The Nazarene

Was reading through an old assignment while preparing a sermon and I came across something I hadn't shared before - so a quick copy and paste here to prove that this blog ain't dead! Apologies in advance for formatting glitches.

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The midday sun rose high in the sky, seeming to set the dusty streets of Jericho ablaze with its rays. A shimmer of heat hovered over the sun-baked walls of the city as I threaded my way through trudging feet and whispering cloaks in the crowded marketplace. My curls clung to my forehead in perspiration as I paused briefly to plan the most efficient route home - all the way across the city. I had been listening to the stories of a foreign merchant near the city gates and had lost all track of time; I was out on an errand for Father and he was expecting me back with his package - half an hour ago. I was surely due for a very sorry bottom.
“Out of the way,” a very portly belly pushed rudely past and nearly spun me into a basket of dates. Regaining my footing just in time, I skirted around the basket and began to push through the crowd once again when I heard snatches of excited conversation coming from some boys zig-zagging their way towards where I had come from.

“Hurry... if... leaving... gone!” I grabbed the nearest boy hurrying past me - I could not remember his name, but I had played with him and his sister before.

“What’s going on?” I demanded. His face was flushed with sweat and excitement.

“There’s a man from Galilee who is supposed to be able to do all sorts of things, and he’s - oh just come and see for yourself!” He shook my hand off and scampered off after his friends. My curiosity spiked and I forgot all about my father and my bottom as I set off at a run after the boys.

I caught up with them soon enough, but by then we had been engulfed in a huge throng of people all heading towards the city gates. This was a crowd of people of which the likes I had never seen before. The sharp tang of sweat clogged the narrow gaps of space between bodies all jostling in one direction. I craned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of this man from Galilee, but all I could see were scores and scores of feet around me, and bottoms of all shapes and sizes above me. By now I had lost track of the other boys, but my attention was caught instead by the hubbub of excited voices around me.

“That’s right - Jesus the Nazarene, there! The one in the middle!” I could make out some people pointing, so I nudged my way through the sea of people in that general direction.

Suddenly, I heard a voice rise above all in a cry that was choked with desperation, hope, and urgency all at once.

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

That sounded like one of the beggars that framed the city gates. I had heard that voice often enough every time I hung around the gates, looking for foreigners who would come dressed in strange clothes, displaying their exotic wares. That voice would loop in a pattern of “Alms, kind sir? Alms for a poor man unable to work for an honest day’s wage? Alms, kind sir?” He would accompany his plea for alms with a rhythmic bobbing of his almost bald head. I often stared at him and found myself looking away guiltily when his milky white eyes turned in my direction even though I knew he saw nothing.

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” he cried out again hoarsely. I heard the sound of people trying to shush him, but he ignored them and bleated out the same plea in voice louder than I had heard from him before.

The mass of bodies suddenly stopped its forward progression and the entire crowd ground to a halt, and the indistinguishable murmur of the crowd faded. The blind man’s cry rang out even sharper now.

Then I heard man’s voice say clearly, “Call him.”

At those words, the shushing noises petered off, and I managed to catch a glimpse or two of the perplexed look on the faces of the crowd. The beggar’s piercing wails for mercy from this Son of David had become wretched moans of the same words, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

At this point I could stand it no longer, and I took advantage of the paralysis of the crowd to shove my way through towards the beggar’s voice. I suddenly burst through into a small clearing, where I saw the blind beggar lying on his tattered cloak at his usual spot beside the city wall, rocking on his haunches. Everyone’s eyes were upon someone who was still hidden from my view by the crowd.

Then eyes began to turn to the beggar as some of those near him called to him softly, “Take heart. Get up; he is calling you.” The beggar continued his whimpering before it sunk into him that this Jesus was calling for him.

            The change was remarkable. His face shot up and his milky eyes widened, and the years seemed to melt off his face. It seemed as though he had suddenly become thirty years younger in that instant, for he suddenly moved with a spryness that was astonishing. When he was not sitting or lying down, I had always seen him shuffling about, huddled in his cloak. Now he flung his cloak aside with great abandon (I heard the clink of coins as they clattered against the wall) and he leaped to his feet and felt about with his arms eagerly, waiting for a guiding hand that would grasp him by the elbow to lead him to this Jesus. A couple of hands did indeed grasp him and guided him into the crowd as the sea of people parted to make way for him as he stumbled forward excitedly.

            I squinted into the funnel of people as the mini procession halted before a man. My view of this man was still blocked by the crowd, however, but I had a rather clear view of the blind man’s face, which appeared to glow with hope and anticipation. The same man who had called the beggar to him - this Jesus - spoke in a voice that was both strong and tender at the same time. It reminded me of how my father sounds when he and my mother has had a good laugh over something and immediately afterward tells her simply that he cares for her.

“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked the beggar standing before him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the beggar replied, “Rabbi, let me recover my sight.”

            The anticipation that hung in the air was palpable, and many must have been holding their breath like I was - there was pin-drop silence.

Then Jesus spoke with compassion, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.”

            Before my very eyes, the milky cloudiness of the blind man’s eyes receded until his eyes were completely clear. As I watched in amazement, his pupils focused and he saw me. I must have looked completely flabbergasted, because he started laughing at the expression on my face, which soon turned into the laughter of one who is simply delighted. Those around him were astounded as well, and like a huge wave approaching shore, a slow murmur of amazement swelled into a deafening roar that broke over the entire crowd. Complete strangers bear-hugged the blind man who could now see and he joyously returned their hugs while all the while excitedly looking at anything and everything through eyes damp with gratitude. Jesus must have started walking again because the overjoyed man started off in his direction and was swallowed up by the crowd that now surged after him.

            I ran back home as quickly as my legs would take me and poured out what I had seen in one breath to my parents. My father cuffed me on the ear for telling untruths and I still ended up with a very sorry bottom for returning from his errand one hour late, but I had seen what Jesus the Nazarene could do, and that would change my life in the years to come.

fin.

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Disclaimer: The intention of this semi-fictional literary drama is to provide another angle from which readers may view a narrative that, in its traditional form, may sometimes be taken for granted. This work by no means seeks to suggest the ineffectiveness or irrelevance of traditional scripture narrative, nor does it seek to replace scripture in any way. I have tried to stay accurate to scripture in the form of events and dialogue, but have also taken liberty with what is not explicitly written but may be insinuated, such as emotions. There are also fictional characters and elements inserted for adornment purposes. THE FOLLOWING LITERARY DRAMA SHOULD NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES BE CONSIDERED SCRIPTURALLY AUTHORATATIVE.