bible.
She did not leave because she lacked curiosity.
She left because she had already decided who God is.
And to revisit that now would be like renaming her father.
The rest of the class continued. They learned about textual layers, oral traditions, and the many roads that led from Aramaic syllables to English pronouns. They asked better questions, and read more slowly.
But none of them forgot Mrs. Francis.
And in quieter moments — as pages turned, or when the wind moved through the trees outside the window — a few of them silently thanked her. Not for her arguments. But for reminding them of the first voice they ever heard say:
“In the beginning… God.”
***