Chapter 10: Show, Don’t Tell...

1 Peter 2: 1-12

“Therefore, laying aside all malice, all deceit, hypocrisy, envy, and all evil speaking, as newborn babes, desire the pure milk of the Word, that you may grow thereby, if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is gracious. Coming to Him as to a living stone, rejected indeed by men, but chosen by God and precious, you also, as living stones, are being built up a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. Therefore it is also contained in the Scripture, ‘Behold, I lay in Zion a chief cornerstone, elect, precious, and he who believes on Him will by no means be put to shame.’ Therefore, to you who believe, He is precious; but to those who are disobedient, ‘The stone which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone,’ and ‘A stone of stumbling and a rock of offense.’ They stumble, being disobedient to the Word, to which they also were appointed. But you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people, that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light; who once were not a people but are now the people of God, who had not obtained mercy but now have obtained mercy. Beloved, I beg you as sojourners and pilgrims, abstain from fleshly lusts which war against the soul, having your conduct honorable among the Gentiles, that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may, by your good works which they observe, glorify God in the day of visitation.”

Moose stands on the dusty street corner across from the Sheriff’s Office. The heat from the morning sun bakes the crown of his hat, heat rising in shimmering waves off the packed dirt. Cbot waits silently with him, her optics glowing a steady emerald green while she carefully scans the main road. Townsfolk have started to fill the streets with busy body work, heading to and fro in their everyday lives. The roar of a hover bike growls around the corner.

“You know what, Cbot?” Moose pulls his coms unit from his back pocket, swishing his trench coat out of the way. The small holo-unit fits comfortably in his hand like an old friend offering a handshake. “I think we should head back to the meeting house.”

Cbot turns her hooded head toward him and tilts it to the side, the emerald glow of her optics steady. A faint whir of servos accompanies the small movement as her cloak shifts in the rising heat. “Understood, Captain,” she says quietly.

Moose taps away on his coms unit, fingers moving with rehearsed purpose. The small device chimes softly in his palm, warm from the morning sun. The familiar voice of Artbot crackles through the speakers, clear despite the faint static of the open street. A shimmering holo-image springs to life above the unit—Artbot’s form flickering steady in the bright light.

“Yes, Captain,” Artbot says, her head tilting with curiosity. “Is everything fine?”

Moose smiles, a slow, thoughtful curve beneath the brim of his hat. He pulls it a little lower with his free hand, shielding his eyes from the glare as dust swirls up from the hover bike speeding by. “Everything is fine, Artbot. We’ve found the meeting house. There was no one there… I’m having Cbot send you the coordinates now.” He glances sideways at his companion. “Get Qbot ready and meet us there. We’ve got some work to do.”

“Yes, Captain.” The holo-figure of Artbot salutes and static slashes through the transmission as it cuts.

“Cbot, I am thinking of James 3: 13. Are you familiar?” Moose slides his com unit in his back pocket, smooths out his jacket, hikes his pack up on his back and turns back down the street.

Cbot falls into step beside him, her robot feet stirring soft puffs of red dust that blur the morning light. The emerald glow of her optics pulses once, thoughtful and measured, as her hooded head turns toward Moose.

“James 3:13, Captain,” she replies quietly, voice warm against the growing street noise. “Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show by good conduct that his works are done in the meekness of wisdom.”

She walks with a smooth, deliberate gait, cloak brushing lightly against her frame with each step. A faint servo hum blends with the distant chatter of townsfolk. “It speaks of wisdom from above—pure, peaceable, gentle, full of mercy. Not the earthly kind that breeds confusion.” Her optics soften a fraction as she glances ahead down the street toward the meeting house. “You’re thinking this work we’re called to… it must begin there. In meekness. In the quiet conduct of our hands.”

“Show don’t tell,” Moose replies, a slow smile breaking across his face. He tips his hat to a stranger passing on the street—an old habit, respectful and easy, the brim dipping just enough to acknowledge the man without a word.

A small, understanding chime hums from Cbot’s vocal processors, soft, melodic against the street’s buzz. “Show, not tell,” she echoes gently, the phrase rolling with thoughtful care. “Then let our presence speak first, Captain. No grand declarations… only steady hands and open hearts among the dust and forgotten pews.”

“Nothing terribly dramatic, Cbot,” Moose says, looking up to inspect the climbing sun. “We’re just going to be on clean up crew.” His sneakers kick up small clouds of red dust with each step as the two turn back down the street toward the meeting house, the weight of the day settling around them like an old, familiar coat.

James 3: 13-18

“Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show by good conduct that his works are done in the meekness of wisdom. But if you have bitter envy and self-seeking in your hearts, do not boast and lie against the truth. This wisdom does not descend from above, but is earthly, sensual, demonic. For where envy and self-seeking exist, confusion and every evil thing are there. But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy. Now the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.”