And He Healed Them All: Second Edition

by Jeffrey McClain Jones

  Here came another strange disconnect for me. Why bother healing him if he’s not going to live much longer? I decided not to say this to Jillian, feeling that I too often played the role of doubting Thomas, or even devil’s advocate.

  Instead, I kissed her on the cheek and opened the car door for her.

  I could tell from her playful smile that she favored this response over another spin of faithless questions from me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Setting Sun

  The Saturday concert followed by Sunday church reminded me of my high school days, when most of my activities rotated through my church youth group. It had been a long time since I’d felt so connected to church and especially to what was going on there. In fact, it occurred to me that I had perhaps never owned the central truths of my faith more firmly than I did that Sunday morning.

  As we sang a song about the power of Jesus’s resurrection I had to take a few deep breaths to keep from dissolving into tears. Jillian looked at me, her strong, sweet alto voice turning toward my welcoming ear. New self-consciousness, promoted by that look from her, helped me to stifle the threatening emotional outburst. This was not one of those churches, after all. Was I becoming one of those Christians? That thought, a fear of emotionalism perhaps, poked and badgered me into distraction through the rest of the morning. When I forced myself to focus on the words of the preacher, inevitably some profound truth would arrow into my heart and I would spiral back to fighting to restrain my feelings.

  At lunch, after church, Jillian made a comment that seemed a sideways approach to my church service struggles. “Sometimes I get this urge to run out of the worship service, to find a private place where I can really let loose what I’m feeling about something in a song or the sermon.”

  I hadn’t notice her wrestling with unbridled emotions during the service, and I think of myself as fairly perceptive. This led me to assume she was offering a polite opening for me to talk about what I was feeling. A sneaky therapist trick if ever I saw one.

  As I laughed I had to cover my mouth to keep from showing too much salad to the off-duty shrink across the table.

  “Not too subtle, huh?”

  I shook my head, swallowed my bite of salad, and drank some water. “Not too subtle,” I agreed. “Just subtle enough.”

  I watched as she picked through her salad and glanced up at me. “Yeah, I was feeling like that today,” I said, “only, running for a place to let loose never crossed my mind, emotional repression comes more naturally.”

  Jillian just acknowledged my self-evaluation with one small sound and no comment. She seemed to sense my discomfort with pursing the topic further.

  We had arranged to spend the rest of the day with Walter at my house, hoping to give him some time away from the nursing home’s institutional setting. Finishing our meal, I paid the check after a bantering tussle with Jillian, involving questions of economic equality and the place of women in human history. I was proud of myself for holding my ground, male chauvinist or otherwise.

  The weather forecast had prompted my idea of getting Walter out of the home, a balmy forty-five degrees with occasional sunshine accompanied us from the restaurant to Walter’s place. I had last spoken with him that morning over the phone, catching him crunching toast for breakfast. For supper, I planned to warm some lasagna I had made a couple of weeks ago and stowed in the freezer.

  Stable on two legs with only a perfunctory cane, Walter was much easier to help in and out of the car than the last time we accompanied him into the wider world. Though he seemed jovial all along the way, he gave me the impression of a man trying to look stronger than he was. His skin seemed translucent to me, his eyes slightly more sunken, and I heard him huffing and puffing after the slightest exertion. I looked at him in the rear view mirror at one stop light, a dark green fedora on his head and his glasses slipping down his nose again. I was glad we had arranged to spend the day with him.

  Settled into my living room, he sat with his feet up in my leather recliner and a cup of Constant Comment tea at his elbow. I kept it in the house just for Walter, though it had been many months since he had been there.

  After holding the surprise for us through the entire transition from his place to mine, he cleared his throat. “I had another dream last night.”

  I had been wondering what the three of us should do that afternoon. Now I had at least a partial answer.

  Jillian encouraged him. “Well, if you feel up to it, I would certainly love to hear you tell about it.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’d better check out her fees before you agree to that.”

  They both gave me nearly identical scolding looks, so I pretended to be more serious.

  “Yes, please go ahead, don’t mind me.”

  Walter laughed huskily, took a sip of tea, and cleared his throat again.

  “It was both inspiring and painful to see the teacher barely able to sit up due to exhaustion, yet still attending to the needs of the sick or injured. I wondered, as I saw his condition, whether what followed was an attempt to take advantage of that weariness.

  “A woman who looked to be in her forties, wearing a dark red head covering and a long black robe, approached. A group of two dozen or so younger men and women accompanied her. She bowed before the teacher, who sat with John on one side and James on the other.

  “‘Why have you come?’ the teacher said bluntly, an unusual greeting in the context of that day of gracious giving and merciful healing.

  “‘You know, don’t you?’ The woman replied with a sarcastic bend in her voice. She lured and repulsed me at the same time, with a sort of unisex beauty and intangible magnetism.

  “The teacher answered. ‘You are sick, and you cannot heal yourself, nor have your disciples succeeded in healing you. So you come to me as a last resort . . . and as a challenge.’

  “The mysterious woman yielded to a harsh coughing fit as if to confirm his diagnosis, and then smirked when she had finished. ‘A challenge? How can anything be a challenge to you?’ Her voice dripped with irony.

  “The teacher ignored her question and asked one of his own. ‘Do you come to me to be freed from more than your sickness?’

  “‘Hmm. Is that what I should expect from you?’

  “‘You know how I feel about your craft and the source of your powers.’

  “‘Yes, you think that because your Father created this power you can keep it from the rest of us. But I also know that you heal all who come to you for help, without conditions. You haven’t turned away anyone.’

  “‘No, I haven’t turned anyone away.’ He sighed heavily, as if his weariness verified this.

  “He signaled her to come closer. She hesitated. For a moment it looked as if she might turn and run. Her torso wavered backward and forward, as if caught between two powerful forces, like a small metal ball at the mercy of two great magnets. The force with greater gravity prevailed. She lurched forward and dropped to the ground with a shriek. Instantly, all of her followers fell to the ground as well, some stumbling as they tried to turn and flee.

  “The witch, for that’s what she was, writhed and twisted, alternately shrieking and muttering in some unrecognizable language.

  The teacher commanded in a low stern voice. “‘Be quiet!’

  “The muttering stopped, but the shrieking increased. He seemed to mind that less.

  “‘Release her, now,’ he said, with force.

  “At this the witch stopped, as if knocked unconscious, but two of her followers took up the writhing and shrieking in an eerily identical fashion.

  “‘Stop that,’ the teacher insisted. At this, all of them began to shake and mutter and shriek as if in waves, from one side to the other, then from the front to the back. The crowd pressed back, away from the mêlée, some even flopping to the ground, seized by the same gyrations and wailing.

  “The teacher slid off of the rock onto the ground between Peter and Andrew, who stood in front of him. He cro
uched and pressed both hands to the ground, as if seizing the earth beneath him. He closed his eyes and began to recite, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord Our God, the Lord is One God.’ He never raised his voice. ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord Our God, the Lord is One God.’ He spoke with determination and confidence. With his hands planted on the earth, he worshipped the one who had spun the planet into space.

  “The confusion and noise began to dissipate as he repeated that confession, known as The Shema. The teacher’s helpers began to attend to the people who had not come with the witch but had fallen to the ground with her acolytes. His disciples raised these startled men and women to their feet, even rebuking spirits they had perhaps brought with them.

  “The teacher looked at the witch. Their eyes met and they began to crawl toward each other, eliminating the few feet that separated them. The teacher remained sedate and stern, as did the witch. Their eyes neither wandered nor blinked.

  “The witch did not mutter, did not shriek; she did not show any signs of the insanity that had controlled her just moments before. She seemed to be herself, but it was not a contrite and submissive self, her chin still held high and her eyes glaring. Nevertheless, the teacher rose to his knees and grasped her face with both hands, breathing a single long breath into her nose and mouth.

  “The witch inhaled, as if receiving a healing vapor into her ailing lungs. She closed her eyes and exhaled. No coughing ensued. She smiled, and, for the first time, she looked like someone I wouldn’t mind meeting in the real world, a pleasant look in her eyes.

  “The teacher’s friends assisted the witch’s followers to their feet. As each of her underlings regained control of themselves, they turned their attention on their leader. They watched her, while vigilantly casting glances at the teacher and his followers, looking like they wanted to escape, but uncertain which way led to safety.

  “Peter and James helped the teacher to his feet and back to the rock.

  “The witch stood up with the help of two of her followers. She brushed herself off and straightened her gowns and jewelry, a few bits of which had to be retrieved from the ground. For a moment she stood still, examining one particular amulet, which looked as if it had been melted in a fire. The pure gold trinket apparently maintained only a rough remnant of its former shape. She showed no anger over this destruction but seemed fascinated by the phenomenon.

  “As she gathered her wits about her, the witch’s followers gravitated toward her. The rest of the crowd shuffled forward to close in around them, trying to approach the teacher without getting too close to them.

  “When I last saw the witch, she and her acolytes were pushing through the crowd under the dim light of early evening. I don’t know all of what had happened to her. It seemed an unfinished story. Part of healing everyone who came certainly allowed that the gift of health meant different things to different people. I could see the possibility of someone like the witch being healed of her physical ailment without following that sign to repentance from her way of life.

  “The teacher rested in his place on the rock. A woman and a boy, who seemed to be her son, approached the teacher, guided by his friends. The boy lifted a bandaged hand to the teacher. I spotted a jagged, half-healed cut on his cheek as well. The teacher looked at him then gently touched his face. As if by an invisible eraser, the cut on his face faded completely. The boy, about nine years old, put his injured hand up to his face. Then he tugged at the bandage to remove it. His mother moved to stop him, perhaps out of motherly habit, but then checked herself and let her son reveal the perfectly healthy hand beneath the blood-stained bandage.

  “The boy raised his eyebrows and looked at the teacher, who smiled at him. The boy returned the smile, looked up at his mother, and then followed her off to the side.

  “In the next minute, the teacher healed a woman complaining of stomach pain, a man hunched under back pain, a small girl who was partially blind, and a boy walking with crutches. With one word or one gentle touch, each of them left their ailment behind and walked away healthy and strong, smiling, laughing and praising God.

  “I noticed then a boy, about eight years old, standing off to the side. He wasn’t advancing toward the teacher but watched the proceedings from where he stood. Behind the boy stood a man, I suppose it was his father, occasionally asking the boy a question. The boy would offer an explanation or nod his head. As I watched the boy’s reaction to the continuous stream of people being healed, it seemed to me that he was not watching the teacher nor the people who came sick and left well; rather, he was watching something taking place around the teacher, something that I apparently couldn’t see.

  “An elderly rabbi hobbled before the teacher, bowed slightly, and then jumped half a foot off the ground. He dropped his walking stick, which clattered to the stony ground just before the rabbi himself landed nimbly on two feet. Instead of that waddle I have seen on people needing a hip replacement he walked straight and vigorously.

  “Behind the rabbi, at the angle from which I was watching, that little boy clapped his hands and pointed at the air above the rejoicing man. He laughed a joyous, childish giggle at the sight that only he seemed to see. This side commotion caught the attention of the teacher. He followed the boy’s gaze to the air above the rabbi, and then waved the boy to come to him.

  “The boy smiled but shyly avoided eye contact. He tugged his father’s hand, and then stepped to the teacher’s side. The teacher asked his name.

  “‘I am Simeon. And this is my father, Ezekiel.”

  “The teacher put his hand on Simeon’s shoulder. ‘What are you watching, my boy?’

  “Simeon studied the teacher, as if to measure what sort of question that was. ‘The angels,’ he said.

  “The teacher gave a lopsided smile and drew Simeon close to him. He spoke into the boy’s ear. The teacher seemed to be explaining things, for he pointed and then spoke to Simeon; he gestured, and the boy laughed. Then the conversation appeared to take a serious turn, and the teacher pulled Simeon a bit closer. The teacher leaned forward and spoke softly, so all I could hear was an instructive and cautionary tone in his voice. The boy focused on the teacher’s kind face, as if he longed to capture every movement of that face, as much as every word spoken to him.

  “When he finished, the teacher said, ‘Do you understand?’

  “‘Yes, teacher,’ said Simeon. And his father nodded as well, for he had been close enough to understand what the teacher had told his son.

  “I could see various people looking around at the air above them and above the teacher, probably trying to see what Simeon saw. More than a few of the teacher’s friends joined in this search, though most of them did so surreptitiously. Simeon and his father moved off to the side, I didn’t see them again after that.

  “Four small girls approached the teacher, accompanied by a pair of women who may have been a mother and grandmother. The teacher didn’t wait for any explanation before he passed his hand over the four girls, who toppled like dry grass in a sudden wind. From their landing place on the ground, all four began speaking at once, predicting what was going to happen to the teacher, what would happen to each of his disciples, and what would happen to their mother and grandmother. They spoke of the glory of God and the proceedings in heaven at that very moment. They spoke of the fall of the nation of Israel and the rise of the Gentiles to receive the grace of God. All speaking at once in cacophony, I managed to pick out mere strands of their foresight.

  “What their ailments had been, I never knew. Regardless, the mother and grandmother seemed overjoyed to hear their little ones prophesying. They stood over the girls, who lay with arms and legs sprawled across each other—yet perfectly comfortable it seemed.

  “The teacher turned his attention to a young woman who approached with another woman, who appeared to her sister. The first woman seemed to be both deaf and blind and fairly difficult for her sister to control. She flailed about and recoiled spasmodically in response to any physical touch, inte
ntional or otherwise. In that condition, a full day in that crowd must have been truly traumatic.

  “The teacher paused before stating his command. ‘Deaf and blind spirit, be gone!’

  “The afflicted woman grabbed at her head as if in great pain, holding her hands over both ears. Her eyes flew wide open and she began to look around, apparently focusing on people as if seeing them clearly. Then she began to twist back and forth and to shriek while still holding her hands over her ears. Her screeching caused others to clap their hands over their ears as well. I wasn’t sure what was happening—was the gift of sudden sight and sound too much for her to take in?

  “The teacher hauled himself off the rock and put his hand on her head. Immediately she calmed, dropped her hands to her side, and gazed at the teacher’s face. She seemed suddenly enraptured with him, no longer tortured by the sights and sounds that assailed her, but focused on one thing, one person. As the teacher watched, her sister took her hand and put it on her own face. The healed woman closed her eyes, as if she could only recognize the other woman without sight. The two women embraced, united in tears and harmonizing with the sister speaking words of relief while the healed woman added inarticulate sounds of joy.

  “Returning to his seat on the rock, the teacher’s obviously weary frame folded onto the restful refuge. A few of his industrious helpers busied themselves with building a back and an armrest for him to lean on. No doubt this was a project that the former carpenter could appreciate: the selection of the best stones and their careful placement to serve the intended purpose. Others of his friends kept the people coming to him, directing them around the two women still locked in an embrace and the four girls lying on the ground prophesying.

  “While his helpers modified his seating, the crowd slacked their forward press. One man, however, took advantage of the lull and slipped in front of the teacher.

  “‘What do you want?’ the teacher said, his near monotone indicating his weariness.