“So you survived the night?”
I mustered enough strength to give a slight nod. It had been another long night and I really didn’t want to talk about it, especially with Simon. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t share my problems with him. I simply didn’t have the energy to sit through one more sermon from the goodly man.
Not too many months ago, I would have welcomed the opportunity to share a heartfelt conversation with my friend. Life had just gotten so much more difficult since Sarah’s passing. She was such a patient mother. And she never once uttered a word of complaint in raising the boy... Now, Simon’s unwavering faith in the eternities only served to remind me of my own steadily decreasing faith.
Not to be deterred, Simon pressed, “This was his fourth episode this week?”
Again I nodded, trying not to encourage my friend. I’d heard all the rumors and stories before. As desperately as I wanted to believe my friend, my heart had hardened over time from the many trials and struggles in our family. For me, finding even a drop of faith was like trying to satisfy an unquenchable thirst by drawing water from a dark, bottomless well with a shepherd’s crook. Even if there were some way to miraculously reach the inaccessible water, I was not going to collect more than a few drops with an instrument intended for some other purpose.
There was a time when my faith was an overflowing fountain, and I joined my people anxiously awaiting the Messiah who would come to save us from our enemies. Since then, life had taught me to guard against enemies much worse than the Romans. I have been witness to men entering into the synagogues to worship God and pray immediately after publicly defaming my family as sinners, as children of the devil, and calling us to repent of our wickedness rather than offering a hand of fellowship to us in our infirmities. A few even attempted to stone my son in their “righteous” zeal. Of course Simon was not one of these who shunned my family for the sickness that plagued Jacob. But I had hardened myself against these so-called children of God so long that I no longer felt any desire to unite myself with them in worship of a supposed Father who would allow my family to suffer so much.
As if he could read my mind, Simon put his arm around me and said, “Look, Thomas, I know how hard life has become without Sarah. She always knew how to handle Jacob. We all miss her.”
I mumbled an unintelligible affirmation and turned to leave. The sheep were growing restless. But Simon held me fast.
“Thomas, I wish you would come with me tonight. Just come and see him. He is everything I’ve described. If you’ll do this for me, you’ll never hear another word from me on the subject.”
“But,” I argued, “I must stay with Jacob tonight—especially after last…”
“Bring him with you,” Simon cut in. “Have a desire to believe. That’s all I ask.”
I mustered enough strength to give a slight nod. It had been another long night and I really didn’t want to talk about it, especially with Simon. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t share my problems with him. I simply didn’t have the energy to sit through one more sermon from the goodly man.
Not too many months ago, I would have welcomed the opportunity to share a heartfelt conversation with my friend. Life had just gotten so much more difficult since Sarah’s passing. She was such a patient mother. And she never once uttered a word of complaint in raising the boy... Now, Simon’s unwavering faith in the eternities only served to remind me of my own steadily decreasing faith.
Not to be deterred, Simon pressed, “This was his fourth episode this week?”
Again I nodded, trying not to encourage my friend. I’d heard all the rumors and stories before. As desperately as I wanted to believe my friend, my heart had hardened over time from the many trials and struggles in our family. For me, finding even a drop of faith was like trying to satisfy an unquenchable thirst by drawing water from a dark, bottomless well with a shepherd’s crook. Even if there were some way to miraculously reach the inaccessible water, I was not going to collect more than a few drops with an instrument intended for some other purpose.
There was a time when my faith was an overflowing fountain, and I joined my people anxiously awaiting the Messiah who would come to save us from our enemies. Since then, life had taught me to guard against enemies much worse than the Romans. I have been witness to men entering into the synagogues to worship God and pray immediately after publicly defaming my family as sinners, as children of the devil, and calling us to repent of our wickedness rather than offering a hand of fellowship to us in our infirmities. A few even attempted to stone my son in their “righteous” zeal. Of course Simon was not one of these who shunned my family for the sickness that plagued Jacob. But I had hardened myself against these so-called children of God so long that I no longer felt any desire to unite myself with them in worship of a supposed Father who would allow my family to suffer so much.
As if he could read my mind, Simon put his arm around me and said, “Look, Thomas, I know how hard life has become without Sarah. She always knew how to handle Jacob. We all miss her.”
I mumbled an unintelligible affirmation and turned to leave. The sheep were growing restless. But Simon held me fast.
“Thomas, I wish you would come with me tonight. Just come and see him. He is everything I’ve described. If you’ll do this for me, you’ll never hear another word from me on the subject.”
“But,” I argued, “I must stay with Jacob tonight—especially after last…”
“Bring him with you,” Simon cut in. “Have a desire to believe. That’s all I ask.”
*****
As I came to the mountain with Simon, Jacob stared off into the distance at the setting sun. His eyes were glassy and he wasn’t completely there. I guess I’d rather settle with a shade of my son than have to deal with him tonight, that ungodly intruder that had tried to force itself upon my family for so many years. I could always tell when he had returned, and I hoped that he would not come this night.
Despite my inability to believe in miracles, the fact that Jacob still carried breath in his body was truly one miracle that I could not deny. I could not count the number of times that Jacob had attempted to take his own life… or, rather, that he had tried to claim the life of my son. After several of these “accidents”, I began to bring Jacob with me into the fields to keep him away from the river near our small home. That first night in the hills, Jacob was severely burned in the fire and took weeks to fully recover. I hadn’t left him unattended near fire or water since.
The multitude was larger than I expected. I cast mine eyes about, not knowing what to expect. I certainly didn’t expect to be able to pick Him out of the crowd. I saw several people pressing forward, desperate to be noticed. One was being guided forward. I guessed that this man was blind from the way he stumbled forward as his unfocused eyes drifted to the dimming sky. Another woman leaned upon a stick for support as she limped to the front of the crowd. There were others. The whispered rumors and the stories from Simon returned. But stories they remained. My well of faith remained as deep and dry as ever.
In that moment, as I looked over the expectant crowd, one thought slipped to the front of my mind. It began as a whisper, barely noticeable over the soft murmuring of the multitude. As I focused on that solitary idea, it grew until I could literally hear nothing else but this one, simple thought. What would it hurt?
I thought about Sarah and her love for the child. I thought about Jacob and the fear I felt every time I looked into his eyes. I thought about the faith I cherished in years past. And I thought about the shell of a man I was becoming. As I was engrossed in these thoughts, Simon took my arm and looked into my eyes. I felt naked, as if my friend could see into my very soul. And after peeking in and beholding my darkest fears, my greatest insecurities, and my desperate hopes, he simply nodded and nudged me forward. I grabbed my son by the hand, but he would not follow. He didn’t resist me; he simply stood there like a statue, as empty and hollow physically as I felt emotionally. I bent over and gathered the boy in my arms and began to move forward.
Despite my inability to believe in miracles, the fact that Jacob still carried breath in his body was truly one miracle that I could not deny. I could not count the number of times that Jacob had attempted to take his own life… or, rather, that he had tried to claim the life of my son. After several of these “accidents”, I began to bring Jacob with me into the fields to keep him away from the river near our small home. That first night in the hills, Jacob was severely burned in the fire and took weeks to fully recover. I hadn’t left him unattended near fire or water since.
The multitude was larger than I expected. I cast mine eyes about, not knowing what to expect. I certainly didn’t expect to be able to pick Him out of the crowd. I saw several people pressing forward, desperate to be noticed. One was being guided forward. I guessed that this man was blind from the way he stumbled forward as his unfocused eyes drifted to the dimming sky. Another woman leaned upon a stick for support as she limped to the front of the crowd. There were others. The whispered rumors and the stories from Simon returned. But stories they remained. My well of faith remained as deep and dry as ever.
In that moment, as I looked over the expectant crowd, one thought slipped to the front of my mind. It began as a whisper, barely noticeable over the soft murmuring of the multitude. As I focused on that solitary idea, it grew until I could literally hear nothing else but this one, simple thought. What would it hurt?
I thought about Sarah and her love for the child. I thought about Jacob and the fear I felt every time I looked into his eyes. I thought about the faith I cherished in years past. And I thought about the shell of a man I was becoming. As I was engrossed in these thoughts, Simon took my arm and looked into my eyes. I felt naked, as if my friend could see into my very soul. And after peeking in and beholding my darkest fears, my greatest insecurities, and my desperate hopes, he simply nodded and nudged me forward. I grabbed my son by the hand, but he would not follow. He didn’t resist me; he simply stood there like a statue, as empty and hollow physically as I felt emotionally. I bent over and gathered the boy in my arms and began to move forward.
*****
The man called Philip returned Jacob to my arms, a look of resignation on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he intoned. “I do not know how to help this boy. And our master has not yet returned from the mount. Perhaps you might return tomorrow…?”
I turned to go. I felt embarrassed. I felt betrayed. I felt let down, prepared to never hope again. Seeing the pity in the eyes of those around me, I only felt shame. I was a sinner and didn’t belong among these disciples of Simon’s miracle worker.
At the front of the assembly, I had watched as these men, these so-called disciples, laid their hands upon the blind man and the lame woman I had seen earlier and several other infirm children, and I had been amazed as eyes were opened and limbs were restored. The rumors and stories in my mind were being transformed into miracles before my very eyes. And my desperate hope was growing into something else entirely. For one brief moment, I envisioned my small, broken family whole once more, and I felt an intense surge of joy and love at the prospect.
Then these disciples had turned to Jacob and laid their hands upon the boy. Immediately, he returned and my son fled. The crowd backed away in fear as my son angrily flailed about and shouted incoherently. Philip and his companion struggled to hold the boy for several minutes as they fervently prayed. As they prayed, my fears and doubts returned, and I knew that my cause was hopeless. I was ashamed that I had so blindly opened myself up to hope for my son. Perhaps this assembly was all an act. Perhaps these men might indeed have some magical power over sickness. But there was a greater God out there who had already condemned me, a sinner, and my son and our fate was determined.
As I pushed away from the throng, I heard Simon calling out to me. But I did not look back. And suddenly, there was a great quiet that settled over the crowd, so great that I could hear the angry pulse of my heart. I felt compelled to stop my flight, and I slowly turned back. Every eye was directed to a man standing at the base of a large rock. I stood still, unable to tear my gaze from the man. There was something different about this man, the one I had heard so much about from my friend, a man who looked like any other man. Dressed in ordinary clothes that were dirtied from the rugged outdoors, there was nothing that outwardly reflected any trait that could command such respect and awe from the gathered multitude and such wonder and confusion from me. As He moved through the crowd, he reached out and softly touched hands and faces. His followers seemed to soak in His very being as joy filled their countenances. And then He looked in my direction. For a brief moment, his eyes held my own, and I felt a stirring within. I don’t know how to describe it and I won’t try. He started to move towards me.
Suddenly He stood before me. I don’t know how He got from there to here so quickly. He spread His hands, without words asking me why I had come. I had thought that I felt shame a few minutes before when my hopes had been crushed by reality and when I had fled those who surely looked upon me as a hopeless sinner. But now, in the shadow of this man who seemed extraordinary in every sense, despite his ordinary appearance, I felt such shame that I fell to my knees, cradling Jacob to my breast, and staring into the dirt. I refused to look up. The feelings of nakedness I had felt with Simon were nothing compared to now as I felt this man studying me at this moment. I wanted to fall into the sea and be buried under a large rock so as to escape His judgment and condemnation.
I felt a hand on my face, drawing me upwards. And I saw his eyes once more. I was surprised as I had expected to see only loathing and contempt written upon them. What I saw was something else entirely.
I stuttered and stumbled as I poured out a torrent of words explaining the reason for my coming to the mountain. “Master, I beseech thee, look upon my son, for he is mine only child… and have mercy on him for he is a lunatick, and sore vexed... he hath a dumb spirit and wheresoever he taketh him, he teareth him, and he foameth, and gnasheth with his teeth, and pineth away… and I spake to thy disciples that they should cast him out; and they could not…”
The flood of words and worries gushed out and finally slowed to a trickle. Through the tears in my eyes, I watched as the man called Jesus turned to look at his disciples with a sad expression on his face.
He sighed and softly spoke words that only those closest to Him could hear, “Oh faithless generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall I suffer you?” Then he turned again to look at me and my son. “Bring him unto me.”
I slowly rose to my feet and began to lay Jacob at Jesus’ feet. And suddenly, that evil spirit returned again and Jacob’s glazed expression was replaced with darting, terror-filled eyes and the boy fell heavily to the ground. He began to violently thrash about and foam at the mouth. Again, the crowd backed away. But the Lord stood still and crouched to lay his hands on the flailing boy. At the physical contact, Jacob immediately stilled and lay unmoving.
Jesus looked up at me and asked, “How long ago is it since this came unto him.”
I softly answered, “Of a child. And ofttimes it hath cast him into the fire, and into the waters, to destroy him… but if thou canst do any thing, have compassion on us, and help us.”
Jesus paused for a moment and then replied, “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.”
“Lord, I believe!” I quickly cried out through my tears. Jesus didn’t say a word. He just looked at me with those eyes, those knowing eyes that could see me so clearly and understand me so fully. Bared to my very soul, I crumbled. “Help thou mine unbelief…”
In that split-second, I knew that everything would be alright. I don’t know how I knew it. As Jesus began to pray, there was nothing magical about the power that He commanded.
“Thou dumb and deaf spirit, I charge thee, come out of him, and enter no more into him!”
There was a terrible unearthly cry and the sound of rushing wind and finally the feeling of some evil presence fleeing the scene. And then all was calm once more and I looked upon my son at the feet of the Master.
Jacob lay deathly still and I wanted to rush to his side. I heard those around me whispering, “Is he dead?” and “He must be.”
Time seemed to stand still as my fears and doubts sought to overtake me once more. During this timeless moment, Jesus looked only at me. His lips did not move but it was as if I heard him say, “Be not faithless, but believing!”
Jesus then rose to his feet and took Jacob by the hand. As he lifted the boy to his feet, I finally gave in and rushed to scoop my son up in my arms. I saw his eyes, oh his beautiful eyes! His smile, what a heavenly sight! He threw his arms around my neck and we held each other tightly as tears flowed.
In that moment, there was nothing else in this world except for my son and me, and I knew that somehow, someday we would be joined by my beloved Sarah, reunited as a family and whole once more.
As the tears slowed, I wiped my eyes and looked about for the man called Jesus. Simon stood by my side and clapped me on the back. Jacob squeezed my hand tightly, not wanting to let go. But where was He? And then I saw him. He was ministering to others about a stones cast away with a small child in his arms.
I called out, “Master!”
He turned to look at me one last time. He smiled as the little girl in his arms giggled. Over the noise of the crowd, I knew that he would not hear me. And so I mouthed, “Thank you!”
This time, his lips did move. And though I could not hear him over the multitude, I understood his words, which remain with me to this day, “Be not faithless, but believing!”
“I’m sorry,” he intoned. “I do not know how to help this boy. And our master has not yet returned from the mount. Perhaps you might return tomorrow…?”
I turned to go. I felt embarrassed. I felt betrayed. I felt let down, prepared to never hope again. Seeing the pity in the eyes of those around me, I only felt shame. I was a sinner and didn’t belong among these disciples of Simon’s miracle worker.
At the front of the assembly, I had watched as these men, these so-called disciples, laid their hands upon the blind man and the lame woman I had seen earlier and several other infirm children, and I had been amazed as eyes were opened and limbs were restored. The rumors and stories in my mind were being transformed into miracles before my very eyes. And my desperate hope was growing into something else entirely. For one brief moment, I envisioned my small, broken family whole once more, and I felt an intense surge of joy and love at the prospect.
Then these disciples had turned to Jacob and laid their hands upon the boy. Immediately, he returned and my son fled. The crowd backed away in fear as my son angrily flailed about and shouted incoherently. Philip and his companion struggled to hold the boy for several minutes as they fervently prayed. As they prayed, my fears and doubts returned, and I knew that my cause was hopeless. I was ashamed that I had so blindly opened myself up to hope for my son. Perhaps this assembly was all an act. Perhaps these men might indeed have some magical power over sickness. But there was a greater God out there who had already condemned me, a sinner, and my son and our fate was determined.
As I pushed away from the throng, I heard Simon calling out to me. But I did not look back. And suddenly, there was a great quiet that settled over the crowd, so great that I could hear the angry pulse of my heart. I felt compelled to stop my flight, and I slowly turned back. Every eye was directed to a man standing at the base of a large rock. I stood still, unable to tear my gaze from the man. There was something different about this man, the one I had heard so much about from my friend, a man who looked like any other man. Dressed in ordinary clothes that were dirtied from the rugged outdoors, there was nothing that outwardly reflected any trait that could command such respect and awe from the gathered multitude and such wonder and confusion from me. As He moved through the crowd, he reached out and softly touched hands and faces. His followers seemed to soak in His very being as joy filled their countenances. And then He looked in my direction. For a brief moment, his eyes held my own, and I felt a stirring within. I don’t know how to describe it and I won’t try. He started to move towards me.
Suddenly He stood before me. I don’t know how He got from there to here so quickly. He spread His hands, without words asking me why I had come. I had thought that I felt shame a few minutes before when my hopes had been crushed by reality and when I had fled those who surely looked upon me as a hopeless sinner. But now, in the shadow of this man who seemed extraordinary in every sense, despite his ordinary appearance, I felt such shame that I fell to my knees, cradling Jacob to my breast, and staring into the dirt. I refused to look up. The feelings of nakedness I had felt with Simon were nothing compared to now as I felt this man studying me at this moment. I wanted to fall into the sea and be buried under a large rock so as to escape His judgment and condemnation.
I felt a hand on my face, drawing me upwards. And I saw his eyes once more. I was surprised as I had expected to see only loathing and contempt written upon them. What I saw was something else entirely.
I stuttered and stumbled as I poured out a torrent of words explaining the reason for my coming to the mountain. “Master, I beseech thee, look upon my son, for he is mine only child… and have mercy on him for he is a lunatick, and sore vexed... he hath a dumb spirit and wheresoever he taketh him, he teareth him, and he foameth, and gnasheth with his teeth, and pineth away… and I spake to thy disciples that they should cast him out; and they could not…”
The flood of words and worries gushed out and finally slowed to a trickle. Through the tears in my eyes, I watched as the man called Jesus turned to look at his disciples with a sad expression on his face.
He sighed and softly spoke words that only those closest to Him could hear, “Oh faithless generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall I suffer you?” Then he turned again to look at me and my son. “Bring him unto me.”
I slowly rose to my feet and began to lay Jacob at Jesus’ feet. And suddenly, that evil spirit returned again and Jacob’s glazed expression was replaced with darting, terror-filled eyes and the boy fell heavily to the ground. He began to violently thrash about and foam at the mouth. Again, the crowd backed away. But the Lord stood still and crouched to lay his hands on the flailing boy. At the physical contact, Jacob immediately stilled and lay unmoving.
Jesus looked up at me and asked, “How long ago is it since this came unto him.”
I softly answered, “Of a child. And ofttimes it hath cast him into the fire, and into the waters, to destroy him… but if thou canst do any thing, have compassion on us, and help us.”
Jesus paused for a moment and then replied, “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.”
“Lord, I believe!” I quickly cried out through my tears. Jesus didn’t say a word. He just looked at me with those eyes, those knowing eyes that could see me so clearly and understand me so fully. Bared to my very soul, I crumbled. “Help thou mine unbelief…”
In that split-second, I knew that everything would be alright. I don’t know how I knew it. As Jesus began to pray, there was nothing magical about the power that He commanded.
“Thou dumb and deaf spirit, I charge thee, come out of him, and enter no more into him!”
There was a terrible unearthly cry and the sound of rushing wind and finally the feeling of some evil presence fleeing the scene. And then all was calm once more and I looked upon my son at the feet of the Master.
Jacob lay deathly still and I wanted to rush to his side. I heard those around me whispering, “Is he dead?” and “He must be.”
Time seemed to stand still as my fears and doubts sought to overtake me once more. During this timeless moment, Jesus looked only at me. His lips did not move but it was as if I heard him say, “Be not faithless, but believing!”
Jesus then rose to his feet and took Jacob by the hand. As he lifted the boy to his feet, I finally gave in and rushed to scoop my son up in my arms. I saw his eyes, oh his beautiful eyes! His smile, what a heavenly sight! He threw his arms around my neck and we held each other tightly as tears flowed.
In that moment, there was nothing else in this world except for my son and me, and I knew that somehow, someday we would be joined by my beloved Sarah, reunited as a family and whole once more.
As the tears slowed, I wiped my eyes and looked about for the man called Jesus. Simon stood by my side and clapped me on the back. Jacob squeezed my hand tightly, not wanting to let go. But where was He? And then I saw him. He was ministering to others about a stones cast away with a small child in his arms.
I called out, “Master!”
He turned to look at me one last time. He smiled as the little girl in his arms giggled. Over the noise of the crowd, I knew that he would not hear me. And so I mouthed, “Thank you!”
This time, his lips did move. And though I could not hear him over the multitude, I understood his words, which remain with me to this day, “Be not faithless, but believing!”
