Chapter Fourteen
W
hen Jesus returned to Capharnaum, his fame had preceded him. Everyone in this village as well, spoke of him. Around the table in Peter’s home that night, he seemed unusually taciturn, often frowning, features of his face impassive, almost as if he were not in the room with everyone else. The dog lay curled at his feet with a sleepy eye intermittently opening and closing. No one noticed the curious fact that Jesus was somewhere else in his mind, but me. I noticed because it struck me rather, as strange. He often seemed pensive, but when with a group of people, Jesus more often than not, gave them his undistracted attention. Not at this moment. Wherever he was, he seemed disturbed, ill at ease, perhaps upset. If I could have seen into his mind, I would have heard him think . . .
Evermore, resistance builds. How long will it take before they have had enough of my love? In Nazareth, I was almost thrown over a cliff. In Chorazin . . . in Chorazin again, my life forfeit to a fiction (Hercules). What is next? And for what? Healing? Speaking to them of my Father?
Jesus shook his head, wearily, as if shaking off consternation. The dog lifted his head and placed a paw on the Master’s foot. He looked up at Jesus and was rewarded with a scratch and Jesus rewarded in turn with an affectionate lick on his hand.
Healing. Sometimes it is there, sometimes it isn’t.
He thought for a moment of the young leper. Hardly more than a boy. He remembered when he was in his early twenties. The woodshop. His brothers and sisters, His mother and father. The smell of freshly shaved wood. He remembered the accident. Milcah had scalded her hand when a boiling pot had fallen. Ugly blisters formed quickly, her hand quickly reddened, skin died and separated. She had screamed in pain. Jesus ran to her assistance from the shop and found her holding her wrist, pale and ready to feint. Mary darted about looking for something, anything to help. Some way to help her daughter. Jesus took Milcah and held her arm. Then he took the injured hand in both of his and held it tenderly. “Jesus, no!” from Mary. Instantly, the pain left and Milcah sobered from her tears. When she looked at her hand, it was as though it were never wet, never scalded. It was the first healing. Unexpected. He had not thought of healing when it took place. Just a sense of urgency to comfort his sister. It just happened. Another event further defining his difference from other men. It was not a public miracle like the wine at the wedding, just a private family crisis. No one knew except of course, those that loved him.
Sometimes it is there, sometimes it isn’t.
Abishag suddenly barked, on her feet and trotting to the door. Noises outside. People talking, shouting. Andrew rose looked out the window. “People are coming. A lot of them,” he said anxiously. “It looks like they are led by . . . Pharisees!” Before he could finish, there was a sharp rap at the door. Abishag incessant. More loud talking, “Someone hush that animal!” Jesus rose to meet the intruders, the dog trotted to his side, whining.
Andrew opened the door and there stood Rabbi Asher, splendid in his ceremonial robes, which unlike the disciples of Hillel, he wore habitually. Asher followed the teachings of Rabbi Shammai, Hillel’s great rival and whose school was less popular and associated with extreme zealots. Shammai was intense, meticulous and foreboding, while Hillel never seemed to take himself too seriously. Rumor had it that a gentile wished to be converted, but on the condition that he be taught the whole Torah while standing on one foot. Shammai refused. Hillel is reported to have raised one foot and said, “What is hateful to you, do not to your neighbor, that is the central truth of the Torah. The rest is commentary.”
The disciple of Shammai demanded to see Jesus. “What for?” inquired Andrew warily. Asher glared at him.
“Let him in, Andrew,” from Jesus within the house. “Let us welcome our esteemed visitor from the Sanhedrin. Bring water,” Jesus continued, “Wash his feet and those of his companions. They are weary from travel.”
Asher, surprised at his welcome and hospitable treatment, softened. but not over much. “Your fame has traveled all the way to Jerusalem, Rabbi ben . . . Joseph, is it?” The reference to his father was perhaps an unrelenting reminder that Jesus was after all, the son of a carpenter. Not at all on Asher’s level of theological or intellectual sophistication. “I and my friends have come all this way to Capharnaum to hear you for ourselves.” His ‘friends’ were the others in his entourage, other Pharisees, scribes and teachers of the law.
Jesus looked at them and smiled, “Your companions are welcome, Asher. Please,” said Jesus gesturing, “all of you . . . take a seat here among us.” Asher and his friends, the local officials from the synagogue and other rabbis from the region sullenly found places to sit or recline. Their presence in Capharnaum had attracted a crowd of the curious, but there were many others there. Since Jesus had healed the leper in Chorazin, his reputation as a healer had increased immensely. His name was on the lips of all who lived in and about the region of Galilee and for many miles beyond. Some came from as far as Tyre and Sidon, coastal cities of the Great Sea in the region of Phoenicia. And, as Asher had said, Jerusalem was buzzing, too. Most were merely curious, many were cynical, but the largest crowd was considering the possibility that God, through this gentle Prophet, had come in some mystical form of visitation. There were people waiting outside Peter’s home through the night. They slept on the ground or in crudely constructed temporary shelters, hoping they would get a glimpse of Jesus or should their good fortune have it, be actually touched and healed by him. The crowd outside Peter’s home while Asher and his ensemble were inside numbered several thousand. They pressed as close to the doors and windows as possible, waiting for Jesus to appear.
“Well, young Jesus ben Joseph,” Asher began. “You seem to have caused a tumult amongst the people. We haven’t had a thing like this since the Maccabean uproar.”
“You need not speak to me as if I were fourteen, Asher,” said Jesus. “First, you are not that much older than me and second, I am not a snarling dog so allay your fears and third, I have no political interests. I have come to reveal the loving heart of God toward his people. Why should you come all the way from Jerusalem just to learn that?”
“Let me understand,” said Asher. “You are the son of a carpenter, isn’t that correct?”
“So you keep reminding me.”
“How then do you purport to speak for God? Are not all the rabbis and priests of Israel enough? Are not all the scribes and teachers of the law adequate to the task? How is it that a carpenter’s son draws such crowds? Neither Hillel nor Shammai ever achieved such fame in so short of time. How is it that hands so accustomed to labor can cleanse the skin of a leper? Or turn water into . . .” Asher’s eyebrow lifted, “what was it, wine?”
“And a quality wine at that,” said a voice in the room.
“Is it so remarkable that God who calls the stars by name can do such things with a carpenter’s son?” Jesus replied. “Tell me indeed Rabbi Asher, why are not our synagogues filled with seekers thirsting for God? Why do we not there find the crowds you see standing outside this home?”
“The answer is clear,” said Asher. “Their minds are benighted. The people do not appropriately appreciate sound biblical teaching. That is why our synagogues are empty. There is no mystery in that.”
“I rather think,” said Jesus, “the sandal fits better on the other foot. Is it not because they do not find what they come to seek? They thirst for righteousness and you give them platitudes. They hunger for the Father’s love and you give them law.”
“Let me quote Rabbi Shammai,” said Asher stiffly, “‘Never trust anyone who speaks overmuch of love.’ You refer to Moses as if his writings were something less than what we have known and followed for millennia. You speak of the law of God as if it were not to be obeyed.”
“You have followed Moses?” Jesus smiled benignly, “Come Asher, we both know better than that.” The rabbi’s eyes clouded and averted. Suddenly he was no longer comfortable. Before his discomfort gave way to a defensive retort, he was rescued by a distraction. There came noise from the roof. Feet pounding on the shingles. Many feet. Scratches. Blows. Someone, more accurately -- several -- men were trying to break through the roof of Peter’s home. Abishag was instantly on her feet announcing to all who would listen. Dust and debris fell from the ceiling as shingles and stones were removed.
“What are you doing to my roof?” Peter cried to no avail. A break in the ceiling grew into a shaped opening. The men worked with determination and soon they had a substantial hole approximately four feet square. Peter tried to go outside, to make his way through the crowd in order to stop the destruction of his home, but the press was too great. He could only stand helplessly and watch. As he watched, four men swung or dragged a large blanket to the opening. Attached to its four corners were ropes and in the contraption lay a human form. Slowly, they lowered the person to the floor so that it was clear a severely paralyzed man lay on the blanket before Jesus, debris scattered about.
The man’s body lay absolutely motionless. He seemed a compilation of flesh and tissue rather than a man. His arms and legs contractured and flaccid. His head rolled from one side to the other. He could not close his mouth. His deformed and misshapen body. His bones, such as they were, poked at his skin creating grotesque angles. His chest heaved with difficulty. He looked as though he could not live much longer. Eyes glazed. Eyelids half open, half shut. He was unaware of the crowd. Unaware of Jesus. He was, in a word, inert, a candidate for a quick and merciful death.
The men who had lowered him looked down through the opening above. “Heal him, Master,” his voice choked. “We know you can do it. He is our brother, his mother’s youngest of five sons.” What Jesus saw in the eyes of these men moved him deeply. Their belief in him, their determination, their faith could not go unrewarded. He said therefore, to the man on the floor, “Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven.”
The words were spoken only to the sick man but loud enough for Asher, sitting close by, to hear. “What?” he whispered with alarm to a colleague, “He blasphemes! Who can forgive sins but God alone?”
The eyes of Jesus shifted slowly from the man on the floor until he had fixed the disciple of Shammai with his gaze, “You entertain evil thoughts Asher. Which is easier to say to this poor man whose muscles have not been used in years, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Get up and walk’?” The Rabbi’s mouth opened as if to answer, but words would not come. “So that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins,” Jesus turned and spoke to the deformed flesh on the floor, “Get up on your feet sir, take your mat and go to your family who loves you.”
As Asher and those who stood and sat close by watched, flaccid muscles immediately began before their eyes to take on tone. The man’s mouth that was open, closed. His head ceased lolling back and forth. For the first time in the years since his strength had vanished, it returned. He sat up for a moment and while others gasped, he then stood, breathing evenly. He looked down at his body holding out his hands. He looked then at Jesus in wonder. He looked out at the crowd and his mouth broke into a hesitant smile. He tried to laugh. Surprised that he could, he laughed softly. It came easily and comfortably to him. “L-L-L-Look,” he cried. “I-I am whole!” He breathed as if he couldn’t catch his breath, and then he shouted in increasing decibels, “Ah! AH!” He exclaimed, “Yes! I am healed! Praise be to God!” Then he took his blanket, gathered the ropes about and began to make his way to the door. The crowd parted to let him through. The man who had been paralyzed for years, got up and went home, his sins forgiven to the bone.
Some said with amazement, “We have seen remarkable things today,” and they felt excited joy in God, that he would give such ability and such authority to a man.
Some of them did. Asher and his friends could only stare — as if the man’s paralysis now clung to them.
