“The teacher sat on the flat rock, leaning on the makeshift armrest and relying on Peter and John to help keep him steady. Others of his followers served him water and bites of food. In this condition, the manner of the healing had changed. The teacher sat in one place and people walked or were carried past him.
“He conserved his movements, nodding to some, saying simply a word to others. Occasionally he instructed those around him to hold people up so that he could touch them, or he asked his followers to touch someone in his stead, so that many of the healings came without the teacher’s direct touch.
“I recalled the many people he had embraced that day, how many electric connections he had made, as people writhed or collapsed or simply vibrated while he held on to them. I imagined how many times he had knelt and stood back up. He often forcefully seized or even struck people. All of this added up to natural physical exhaustion. But what about the spiritual effort he had exerted? What about the toll of all of those confrontations with unearthly voices, the authoritative commands, and the imposition of his will against those unseen enemies?
“In spite of this extreme weariness, he continued to lean into his work, to address the needs of the crowd that continued to stream to him for help.
“I saw a woman standing before the teacher, holding a little boy who must have been her son. I could see deep grief written in her sunken eyes and grimacing lips. The boy’s head bandaged with an old stained cloth, I saw no sign of life in that little body. The teacher leaned forward and the mother moved her boy closer.
“The teacher touched two fingers to the boy’s forehead. When the boy suddenly moved, the mother nearly dropped him, uttering a little cry. The boy came to life, arms and legs moving, his head rising to look at his dark surroundings, just like any healthy child waking. John stepped up and helped the mother lower the boy to stand on his own, ruffling his hair, now free from the bandage. The boy looked as if he were trying to decide what kind of dream he was having while the mother shuffled him away, staying as close as she could.
“A tall thin man standing near the teacher allowed another mother to move past him to present her child, this one a little girl, who looked less than three years old. The teacher touched the girl’s head. Her little eyes followed his hand as if it moved of its own will and she had no way to control it or what came from it. In the moment that he touched her, her mouth popped open in surprise and she made an inarticulate noise, like someone who had never learned to speak. More deaf ears healed it seemed.
“Again I watched that tall man let someone pass him, this time a woman leading an old man with a severe limp. Apparently the tall man was yielding to those with more pressing needs than he had. As the sun disappeared and darkness arrived, I couldn’t help but think that the people must have known that the teacher would stop healing soon, and this man risked missing his healing that night, by assuring that others received theirs.
“I noticed the teacher glance at the tall thin man as he allowed another person to move ahead of him. ‘You, what is your name?’
“The man raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised that the teacher addressed him. ‘I am Able, son of Issachar.’
“‘Able, son of Issachar, you are healed. Go and be blessed all the days of your life.’
“Able responded with a look that seemed to say, ‘that settles it for me,’ as if there were no question that what the teacher said was so. He thanked the teacher and yielded his place to another. As he pushed through the crowd, I could see him gingerly turn his head left and then right. He stopped and explored his full range of movement. The teacher had apparently healed his neck in some way.
“Those in need kept moving toward the teacher’s seat on the rock, though the increasing darkness made it more difficult to see. A man with his elbow locked at a ninety-degree angle walked away hinging his arm up and down, a large smile on his face. A woman who approached holding her lower abdomen stretched herself and smiled when she felt her healing completed. A mother and father carrying a boy with a misshapen leg, perhaps broken and not set properly, placed him before the teacher and then chased after him when he sped off to jump and celebrate.
“After several more such healings, the teacher merely waved his hand over, or even just motioned with his head toward the sick and injured.
“A woman, who had been watching the teacher’s weary efforts as she waited to bring two small boys before him, spoke to Peter. ‘If we could just touch the hem of the teacher’s robe, we could all be healed. He needn’t do anything but just sit there, don’t you think?’
“Peter stared blankly at the woman for a few seconds, either because her idea seemed far-fetched, or because he couldn’t explain why they hadn’t already thought of this. Peter didn’t have to answer the suggestion, however. The teacher had overheard. ‘Yes, Mother, that would be fine.’
“He instructed James and Andrew to lead the people to him, so that they could touch his sleeve or the hem of his robe.
“He accepted a blanket as a cushion beneath him, and leaned back against a second blanket to soften his stone couch. He laid his hands on his lap so that his sleeves were easy to reach, as was the hem of his robe. He watched the people coming and going in turn. At times two or even three would touch him at once. It obviously pleased him to give them freedom from pain or restriction or weakness, for he smiled and occasionally chuckled.
“People on stretchers and mats were carried past his feet where they could touch his robe. Some needed assistance from those who carried them. One old man couldn’t move at all, so a young man, who may have been his son, took hold of the old man’s hand and gently raised it to brush the teacher’s robe. Instantly, the man’s hand shot up, throwing the younger man back as he lost his grip. The old man sat up, looked from his son to the teacher. ‘You . . . you were in my dream.’
“The teacher tipped his head and smiled weakly. Perhaps he had been in that dream and was fully aware of it. As the young man and the other stretcher bearer gathered the bedding, the old man stretched his legs and shook hands with James, Andrew, and Peter. As they walked away into the dusk, I heard the man ask, ‘What day is this?’ And I heard the son trying to explain.
“Most of the people touched his sleeve as they passed the teacher, moving from his right to his left. A woman with some disease that had caused her arm to swell grotesquely touched that almost inhuman arm to the teacher’s sleeve. Her hand surged ahead of her, as if yanked by an invisible force. She grabbed the swollen hand with her good one. When she did, I saw the swelling disappear in a matter of seconds.
“‘Thank you! Oh, thank you, teacher!’ she said, flexing her elbow.
“The stream of people continued for nearly an hour under torchlight. Several nearsighted or partially blind people came by and received perfect vision. Others on crutches hobbled up and walked, ran, or danced away. Many parents brought children to touch the teacher’s sleeve. As they left, people thanked the teacher and praised God. A few could not leave, but instead slumped to the ground or pitched over backward when they received their healings. For these, the teacher’s friends offered a lift and a gentle ride to the left of the large, flat rock where they maintained a space for these to recover their ability to walk.
“This group of overwhelmed healing recipients fascinated me. Many of them wept as if a close relative had died, others laughed hysterically, but most lay silent and peaceful.
“This brought to mind the traumas of my various surgical procedures over the years, and how long it takes after major surgery to regain one’s bearings and to feel normal again. It made sense to me, in that context, that some who instantly received this miraculous healing also required time to adjust to their new conditions. But more to the point, I thought of the emotional impact of going from desperately sick to perfectly well in a matter of seconds. Who could ever hope for such a thing to happen to them, let alone have the capacity to contain it serenely when it did?
“The teacher’s thinking also intrigued me,
because his role seemed to have become, at least physically, passive. He leaned on his makeshift chair, seemingly content to watch as the people passed by and touched him. I’m quite sure that I’ve never in this life seen anyone so tired yet so content. His friends held a cup to his lips once in a while or placed a piece of fruit or bread into his mouth. He received this ministry placidly, with a grateful smile.
“A man whose right side seemed effectively paralyzed dragged himself to where the teacher sat. He touched the teacher’s sleeve with his left hand, but nothing appeared to happen immediately. He remained before the teacher, as though waiting for something to occur. The teacher said, ‘Go on; you are healed.’ The man dragged his bad leg behind him one step, and then began to shake his right arm as if to wake it from sleep. With the next step he nearly stumbled, as his right leg straightened suddenly. With each pace, his step grew stronger and more even. He raised his right arm and rotated it, demonstrating its restoration. After that, he fairly skipped into the night.
“Two shy girls, about twelve years old, I’d say, approached the teacher next. One had a bandaged wrist; the other walked with a limp and used a walking stick. When they each touched the teacher, unrestrained giggling exploded from them. They showed each other their wonderfully well limbs and then collapsed in a heap of hysterical laughter. They landed far enough to one side so as not to block the line. Their laughter became background music for dozens of healings that followed.
“A large man waddled up to the teacher. He must have had bad hips because he walked as if his feet were attached to a bar. He probably would have been in a wheelchair were he alive today. There was no such option for him, of course, and it pained me to watch his slow progress. He brushed his work-hardened fingers across the teacher’s sleeve. Two loud pops and his mouth sprang open. The big man whooped and the two girls on the ground in front of him laughed louder. He caught their contagious hilarity as he freely moved, like a man drunk with joy, into the darkness of the hillside.
“A lone boy, a mousy little slip of a youngster, sidled up. He barely brushed the teacher’s sleeve then grabbed his throat. ‘Hey!’ he said. As he walked away, I could hear him hooting and hollering for quite a while as he moved through the crowd. Little waves of laughter followed his progress down the hill.
“In line after the boy, a man shuffled forward. I heard his labored breathing even in the crowded out of doors. In fact, he appeared to relax and his breathing seemed to improve just before he touched the sleeve of the teacher’s robe. After a brief touch, he sucked in large breaths, his ribcage fully expanding as we walked away. He breathed out a few hearty Alleluias as he moved away.
“Close on his heals came an older woman whose hands shook uncontrollably. I surmised she had Parkinson’s disease, or something similar to it. Ironically, the instant she touched the teacher’s robe she began to shake more violently. She fell at the feet of Simon the Zealot, who broke her fall by catching her with one hand. Mary rushed over and helped Simon move the woman out of the pathway, but it took only a few more seconds before the violent healing tremors dissipated, revealing that the Parkinson’s tremors were gone as well. The teacher’s two friends helped her to her feet.
“‘Thank you. Oh, bless you, teacher. Thank you so much,’ she said, her words tripping over each other.
“Meanwhile, a couple with a baby cradled in what must have been the father’s arms stepped tentatively toward the teacher. In the light of the torches behind the teacher, I saw that the baby was ashen in color.
“The teacher held up his hands to take the baby from them. The father handed the little one to the teacher. Peter and John looked at each other as if checking to see if the other would intervene or offer assistance, perhaps unsure that the exhausted teacher would be able to hold even this small child. Clearly the teacher found a reserve of energy with which to take the baby in his hands. Peering down into the baby’s pale face, he instructed the mother, ‘Put your hand on her chest.’
“The woman looked briefly at her husband and then complied. As soon as the mother touched her, the baby seemed to awaken. Her arms and legs pumped, she turned her head toward her parents. Both of them burst into tears of joy. The little one squirmed, reaching out for her mother.
“As the little family made their way back into the crowd, a stream of people moved steadily past the teacher. I don’t know how many of these suffered from illnesses and deformities that were not comfortable topics for a public gathering, but it occurred to me that this latter means of healing was particularly advantageous, because the teacher didn’t ask about their injuries or diseases and they didn’t need to tell him.
“It had grown quite dark by this time, and the teacher finally allowed his friends to stop the flow of sick and suffering people. Peter announced that the rest of those waiting would have to let the teacher sleep until morning, when he would begin to heal again. This last phrase received a gigantic chorus of cheers that tapered into mixed sobs and laughter.
“I overheard several people repeating the word ‘morning,’ with breathy relief and tired smiles.
“‘I was worried that this would be the only day,’ I heard a woman say to the man with her.
“‘Imagine having to walk home with this sore foot of mine,’ the man said in reply.
“The teacher took a deep breath, the sort one hears in bed next to you just before your spouse falls to sleep.
“His friends conferred briefly about where to go.
“Philip spoke. ‘I have a spot over here.’ He gestured toward the rocks behind them. ‘Joanna and Matthew and some others are holding the place for us.’
“‘I’m glad somebody thought ahead,’ Peter said, patting Phillip on the back.
“James and Andrew helped the teacher to his feet, each holding an arm around his waist as he draped his tired arms over their shoulders. They very nearly carried him the fifty yards to the sheltered place among the rocks that Matthew, Judas, and Bartholomew guarded.
“The women, including Salome, Joanna, and Mary, arranged a fire, food, bedding, and a covering for the teacher and his friends. Someone had given them a large fish, caught in the lake at the bottom of the hill. James set to cleaning the fish with professional efficiency, while Salome nurtured a small flame.
“All around them, campfires flickered yellow in the night. Some of the fuel for those fires came from the accumulated pile of discarded crutches and stretchers. The atmosphere resembled a summer campground or a large community celebration. Laughter and singing rose from every direction. Many people still waited for their healing, but most of these had certainly seen enough that day to feel assured that tomorrow they too would be healed.
“None had been turned away, no disease proved too difficult, no person unworthy to approach the teacher, no oppression powerful enough to resist his assault. Everyone who made their way to the teacher had received healing, freedom, or even resurrection. In that place, with the teacher in their midst, no one need fear sickness, injury, spiritual oppression, emotional pain, or even death.
“His back against a large rock and cushioned by a blanket, the teacher sat near the newly lit fire, his feet stretched out toward it. He stared into the flames without moving. His friends had convinced him to sit up long enough for them to get him some substantial food; and he was a good patient for those many caregivers watching over him.
“His friends gathered around the fire, some bringing firewood, others carrying gifts of food from the people camping around them. Some swept the area of small stones and sticks and began laying out sleeping mats and blankets. Eventually, all of them surrounded the growing fire and helped with preparations for a well-earned meal.
“The talk mostly reflected on what had happened during that day. The teacher remained quiet but smiled at the humorous twists some of his friends put on what they had seen. He nodded as one and then another recalled a remarkable transformation. None of them had seen everything that happened, so they helped to complete the story of that
day for one another.
“The teacher ate broiled fish, bread, and several small pieces of fruit. He drank both water and wine. Then he looked at Joanna with drooping eyes that clearly asked where she had planned for him to sleep. She smiled at the exhausted man and roused two of his friends to help him to a sleeping mat they had prepared for him.
“The evening was still warm enough that the fires were not needed for heat, though I expect the morning would dawn cool. Then, perhaps, the fires would have to be stirred to life against the chill of the arid hills as they rose for another day of miracles.
“The teacher lay by himself under a blanket, the hood of his cloak pulled up over his head. Once his eyes closed he appeared to fall asleep almost instantly. It seemed that he had spent all of the human energy he had. Now he slept peacefully to recharge his body.
“His friends talked, laughed, and teased one another, debated events and meanings, and eventually finished their meal. They began to disperse to their own sleeping arrangements as the fire glowed red and the insects and frogs took over the night air with their own conversations.”
After Walter finished this last narration, Jillian wept openly. Actually, she sobbed, her thin frame surging and subsiding. I don’t fully understand why I didn’t join her. I certainly felt the finality of more than just the story of the dreams. I also had the feeling that the end of the dreams meant that Walter’s life would end soon, as irrational as that sounds.
As I sat holding her hand, I wondered if Jillian’s tide of tears vicariously released some of that mourning for Walter and me. I expect that a big part of our reserve was the fear of what would happen if we did let go and joined Jillian’s emotional purge.
When Jillian’s sobbing and gasping had slowed, I looked from her to Walter. “Thank you, Walter.”
That’s all I could manage. Jillian concurred with a brief renewal of her tears. Walter just pursed his lips in silence.
And He Healed Them All: Second Edition Page 18