When Mark Twain wrote Tom Sawyer, he began the book by saying that the story he was about to tell was true, mostly. By that, he meant that although there was truth in the story, none of it actually happened. Well, I would like to tell you a story. Like Tom Sawyer, it is true, mostly.

It was late, not too many nights ago. I was downstairs in the study, relaxing in my recliner. Cindy was upstairs, asleep. I closed my eyes. It had been a long and difficult day, but at last it was quiet, very quiet. I became aware of a presence - you know the feeling - when someone is watching you. I could not open my eyes to see who it was - later, I would decide it all was a dream - but at the time it seemed so real. In an instant, I knew who was watching - I could feel who it was. It was Jesus.

Without a word being spoken, I felt an invitation, as if he could read my mind, to ask Him a question, any question, and He would answer it, directly to me. I would not have to imagine His answer, or look for His answer in other things. He would tell me in words I could understand whatever I wanted to know.

I asked the question that I have wondered about many times. Maybe you would have asked this question too.

I asked Jesus, "if I had been alive back then in your time, would you have been my friend?" I knew that he knew me even better than I know myself. He knew my sins, and they are many; he knew my selfishness that is a struggle to control; he knew my ego that sometimes leaves so little room for others. Would he have wanted me as a friend?

The calm, soothing voice I heard said, "do not be troubled about me being your friend back then. I was Matthew's friend, and he was a tax collector - an oppressor of many before he met me; I was Judas' friend, remember my words even as he betrayed me - friend, do what you came for.' And remember Mary Magdalene? I was her friend too, but when I first met her, she was insane, demon possessed. I loved them all. And, I would have loved you, too."

I breathed deeply, so very thankful for those words. I even tried to imagine how it would have felt to call Jesus by his name, touch him, talk with him. Hearing him call me his friend. But then, Jesus said, "will you answer a question for me?"

I nodded my head to say "yes," and I remember thinking, "why does he bother to ask? He knows already what my answer will be to any question He asks. It was not a question I expected.

"David, if you had been alive back then, would you have been my friend?"

I almost started to laugh. Jesus knew that I was raised in a church; that I accepted him as my lord at an early age, and that I always have believed in him, the son of the one and only God. Jesus knew that I have been privileged to serve as a Deacon in His church. Only one answer to his question was possible.

But then, just as my eyes would not open, I could not speak the word "yes." Instead, images cascaded through my mind, unrelentingly: if I had been his friend back then, there would have been no years of professional accomplishment and praise; I would have shared the derision and scorn he endured from so many important, powerful people. As the temple rejected him, no court would have listened to my plea; my license to practice law would have been taken away.

If I had been his friend back then, I would never have been able to settle into a community like Austin for we would have been moving, sometimes quickly, from one place to the next, always wondering if the next town would be the last place we ever would see. Along the way, I may have met someone like Cindy, but I would never had been able to spend a lifetime together with her, peacefully settled into a community we enjoy.

If I had been his friend back then, I would have had no possessions: no ranch, no truck, because Jesus's friends were not men of property or wealth.

And if I had been his friend back then, most people would not have cared whether I lived or died because I would have been just one more radical person, existing on the fringes of civilized society, claiming to know the one and only truth, just like so many others. .

Unable to control my words, the honest answer to his question escaped my lips: "I don't know," I said. "I don't know whether I would have been your friend, back then."

As soon as this awful confession was made, my eyes opened. I looked around the room, and it was just as it had been when I first sat down. It was a dream, I said. Just a dream.

Now this story is not true, although I think there is some truth in it. The idea for the story came from the words to a song, "Friend of Jesus," by D. E. Adams. But this story could have happened to me. And it could have happened to you.

Would I have been a friend of Jesus, back then? Would you?

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