And He Healed Them All: Second Edition

by Jeffrey McClain Jones

  “The teacher knelt down before her. ‘How righteous would you have to be to deserve God’s healing? How good would you have to be before you wouldn’t have to apologize for asking for God’s help?’

  “The three girls stared down at him with their mouths slightly open. They looked like three carefully carved dolls, whose maker was in a strange mood the day he made them, so beautifully perfect and yet looking so confounded by what they were seeing and hearing.

  “The teacher put one hand on each side of her ankle. She had firm thin legs, tapering to what had once been a petite ankle. The injured ankle was now gray, green, and blue, and swollen larger than her knee, which I could just glimpse as she lifted her leg slightly. Modest women who could see this covered their mouths, perhaps afraid that the teacher would be corrupted by such beauty, or maybe afraid that their own shame at being a woman would be exposed like that one thin dancer’s leg. The teacher didn’t act shy; he didn’t hesitate to touch people, even the delicate ankle of a harem dancer. He even seemed unconcerned that he might hurt the swollen ankle.

  “I saw the reverent stillness with which the girl received the touch of this holy man. And she spoke. ‘Why do you touch me? Surely you know what life is like in that pagan palace. You know what things I am obligated to do there.’

  “The teacher made no response.

  “To my surprise, the dancer began to laugh. ‘Oh,’ she said as if suddenly out of breath. She tottered as laughter took over, and laughed until she could make no more sound. Evidently, she no longer felt pain, for when the teacher released her ankle, gone was the swelling and discoloration, and the girl was able to fully stand on it.

  “Immediately he stood and addressed the girl on her left. ‘And what about you?’

  “She stared wide-eyed. Shaking her head, she took half a step back. ‘But I have no injury; my feet and legs feel fine. I—’

  “‘Not that, of course, but the other thing that you dare not ask.’

  “All color drained from her face. She turned to her two friends. The one whose ankle had been healed nudged her, still recovering from her laughter. ‘Go ahead. Tell him. He’ll heal you so you won’t be thrown out of the palace, or killed.’ She pressed her hand on her friend’s back, pushing her forward.

  “The teacher looked at the girl he’d just healed. ‘Put your hand near the place.’ She seemed to check with her friend first and then gingerly reached inside her friend’s cloak below the golden sash. The ailing girl stood statue still and staring, her eyes wide.

  “The teacher said, ‘Don’t be afraid. No one will know your secret. And soon there will be no secret for them to know.’ He gently placed his hand on her shoulder and the first girl exclaimed and jerked her hand away. She examined her fingertips as if she expected some mark from a cut or burn.

  Her friend grabbed her own stomach. ‘Oh! I felt that. I feel it. Something’s happening. I know it’s well. I am well!’

  “She appeared startled. She had just been there to help her friend. Her large dark eyes, framed carefully in makeup, turned liquid with tears.

  “She uttered a breathless, ‘Thank you.’

  “I couldn’t help but think that her life was changed in that moment. Even if she went back to the palace, even if she danced before the king and his guests, and if she took part in the drunken orgies that followed, she would still know what it was like to be genuinely and purely loved.

  “All three dancers thanked the teacher before they wove their way back into the crowd to return to their royal lives, but they didn’t get far before encountering a circle of women who had been healed and were dancing in celebration. At first, the three girls stood by watching and smiling. Then a woman, about thirty years old, extended a hand to the girl nearest her.

  “This was, of course, not the kind of dancing the girls did in Herod’s palace, but they had been young girls once; they had surely danced at weddings, at bar mitzvahs, and births. They couldn’t, however, dance in their cloaks. I suppose they scandalized many in the crowd when they cast them aside. But, for a few moments, they danced like little girls, for sheer joy and celebration.

  “My attention went back to the teacher, who was holding a boy’s wrist, watching a smile spread across his young face. Next to the boy stood a young woman who appeared to be far along in a pregnancy. Finishing with the boy, the teacher turned to her.

  “She held one hand on her stomach; strain tightened the muscles of her face. A man stood behind her, holding her shoulders. His face wore the same tight look.

  “‘What’s wrong?’ the teacher said.

  “‘The child has not moved for ten days now,’ the woman said.

  “The teacher looked from her stomach to her face and to the man with her, who must have been her husband. The teacher rested one hand on the mother’s stomach, next to her hand. He paused for a few seconds. ‘What will you name him?’

  “The couple stared at him, silent, as if unable to breath; he stared at the swollen belly as though seeing the hidden child. The man gathered his wits. ‘Zebulon. We would name the child Zebulon if it was a boy.’

  “The teacher nodded once, but he seemed preoccupied. The parents exchanged concerned looks.

  “To their surprise, he spoke directly to the baby, ‘Zebulon, wake up!’

  “Immediately, both the teacher’s and the mother’s hands moved. ‘Oh, my!’ she said.

  “The teacher smiled broadly.

  “When the teacher removed his hand, the father ventured to put his hand there. Right away, his eyes brightened, clearly feeling the movement of his child. He smiled and sighed, a picture of relief. He lost that smile, however, in the next moment.

  “The mother moaned and grimaced. ‘Oh, my.’ But this time her voice carried alarm instead of relief. ‘I feel something.’

  “‘This is your first child?’

  “‘Yes.’ Alarm rose in her voice.

  “‘Well, Zebulon is awake and it’s time for him to be born.’

  “The parents stared at him. The father spoke. ‘You’re saying he is to be born . . . now?’

  “The teacher turned to one of his friends who stood to his left. ‘Find a midwife, Thaddeus—now.’

  “Thaddeus’s eyes were as large those of the parents. He said nothing, but launched into the crowd. His voice cracked as he called out, ‘Is there a midwife here? Is anyone a midwife?’

  “The teacher motioned for the parents to follow Thaddeus. ‘Go with him. Everything will be fine.’ Then he caught the father’s arm. ‘You must raise this boy to be a leader among his people. He will be headstrong, but God will use that to the advantage of His purpose.’

  “The baby’s father nodded. He managed to say, ‘Thank you,’ before he followed his wife into the crowd in Thaddeus’s wake.

  “Already I could hear two women responding to Thaddeus’s calls and giving instructions to other people to do one thing or another.

  “The teacher let the commotion pass before turning to a plump little woman who opened her mouth to speak, but the teacher preempted her.

  “‘Aren’t you a midwife?

  “‘Why, yes.’ She sounded surprised.

  “‘Then you should go with them; they will need your help.’

  “She nodded and turned to obey, but paused to reach quickly for her left ear. ‘Oh, listen. I can hear now!’ She faced the teacher. ‘My ear is healed!’ she said, as if he too should be surprised. He smiled and nodded.

  “The woman laughed and began telling everyone she passed what had happened, even as she pushed her way toward the place that was being prepared for Zebulon’s birth.”

  Walter stopped there. He hesitated a moment.

  Waiting politely for him to finish his transition from the dream, I looked out of the broad windows to my right at a cold, but bright and sunny, day. I didn’t want to interrupt that transition, as if fearing some ill effect— like waking a sleep walker.

  After a moment, his focus landed back in the room, a thin smile on h
is lips, which appeared dry. “How was church this morning?”

  I had told him of my plans to join Jillian that morning. “Better than I had hoped. I see why Jillian attends there, as do quite a few other counselors and social workers. Her church seems to have the kind of emotional sensitivity and honesty that she demonstrates every day.”

  “How does it feel to give up a Sunday morning?”

  I smiled. “Oh, that’s not much of a loss, especially compared with reconnecting with God and doing that alongside Jillian.”

  “I’ve been thinking lately. I wonder what church would be like if people could see what Jesus did firsthand, like I’m seeing.”

  From his restful, blue eyes and slight smile, I knew he wasn’t taking a shot at churches, but asking an honest question. I knew his underlying concern had to do with the gap between the Jesus he was seeing healing all those people, even reviving the dead, and the Jesus folded and pressed into our churches. But I felt disqualified just then to say anything against anybody else’s view of Jesus. I was still dealing with the great extent to which my own faith needed resuscitating.

  Walter studied me and then faced the window when I didn’t venture an answer. “Maybe you and Jillian will get a chance to see what such a church would be like, starting with the two of you.”

  My mind rushed to questions in four directions at once, none of which I felt easy about pursuing. Why just me and Jillian, and not Walter too? Did he expect the dreams to affect Jillian and me in some particular way? Could Jillian and I actually have an impact on her church, or any church? Did Walter have some foreknowledge about my future with Jillian?

  I think he could see my wheels spinning. He settled my frenetic internal inquisition.

  “All in due time, my friend, all in due time. You’ve really just started down this path.”

  I knew he was right about that.

  Chapter Nine

  Tipping over the Edge

  The next morning, while I sat in my office scrutinizing a freshman ethics paper, Walter called me.

  “Hello, James. I had to call you. I had another dream last night. I just finished recording all I could on that little gizmo you gave me.”

  I leaned back in my chair, happy to get some distance from that awkward and incomprehensible paper in front of me. “Does it feel like this is gonna go on forever?”

  “Actually, this dream seemed to open the prospect of an end in sight, a hint that He can’t keep this up forever.”

  Before I could ask what he meant by that a knock at my door interrupted that trip back into the world of Walter’s dreams. The department secretary brought me a message and a late paper from one of my students. I also needed to prepare for my next class, so I had to say good-bye and wait to hear more of Walter’s dream, an extremely unsatisfying start to my day. In fact, by late afternoon I couldn’t take it any longer and skipped a department meeting to visit Walter.

  I called Jillian to tell her I was on my way over. By the time I’d arrive, she was already in Walter’s room, standing next to him. He sat near the window and the heating vent. He faced her, the picture of a submissive patient.

  They both greeted me, but Jillian stuck to her business, addressing Walter.

  “Let’s see how your grip is.” She took his hands in hers the same way I’d seen Walter’s physician do when he’d tested Walter’s grip after the stroke.

  “Now squeeze hard with both hands.”

  Walter squeezed. He and Jillian exchanged a smile.

  “You’re holding back, aren’t you?” she said.

  Walter’s grin grew a bit bigger, his eyes apologetic. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  Jillian pronounced her diagnosis. “He has pretty much full strength in both hands now.”

  “Would you mind walking for us a bit?” she said.

  “If you folks haven’t anything better to do than watch me stroll back and forth.” He leaned forward and pushed himself out of the chair.

  I tried to check with Jillian, wondering whether I should be ready to catch him if he stumbled. She seemed unconcerned, her arms crossed as she watched Walter shuffle to the door and back to his chair.

  He raised both hands waist high. “Tada!”

  A week before he’d managed just a few feet with the aid of two people, but his gate had become nearly normal, for a sedentary man in his eighties.

  Walter seemed to be studying me when I stopped watching his feet and caught sight of his laughing eyes. “Well, how do you explain that?”

  I chuckled. “How indeed?”

  After we all settled back down, Jillian stuck around for the start of Walter’s next dream narration.

  Seated in his recliner, Walter took a sip of water then began. “The disciples made a ring around the teacher as he reached a low rock suitable for rest. They were explaining to those waiting that the teacher was tired and needed to sit down for a while to recuperate. They gave him bread and wine and water to refresh him. He took a deep breath and stretched his legs out in front of him, wiggling his toes to loosen them up after so much kneeling and squatting and standing on uneven ground. He flexed his shoulders to loosen them and to relax his neck and back.

  “When he had rested for a couple of minutes, he stood and pushed his friends ahead of him, James and John in the lead. With his hands and his voice, he urged them to walk toward the lake. They wound their way through the crowd until he asked James and John to step aside. They had reached a group of Levites standing together, two older men with priestly tassels on their robes, and a group of younger men and boys who accompanied them.

  “‘You have brought these to be healed?’ The teacher addressed one of the old priests, indicating the group of young men and boys standing and sitting around him.

  “‘Yes, teacher, these are some of the boys and young men from our clan, the ones who cannot serve in the temple because of blemishes and defects.’

  “The teacher nodded. His warm gaze and peaceful smile radiated sympathy toward the men before him.

  “‘You, who would serve my Father in the temple, have desired the most important thing. And my Father doesn’t withhold such blessings from his children.’ He raised his hands toward those would-be priests and prayed what I understood to be the traditional prayer of priestly consecration. The men and boys before him stared breathlessly or bowed their heads. First two of the older ones made small, restrained exclamations, then another, and then three in quick succession. The teacher didn’t touch any of them. Instead, he held up his hands as a sign of blessing and prayed through that traditional Hebrew prayer. When he reached the Amen, every one of those Levitical heirs stood demonstrating or exclaiming about being healed from his blemish or deformity, from birthmarks to missing fingers, from uneven legs to cleft lips. He healed them all.

  “When he finished, a brief pause was shattered by a great shout from the group of men around him. They shouted inarticulate praise and turned to show their friends, brothers, or fathers what had happened to them.

  “‘Thank you, teacher,’ one said. ‘May the King of Heaven bless you, teacher,’ another said. ‘Praise God for blessing his servants through his anointed one,’ said the eldest of the priests, the one who had brought his followers, sons, and nephews to see the teacher.

  “The teacher clasped hands with the old priest, and they embraced.

  “At that moment a woman pushed her way through the men and boys. She patted one young man on the cheek and smiled through tears at another. She carried a basket under one arm. Bowing her head, she flexed her knees. ‘Teacher, thank you for what you’ve done for our husbands and brothers and sons. Thank you for blessing our clan and our whole village.’ She presented him with the basket. ‘These are raisin cakes, and honey cakes for you and your disciples.’

  “The teacher’s friends couldn’t rival the cheers of the priests, but they were very thankful for the food. Some of them pushed Matthew toward the teacher and the basket. ‘Get him some first; he’s weak without food,’ An
drew said; and Matthew, quite pale and uncommunicative, shuffled through the crush to where the teacher was pulling cakes out of the basket, which Peter now held. Matthew reminded me, in his blank stare and slow movements, of the way my brother used to be when his blood sugar was low.

  “‘Matthew.’ Peter handed him a raisin cake.

  “The teacher caught the cake as Matthew fumbled it. The teacher held the cake steady for Matthew to take a bite of it. When the shaky tax collector took that first bite—even as he began to chew it—his eyes widened and he stood up straight, obviously revived. Then he stopped chewing and looked at the teacher, who still held up the raisin cake. Matthew smiled as if he had just discovered a trick that had been played on him.

  “Peter and the others clapped Matthew on the back, and said things like, ‘What took you so long?’ and ‘You should have had him feed you a long time ago.’ The teacher smiled amidst the teasing and celebration. But a commotion about fifty yards from where he stood seized his attention.

  “Several women wailed. A cloud of dust rose as a dozen men pushed and shouted, maneuvering into position around someone or something. It was too crowded and too far away to see what was taking place. ‘Bartholomew, go check on that, please,’ the teacher said.

  “Bartholomew hurried toward the commotion.

  “As the teacher finished healing the cleft lip of a little girl, Bartholomew returned, with another man following him. ‘Teacher, a boy has fallen into a crevice among some rocks over there. He seems to be stuck fifteen or twenty feet below the surface.’

  “The teacher patted the head of the little girl with the healed lip as her mother thanked him. He headed through the crowd to where the disturbance was still growing. A dozen people shouted instructions to men who had lowered a rope into the crevice, looking like a city work crew dressed in ancient attire.

  “I expected that the teacher was there to heal the boy of his injuries when he was rescued. But the rescue attempt proved ineffective, the rope was pulled by several hands out of the hole with no one clinging to the other end. When the teacher arrived, three men were arguing about how to extricate the boy. Apparently they had learned that the boy was lodged between some rocks that had fallen into the hole with him. The argument stopped when the boy’s mother begged the teacher to rescue her son.