As Peter Kreeft writes a play where St. Paul, Simone Weil, and John of the Cross organically meditate on these
paradoxical quotes to discern the underlying theme.

ChatGPT Prompt

Characters

• John of the Cross: Barefoot, simple dark robe, slight glow to suggest peace. Voice is soft, melodic.
• Simone Weil: Thin, intense, eyes sunken with depth. Wears modest 1930s European clothing. Voice trembles with both strength and fragility.
• St. Paul: Rugged, grounded presence. Wears a threadbare Roman tunic with a traveler’s cloak. Speaks boldly, like a man familiar with pain.
• Peter Kreeft: Modern dress, acts as both guide and observer. Can step in or speak to the audience from off-stage.

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I: The Absence That Is Presence

When we feel most alienated from the God we know,
it is because we are closer to the God who is.

Lights dim. All three are seated on the stone bench, facing the audience but lost in thought. A long pause. Paul stands and begins.

Paul (reflective, pacing):

You know, everyone remembers the light.
The flash. The voice. The fall.
But what struck me most… was the blindness.
Three days. No sight. No food. Just silence.
(Acts 9:3–9)

Simone (quiet but sharp):

That’s when love begins.
When He stops giving comfort.
When He becomes… real.

John (gazing upward):

It is not distance, but nearness that blinds.
When God comes too close,
our senses fail us.
We call it absence,
but it is only a Presence too deep for our grasp.

Paul (turning):

You’re saying the silence is Him?

John (nods slowly):

Yes.
The silence is not empty.
It is the Word before words.
(cf. 1 Kings 19:11–13)

Simone (rises, intense):

But it hurts.
I thought if I obeyed, He would come close.
And when He did…
I thought He had forsaken me.
(cf. Matthew 27:46)

Paul (approaches gently):

So did Christ. On the Cross.
That pain is presence.
It’s just not the kind we expect.

John (softly):

It is the love that purifies.
That breaks. That remakes.

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II: The Self as Other

When we feel most alienated from the people we know,
it is because we are closer to the self we do not know.

Lighting shifts subtly—more golden, but still muted. All sit again. Simone speaks first.

Simone (half-smiling, almost laughing):

Do you know what loneliness taught me?
That I was never really me.
Just a collage of who others expected.

Paul (nodding):

That’s how He got me.
I died to the Law.
To performance.
To approval.
And found Christ living in what was left.
(Galatians 2:20, Philippians 3:7–8)

John (calmly):

Solitude is not absence.
It is exposure.
The masks fall away.
And the soul, naked, begins to see.

Simone (to John, almost afraid):

But isn’t it terrifying?
To be unknown by others…
and not yet known by yourself?

John (gently):

Yes.
That’s why it feels like dying.

Paul (with strength):

But it is dying.
So that you may rise.
(Romans 6:6–8)

Peter Kreeft steps forward from the side, facing the audience.

Peter (Narrator):

Alienation from others—
from the self we pretend to be—
is not punishment.
It is the unveiling.
The true self cannot be born
until the false self is crucified.

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III: Feeling God

The worst feeling on earth
is the best feeling in heaven.

Lighting grows warmer but deeper, like dusk before dawn. The sound of a distant wind. Silence hangs.

Paul (slowly):

The cross wasn’t failure.
It was the blueprint.
It felt like the end,
but it was the beginning.
(1 Corinthians 1:18)

Simone (almost whispering):

Yes.
It was hell.
And also heaven.
He didn’t take away my suffering—
He entered it.
(cf. Isaiah 53:3–5)

John (eyes closed):

And made it fire.
Burning.
But holy.

Paul (to Simone):

That’s when it stops being yours.
It becomes ours.
His and yours. Shared.
(Colossians 1:24)

Simone (looking up):

So the worst pain on earth—
is the best feeling in heaven?
Because it is love
without disguise?

John (softly):

Yes.
Love in its truest form.
Which we cannot bear
unless we are first broken.

All three go silent. They sit in stillness. A breeze moves through the space. Lighting now shows faint radiant glow around them.

Peter (Narrator) (stepping forward, quietly):

And so the truth they discovered—
is not an idea.
It is a Person.
A Person who comes not in comfort,
but in contradiction.
Not in answers,
but in wounds.

This is the shape of reality:
First, alienation.
Then, revelation.
Finally, transformation.
And the cross is not just what saved us—
it is what reveals us, remakes us, and receives us.

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Lighting fades to gold. The three sit motionless, facing out. No words. Just stillness. The breeze dies down. A faint, almost imperceptible choral hum arises—simple, unresolved.

[Curtain.]