And He Healed Them All: Second Edition

by Jeffrey McClain Jones

  Walter looked squarely at me. “You know, this dream is almost better than actually being there. If I were really there, I would’ve had to ask dozens of questions to learn half of what I could observe in this sort of out-of-body presence.”

  He stared at window. At times, as he continued narrating the dream, I wondered if he remembered that I was even in the room.

  “This amazing crowd included groups of people who despised one another. I could tell that there were some long-standing differences among them: rich and poor, Jew and Gentile, people from regions near and far. I could see the suspicion in the narrowed eyes of a small group of Samaritans as Jews from nearby Jerusalem surrounded them. Disgust twisted the faces of Jews who bumped up against Romans. The children just stared at all the strangers who would likely never have bothered to come into their little villages.

  “I suppose it was a sign of their desperation that these parochial people would put up with the mixed crowd they found themselves in. For me, not affiliated with anyone in that crowd, it was simply a marvelous oddity to see the array of cultures and hear the various dialects and languages. Yes, I could understand what they were saying, as if they all spoke English, but as is the way of dreams, I knew at the same time that they were not speaking any language I understood.

  “Anyway, these people pressed toward the top of the hill, held at bay by the bulwark of men guarding the teacher. The bodyguards held their ground, in spite of people pushing at them and shouting over their heads, calling out requests for help, cries for healing for themselves or for friends or family they’d brought with them. Apparently the people at the front had diseases or injuries that didn’t prevent them from pushing past hundreds of others to reach the front of the mob.

  “Inside the small enclave, the teacher stepped up on a half-buried boulder and raised his hands to silence the crowd. As though he were a choir director with a well-trained chorus, they all became instantly quiet—not totally silent, of course, but enough to hear his voice ring out over them.

  “He didn’t strike me as a remarkable man in terms of his physical appearance. But his bearing commanded the attention of everyone. When he stood up on that rock, I imagine most of the people were seeing him for the first time.

  “I think I can recall most of his words. He said, ‘Brothers and sisters, I know that you have come to be healed today. And you will not be disappointed. But I must ask you to be patient so that all who are in need can be taken care of in good time. Please be aware of those around you, and be careful not to hurt one another. There are already plenty of things to heal here without causing further injury to anyone.’

  “Many laughed when he said this, but I think it was mostly relief inspired by his promise that they would not be disappointed. Once the laughter died down, he continued.

  “‘Follow the directions of my friends here as they lead you to where I can touch you and again as they lead you away. They will help you and will answer any questions you may have.’

  “At this I saw at least one of his disciples look at him with a scowl. I wondered whether he had made this assurance as a sort of tease to them, but that wasn’t clear to me.

  “The crowd seemed to settle into his instructions, but only for a few seconds. Soon after he stepped down from his perch on that boulder, a disturbance began working its way through the clot of people near the top of that hill. Insane noises emanated from a swirling current in the crowd, with people exclaiming and cursing in return as they were tossed aside to make way for a circus-like formation of men plowing through. As the disturbance neared the circle of the teacher’s friends, one who had been holding back the crowd shouted and backed away in shock. Another raised his fist as though to beat back the intruders, but he just stood in stunned stillness at the sight before him.

  “A man, no more than a hundred thirty pounds, thrashed, cursed, and spat as four burly men dragged him by ropes. Leather straps had been buckled to the man, intended to protect him from the ropes cutting into him, I expect, though in more than one place I could see redness that warned of deep lacerations if this struggle continued.

  “The teacher pushed through his friends while the onlookers spilled back to stay clear of the mad man’s flailing arms and legs. The four men restraining him appeared to be Gentiles, dark skinned, perhaps from points west, such as Egypt or Libya. The small man they were attempting to contain seemed to be from no earthly place. His eyes bulged impossibly wide so that they were nearly entirely exposed. His face was so dark red as to be nearly black, though his captors did not seem to be strangling him in any way. I felt profound terror when I saw this. Even though I knew I wasn’t physically there. I felt fear deep inside, as if that horrid man was transmitting it, as if he broadcast fear when he spun and kicked.

  “The teacher stepped up to the captive and spoke sharply, but with no hint of fear or panic. ‘Stop!’ He said, as if commanding a misbehaving dog.

  “At his command, the man stopped thrashing and stood dead still, his wild eyes locked on the eyes of the teacher. As they stood face-to-face, the man’s countenance changed remarkably. His color faded to nearly normal and his eyes became human and no longer protruded so bizarrely. It was like the shadow of a cloud passed, allowing the sun to shine through. But then the madness returned, doubly intense. The madman tossed his four captors violently, two of the ropes snapped and the other two were wrenched from the captors’ hands. The lunatic seemed to levitate as he screamed and thrashed.

  “Through all this, standing before him, unmoved, the teacher kept his eyes fixed on the insane man. Again he issued a simple command. ‘Come out of him right now.’ He spoke not to the man, but to the cloud that seemed to shroud him. Again it left him. But this time the man fell flat on his face as if tackled from behind. He lay perfectly still.

  “People in the crowd looked around, as if searching for the one who had knocked him unconscious like that. Was it the teacher, or one of the men who had dragged him there?

  “After a moment, the man got to his hands and knees; then he pulled himself up so that he knelt before the teacher. He rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, wiping away tears. He began speaking like a man in full charge of his wits. ‘I left my wife and child years ago. A growing madness was stealing my life. I lost my job. I feared that, in my rage, I would harm my wife and son, so I left to protect them and to try to find work in nearby towns, where my reputation for a violent temper was unknown.’ He fell to his face again before the teacher. ‘I miss my family!’

  “‘Help him to his feet,’ the teacher said. One of his brawny keepers bent down to take the arm of the prone man, who stirred, and then raised himself to his hands and knees again.

  “Finally, he stood before the teacher, though he hung his head and slumped his shoulders. ‘I lived like a dog, totally out of my mind.’ He raised his eyes and looked into the gentle face of the teacher.

  “The former lunatic fell into the embrace of his deliverer. The teacher whispered into the man’s ear. I couldn’t hear what he said. But the man listened intently, like someone receiving detailed instructions from a mentor and friend. He nodded as he stepped back and received the approving smile of the healer, offering emphatic thanks.

  “The man turned and began to push his way patiently, but persistently, through the crowd. ‘I’m going home! I’m going to see my wife and child!’

  “The crowd parted. Some patted him on the back as he passed. But mostly they watched silently as the liberated man slipped past them. They stood breathless for just a moment, recovering from the fear the demented man had stirred. Then, as if communicating wordlessly from one end of the crowd to the other, the people turned and surged toward the teacher. However, they didn’t threaten to crush the teacher and his friends, rather they leaned in, like obedient children restraining their excitement over a gift they’re about to receive.

  “The teacher addressed a woman I hadn’t noticed before. ‘Leah,’ he said to her. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an
O at hearing her name. She was clearly startled that he knew it. Then he spoke to someone else, or something else. He used words I couldn’t understand, as if in some language that my dream couldn’t translate. Instantly, Leah screamed as if stabbed with pain. Then she fell silent, standing and holding on to the extended arms of the teacher, steadying herself. She laughed, and her laughter splashed onto those near her and in turn to those beyond them, until hundreds of people laughed together, a great relieved laughter of people bonded together in an emotional trauma, still recovering from the demented man’s display, I expect.

  “The teacher released her, and she wobbled a moment, until she put her arms around a man next to her. He looked on her in adoration then spoke to the teacher. ‘Thank you, teacher. I brought my wife in hopes that you would heal her of the headaches that had bent and broken her daily.’ He laughed and cried. He put his arm around his wife and turned to leave.

  “The teacher caught hold of his arm, preventing him from fully turning away. ‘And what would you have me do for you?’

  “As if surprised to find that he had an answer to that question, he replied. ‘My ear; I can’t hear—’

  “The teacher cupped the husband’s left ear with one hand.

  “A second later, the man jerked away from the teacher’s touch as if he’d received an electric shock. His face brightened. He covered his other ear and reported. ‘I can hear. I can hear out of this ear now!’

  “To the teacher’s right, a few of his friends, including two women, were helping those who couldn’t stand. Stretcher-bearers lowered their charges to the ground in rows so that the teacher had room to move between the crippled and seriously ill who lay there awaiting his attention. I hadn’t noticed those women before or that more than the twelve men comprised his security crew. The helpers, both men and women, moved automatically, as if familiar with their tasks, only sparse communication among them. They arranged broken and withered bodies while uttering reassurances and giving orders alternately. They reminded me of hospital personnel, trying to strike a balance between professional efficiency and personal compassion.

  “As I think about it now, the teacher always seemed to have a clear idea about what to do next. Before him stood a multitude of people with a wide variety of needs. They leaned toward him, longing for immediate help; however, it seemed he had an agenda. Though maybe agenda isn’t the right word; at least he seemed to know what he wanted to do next. He didn’t always simply turn to the next person in line; rather, he seemed to choose someone he wanted to touch or speak to.

  “At one point in the wall of people before him, four women stood together, clutching one another like people on a wildly rocking boat, though they stood on solid, stony ground. They stared at the teacher as if he were a dangerous animal. Others around them were calling out, some even pushing forward. But these four—who clearly had arrived early enough to establish a front place in the crowd—now seemed to shrink back. The teacher held out his hands as he approached them. They eyed his hands.

  “‘Sisters, which of you is sick?’ When none answered, he tried again. ‘Who is the one called Rachel?’

  “At that, they stepped back slightly into the forest of humanity pushing in behind them. But one hesitated, not pulling back as quickly as the others. I figured she must be Rachel.

  “All four of these women must have been attractive at one time, but now they looked hard, like they’d lived a rough life that had scarred them. They wore the look of abused women: eyes downcast, heads slightly turned as if checking for an escape route. The one called Rachel looked feverish, even haggard; her long hair straggled out of her sweat-stained head covering. Her hollow eyes and furrowed brows conveyed a silent desperation.

  “The teacher stepped up to her and touched her face. He stroked her forehead and then cupped her cheek. Rachel fell to the ground, as though she’d fainted. Her three companions gasped. The teacher knelt and helped her sit up. He looked from Rachel up to the three other women. ‘Yes, I know who you are, and what you do to earn bread and a place to sleep. I know this disease is a curse of your profession. And I know who you are beyond what you do.’

  “His words seemed to break through their defenses. They began to weep uncontrollably. The teacher kissed the forehead of Rachel before standing up. Again, she fell back as if in a faint. While she lay at his feet, he touched each of the three other women on the shoulder or forehead. He seemed to be blessing them in some way. They continued to weep.

  “Rachel began to stir and gathered herself to stand. She dusted off her clothing and then, with the help of her friends, stood. She stared down at her once colorful garments. She quickly wrapped her outer cloak around her. It wasn’t a cold day, but she seemed to be trying to conceal the gaudy clothing of her profession. I smiled because her action demonstrated modesty, probably something she and her friends hadn’t considered for years. She gestured, as if trying to find words with her hands. Finally, she spoke, her eyes wide with discovery. ‘I’m well. I feel so much better. I am healed!’ She declared it for all to hear.

  “At that point, I noticed that those standing immediately around the women had pulled back from the healed prostitute. Some scowled in her direction and whispered among themselves while shaking their heads. I overheard things like, ‘Could this be right, for the teacher to heal such as these? Could this be from God?’ Then I understood that Rachel was declaring something she was sure others wouldn’t believe she deserved.

  “That’s when I spotted a rabbi, a synagogue teacher. The smallish man with long, gray-streaked whiskers wore a black head covering characteristic of his office. He stood among the skeptics. He shook his head, watching the teacher, glowering with pursed lips. He made a move as if to turn away but stopped when the teacher approached him directly and interrupted his retreat. The teacher cocked his head slightly to one side when their eyes met, as if examining the other man’s reaction and waiting for the religious leader to utter his conclusions.

  “The rabbi finally spoke. ‘The way you healed that woman . . . and blessed the other three is expressly forbidden. They are unclean. The Law says that anyone who touches an unclean thing is therefore also unclean.’

  “The teacher nodded slightly but asked a question. ‘And what would you have me do for you? I know that you had concluded I am a prophet from God, and my healing power comes from God. But now you question it because I touched and healed these women.’

  “If I was surprised that the teacher knew the thoughts of the rabbi, the religious man must have been doubly amazed, for he opened his mouth to speak, yet nothing came out. The rabbi closed his gaping mouth, shook his head again, and clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “The teacher stepped closer to him. He peered deeply into the old man’s eyes, as though searching for something. ‘You can no longer read the Scriptures. You came here to ask for your sight to be restored.’

  “‘How do you know about me?’

  “The teacher watched the rabbi back away. He glanced briefly toward the sky and nodded. ‘You don’t have to resign yourself to dependence on students reading to you, to no longer exercise the rabbi’s greatest privilege of reading the Torah for himself.’

  “The rabbi stopped dead in his tracks, tottered for a moment, and almost fell over. He reached out with both hands, as if feeling for something to grab hold of. At first, I thought that perhaps he had suddenly been struck blind, that God had punished him in response to his rejection of the teacher. He staggered and squinted. Then his eyes grew wide and he swung his head first one way then the other. He held his wrinkled old hand in front of his face, turning it front to back. He seemed fascinated with it. He broke into a smile. Then he spun back toward the teacher.

  “By then the teacher was holding the head of an old man and seemed to be speaking into the top of it. The rabbi watched as the old man suddenly straightened, let out a small cry, and looked at the teacher. ‘I can see! The fogginess is gone. I can see!’ He raised his hands toward heaven and s
houted, ‘Glory to God in the highest!’

  “The teacher looked toward the rabbi and raised his eyebrows.

  “The rabbi stepped closer, shaking his head slightly, his new eyes wide open under his bushy eyebrows. He hesitated a moment and then turned to walk away. As he resumed his path, he bumped into a woman who was dancing joyously, lost in praising God. The rabbi stumbled and then regained his balance. The young woman stopped her dance to check that she had not injured the older man. Their eyes met. Eye-to-eye with the rabbi stood the prostitute, Rachel. She breathed a sigh, perhaps that she hadn’t hurt the old rabbi, or maybe she let go of some kind of emotional burden. As for the rabbi, he turned back to his path, but this time with a small straight smile.

  “I don’t know what he would have thought about the next healing, however, for a tax collector stepped forward to be healed, a well-dressed collaborator with Rome, taking money from Israel that should have gone to a Jewish king and to the temple. Certainly, the rabbi would have thought this tax collector as unclean as those prostitutes.

  “The tax collector told the teacher his name was Jacob. He held his stomach, his pale face pinched as if in great pain. In fact, he paused for a moment and vomited blood onto the ground in front of the teacher. The teacher pursed his lips and waited for the tax collector to wipe his mouth with a rag that was stained with blood and bile. Weakened, Jacob fell to his knees.

  “The teacher patted Jacob’s cheek gently and then reached down for his stomach. He declared, with authority, like a command to the stomach. ‘Restoration!’

  “The tax collector groaned and then drew in a tremendous breath. Healthy color infused Jacob’s face, which had suddenly softened. His breathing eased. He stood and then hesitated, as if checking himself. He seemed convinced that he wasn’t going to be sick. His matted and tangled beard flexed, as a wide grin stretched across his face. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you, so much. God bless you.’