Seeing Jesus

by Jeffrey McClain Jones

  “Okay, now you say, ‘Hearing, be restored,’” Jesus said.

  Philly’s lost school boy feeling left him stumbling along after the Savior’s steps, not knowing what else to do, sensing nowhere else to go.

  With his hands over his dad’s ears, Philly said, “Hearing, be restored.” He pronounced the words mechanically, with no particular conviction.

  Dad reacted immediately. “Hey, that feels hot. My ears are hot.”

  Philly pulled his hands back, afraid he had done something wrong.

  Jesus instructed, “That’s good, that’s healing power starting to work. Put your hands back.”

  Philly obeyed.

  Again Dad reacted, “Yeah, that feels hot, but it’s not bad, just a lot hotter than normal.”

  Philly looked at his dad as he spoke, then at Jesus, like a medical technician monitoring a patient and consulting the physician.

  Ma broke into the proceedings. “This is crazy. Philly, you stop that. This is nuts!”

  Philly just glanced at Ma, then at Eileen, who had an expectant look on her face. Like Philly, she had learned to cope with Ma’s narcissistic attempts at control, ignoring the interruption and anxious for the result of the healing. Eileen’s apparent openness intrigued Philly and boosted his faith.

  Suddenly Dad shouted, “Whoa!” He reached for both of his ears, fishing for his hearing aids with the tips of his thumbs and forefingers.

  Jesus put his finger to his lips and smiled.

  Philly fell short of comprehending, beyond the obvious prompt to silence. Like most modern people, he had no experience of supernatural healing and barely half expected something good to come of this exercise, in spite of the fact that he actually saw Jesus standing next to his father, healing him.

  Dad sat in his usual place at the head of the dining room table, but the look on his face had never been seen in that house before. He held a hearing aid in each hand and looked around at his family. Eyes wide and mouth open, wonder and awe transformed him.

  “Say something,” he said.

  Eileen said, “Can you hear me?”

  Dad smiled and nodded slowly. “Well, I’ll be!” He chortled.

  Ma, still on the wrong side of the shifting earth, said, “What are you talking about. You can’t hear without your hearing aids. Nobody knows that better than me,” she said.

  “I can hear now, Marge,” Dad said.

  Philly looked at Jesus, who had removed his hands and stood by watching with satisfaction.

  “You healed his ears?” Philly said aloud to his invisible co-conspirator.

  Ma said, “Who are you talking to?”

  Eileen answered in a hushed voice, “Jesus.”

  Dad smiled.

  Chapter Nine

  If he were more familiar with miraculous experiences such as the healing of his father’s hearing, Philly might have expected the entire family to change, to leap into new faith out of this one event. Because he was familiar with his mother and his father, however, Philly expected no substantial change in their lives or his. The averaging factor between what ought to be and what is, produced a muddle that Philly could neither quantify nor comprehend.

  By Monday, Dad had called several of his old friends and relatives to tell them the good news about his hearing, driven on, in part, by the wonder of clearly hearing their voices over the phone. Eileen had left for New York, Sunday afternoon, after asking occasionally about what Jesus was doing at a given moment and hugging Philly extra long at the airport. She had already confronted her newly ex-boyfriend by phone. She had inspired a dumbfounded silence when she detailed his real life, as if she had hired a private investigator to check him out. Ma, on the other hand, had contacted the priest in the local diocese, and a family friend who was a psychiatrist, to attempt to dam the flood of Philly’s insanity.

  Philly and Jesus returned to their normal life on Monday, escaping the storm whipped up by the countervailing winds at his parents’ house and braving the oppressive heat of going to work without permission to talk to Brenda. This latter climate also included the suspicions of his boss and assistant, that Philly might have lost his edge, distracted by personal problems.

  Sitting in his office, still damp from the tiny drizzle that dogged him from home to work, Philly checked to confirm that the shades beside his door were tightly shut. Then he looked directly at Jesus, who was sitting in his usual place.

  “You think I should go and see Ma’s priest?” he said, keeping his voice low, in case Craig or Dennis might approach and overhear.

  Jesus smiled. “He’s a sincere man and would benefit greatly from hearing what you’ve experienced,” he said, “that is, if he were inclined to believe you.”

  “Shouldn’t a priest believe in this sort of thing?” Philly said.

  “You really should read my book,” Jesus said.

  Philly looked confused.

  Jesus explained. “If you did, you’d see that religious people have always been deeply divided over what to believe about me.”

  Philly nodded, once again visiting foreign territory. He decided then that he would take Jesus’s gentle rebuke seriously and get himself a Bible.

  Returning to the question, Philly asked again, “So should I make Ma happy and visit this priest?” He clicked away some junk email as he spoke.

  “Are you asking me what I want you to do?” Jesus said.

  Philly shrugged and said, “Yeah, I am.”

  “Okay. You should see him, but not to assuage your mother’s fears. It won’t work for that. But visiting him will give Tim a chance to take a closer look at some things in his own life,” Jesus explained, referring to the priest by his first name.

  “You’re saying I should see the priest for his benefit?”

  “Yes,” Jesus said lightly.

  Philly raised his eyebrows at this concept, simultaneously noting a meeting with Craig on his calendar. They needed to discuss what they would do with an accumulating pile of old computers, down to the components and accessories. Philly wondered, for a moment, whether he should just leave this to Craig, but thought better of it, a bit uncertain that his assistant could see the best disposition of these aging resources. Philly sent an email to Craig to arrange their meeting for the storage room, instead of his office.

  At ten o’clock, Philly headed for the storage room, a cup of strong office coffee in one hand and his laptop in the other. He would view the spreadsheet detailing the contents of the gray and black metal computers, which had once been office work horses but now collected dust in the big, dark closet behind the server room.

  Craig was already there when Philly and Jesus arrived, the light on in the storage room and a damp cotton cloth at work wiping a layer of dust off the tops of closely arrayed computers. Philly admired Craig’s promptness and foresight and told him so.

  “Hey, good to see you already on the job,” Philly said, when Craig looked up at him. Philly pointed to Craig’s nose. “You got a smudge of dust on your nose,” he warned.

  Craig wiped the sleeve of his denim shirt across the bridge of his nose, erasing most of the dust. Against his dark brown skin the light gray dust still streaked his nose and cheek.

  “A bit more.” Philly pointed, getting closer but trying not to bust in on Craig’s personal boundaries.

  This time, Craig wiped his hand over his nose and cheek, dispersing the remainder of the visible smudge.

  “Did I get it?” Craig said.

  “Yup,” Philly said, noting a husky tone in Craig’s voice. “You allergic or something?”

  “Yeah, probably, but I might just have a cold. I’ve been feeling tired and congested all weekend. Guess I didn’t get enough sleep,” Craig said, absently looking around at the shelves lining three sides of the small storage room. “Come to think of it, I moved those old boxes last week, before this started. Maybe it is allergies.”

  “You should wear something over your face,” Philly said. “You could get petty cash and go down to th
e hardware store for some of those masks painters wear.”

  Craig shrugged. “I should have thought of that. But the damage is already done.”

  Philly noticed Jesus maneuvering in close to Craig and he actually anticipated the meaning of the move. Reading his thoughts, Jesus looked at Philly and nodded, confirming his conclusion. Philly set his coffee down on an old computer desk by the door, the cup plowing a small pile of dust aside.

  Carrying on as if Jesus were not there, Philly said, “Well, it looks to me like there’s still plenty of dust here and it can’t be good to inhale this stuff, even if you’re already feeling allergic.” He felt like a big brother, teaching Craig to be more responsible for his health.

  Jesus, on the other hand, seemed determined to cut past responsibility to recovery. He looked at Philly expectantly.

  Philly battled with the personal discomfort of bringing Jesus, and healing, into his work relationships, with some vague consideration for employment impact. But the look on Jesus’s face, combined with the memory of the exhilaration from healing his father’s ears, ignited Philly’s courage.

  “Uh, Craig, I know this is gonna sound strange, but, uh, well, I’ve been having some good results from sort of, uh, well. . .” Philly tailed off, not knowing how to introduce the oddball idea.

  Jesus helped out. “Just say, ‘I’ve been seeing Jesus do some healing through me lately and I wonder if you’d like me to try with your allergies.’”

  Philly managed to untangle from his objections to these words, desperate to delete the confused look Craig now wore. “Uh, what I mean is, that I’ve been seeing Jesus do some healing around me some lately and I wonder if you wouldn’t mind me trying to heal the allergies,” he said. “It’s nothing too weird, or anything,” He added this, seeking some coverage, in case he had completely freaked Craig out.

  Craig raised his eyebrows, “I didn’t know you were into that kinda thing.” He looked unshaken by the idea. “My mom’s church does that sometimes,” he said.

  Philly looked impressed, relieved at the opening. Jesus helped him again.

  “Just ask if you can put a hand on his shoulder for a few seconds,” he said.

  Philly nodded at Jesus, a gesture that looked to Craig as if Philly might be considering something he was hearing from a spiritual realm, just like his mother claimed. Not knowing this, Philly caught himself and looked away from Jesus, back to Craig.

  “Okay if I just put my hand on your shoulder for a few seconds?”

  “Sure, go ahead. It’s worth a try. I sure would like to breathe again.”

  Philly reached up and gently rested his left hand on Craig’s shoulder, still unconsciously holding his laptop in his right hand.

  Jesus instructed Philly. “Just say, ‘Jesus heals you.’”

  Philly repeated that phrase with more self-consciousness than faith. But, as soon as he said the word “you,” Jesus reached up to that same shoulder.

  Craig ducked suddenly and shouted. “Hey!” He started to shake, his eyes wide open, sweat beading quickly on his forehead.

  Philly pulled his hand back, sure that he had done something wrong, though not sure who might accuse him. He had been prepared for heat, such as he felt when he healed his dad, but Craig acted as if Philly had punched him and then plugged him into a light socket.

  When both Philly and Jesus had removed their hands, Craig stood still a minute with his eyes closed, his hands halfway to his face, as if getting ready to keep his head from flying off. Then he relaxed, took a deep breath through his nose and smiled.

  “Hey, that worked. I feel much better,” he said, with sparkling satisfaction.

  Craig looked at Philly who stated with his mouth open. This struck Craig as funny and he started to laugh heartily. “You look like you were expecting something else,” he said, through his laughter.

  Philly looked at Jesus and shook his head a bit. “I guess I didn’t know what to expect,” he said. “So you feel better?”

  “Yeah, I feel great!” Craig said, escalating his jubilation. “Wow, that’s fantastic. Where did you learn to do that?”

  Philly shrugged, smiling slightly, “I’m just learning now. I just kind of figure out what God wants to happen and try to go along with it.”

  Craig looked impressed, but tapered his laughter and unsheathed the obvious question. “But how do you know?”

  Again Philly looked at Jesus. “Well, it’s kind of like I can see Jesus and can see what he wants.”

  As he said this, Dennis appeared in the store room door. He had been on that floor of the building when someone commented on loud laughter coming from the network room. He arrived just in time to hear half of that last answer from Philly.

  “What are you guys doing in here?” Dennis recreated the role of high school assistant principal for both Craig and Philly.

  Philly spun around and turned bright red. Craig looked at his boss’s boss with his smile frozen in place. They both looked guilty of something.

  Jesus rescued Philly. “Just tell him your business here and let him figure out the rest.”

  Philly started with a stammer, but rallied to explain their task of deciding what to do with the old computers in storage, ignoring the part Dennis must certainly have heard when he reached the door of the big closet.

  Dennis looked at the two of them. Craig’s smile had faded to a minor grin and Philly had recovered his dignity, for the most part. Dennis considered a more direct question, but succumbed to inhibition and just nodded and walked away.

  Philly waited a few seconds and then turned back to the shelves full of computers. “Well, back to business.” He avoided commenting on his boss to his subordinate, knowing that was inappropriate and not knowing what to say.

  Craig approached the awkward issue. “I hope you’re not gonna get in trouble.” He looked at Philly sympathetically.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re feeling better,” Philly said. And then he opened his laptop and set it on a bit of open shelf at eye level, returning to the work at hand, at least externally. Once Craig’s attention turned back to the computer hardware, Philly spoke to Jesus internally.

  “I’m not gonna get in trouble, am I?”

  Jesus replied in kind, not moving his lips. “You shouldn’t worry about that. Just do what you know is right and let the consequences take care of themselves.”

  This answer disturbed Philly, of course, with its implication that he would, indeed, hear more from Dennis regarding his unprofessional behavior.

  Philly led Craig through assessing the hardware and determining what to recycle, what to offer to employees and what to keep. After fifteen minutes, a handful of complaints about a slow Internet connection pulled Philly away, confident that Craig could finish the sorting process. On the way back to his office, Philly saw Brenda briefly. She looked at him, smiled reservedly and immediately resumed her course toward some mundane task. For just one second, Philly regretted Jesus’s presence with him, feeling the accumulation of his boss’s suspicions, Brenda’s leave of absence and his mother’s witch-hunt.

  “It will always cost you something to be with me,” Jesus communicated, silently.

  Philly glanced fractionally at Jesus, sure to not be caught looking at thin air. Then a question occurred to him.

  “How long can you stay with me like this?”

  “How long can I, is a different question than how long will I stay.”

  Philly stepped around his desk and checked his Internet connection, resorting to a testing Web site to acquire objective data regarding available bandwidth. “Slow” is subjective and the causes of genuine Internet slowdowns usually passed away quicker than springtime in Chicago. As he began to burrow into the task at hand, Philly paused to note how easily he could duck from the stinging prospect of Jesus’s departure. But he did have to focus now, to check the available speed of the office Internet connection, to check a backup connection and to open a network administration application
to find who might be using up the available data pipeline to the wide world. Grateful that all of this work had become nearly reflex, Philly looked up to see Jesus smiling at him during each hourglass moment provided by his finite desktop computer.

  After one of those glances, Jesus said, “Dennis is coming.”

  At his warning, Philly locked his gaze onto his computer screens, defending against Dennis catching his enamored stare at his empty guest chair. The door stood open ten inches and Jesus’s warning proved timely. Dennis knocked and pushed the door open simultaneously.

  “You looking into the complaints about the Internet?” he said.

  Philly looked up. “Yeah. Someone is downloading some large files up in the drafting department. I’ll figure out who it is and give them a call in a few seconds.”

  Dennis nodded, apparently satisfied that Philly was back at work and acting normal for a change. When he turned to leave, Dennis pulled the door so that it closed, though it didn’t latch.

  Philly looked over at Jesus and said in a whisper, “Thanks.”

  When Philly hung up the phone call to the drafting department, Jesus offered this insight.

  “In a way, you’re working with a disadvantage now, with me visibly and audibly present outside of your mind.”

  Philly scowled a confused look back at Jesus.

  “You see, most people who talk to me while they work, such as your grandma, for example, can do it without a temptation to look at their guest chair, or to speak out loud.” He grinned. “Having me outside, and visible, like this strains you more than it will when I’m just internal.”

  Philly had finally begun to accommodate himself to Jesus beside him. Jesus inside him tested his mental flexibility like the next level of stretch once he had made the first press to lengthen a hamstring or back muscle. Again he had to fight against the frustration that he needed to continue working and couldn’t just flop down under a tree somewhere to consider the wisdom Jesus tossed to him. He assumed it was wisdom, anyway, given the source, and the fact that he couldn’t comprehend most of it.