The stone porches around the pools of Bethesda were cold and unforgiving that day. Like every day. Time was only marked by passing shadows. They were cold and unforgiving as well. Particularly the long shadow of evening when they came to carry him away, for their price. There’s always the price. Did he have enough today? Was there anything in his bowl? No. It too was empty. Cold and unforgiving. Would they again add to his debt? Of course. Would it all ever end? If only he could get up. If only he could walk. But no. If only…
There was the pool. The water flowed in. The water flowed out. But when would it stir for him? And would he be able to get there first? No. He was among the last. He had lost before. He couldn’t even crawl. And the price was the bed of stone. Every day. Only his cloak that was also his bed was between him and…
But then there came the shadow. None of the public pools stirred, only his soul. That pool was dark and deep. Unfathomable really. But the pool of his soul stirred! No one else was moving. Only the shadow moving over him. And then it stopped.
“Do you want to be made well?”
The shadow spoke. Looking up, he could only see… the luminescence of a man’s outline against the setting sun. So he just spoke as well. It really was the only thing he could do. He couldn’t move much. He could look up. But only barely.
“Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; but while I am coming, another steps down before me.”
Even as he spoke, the wonder had begun. The moment was new. Not like all the empty moments of his crippled life, lying on the stones, watching others leap into the pools… at that rarest of stirrings of the angels. For 38 years. Watching others live. Watching others hope. Did he even hope anymore? Did the Man in the shadow know? Anyone could see the flesh. His flesh. He couldn’t even drag it to the pools. But could He see, could He know all the rest? What no one else knew, and even he dared not tell? What he couldn’t forget? What about Him? And what did He mean? Made well? How could what was so broken, what was so wrong, what was so long ago…be made well?
But now it was him that was leaping. There were no angels stirring the waters. And no one around him was stirred by the man. The shadow of a being had stopped to see. And was seeing him. Only the One behind the shadow really saw. Somehow He knew it all. And He had spoken to him. It was so much more than that. But it also was exactly that. Yes! His heart was leaping! But into what? And who was this Man behind the shadow? And then He spoke again;
“Rise, take up your bed and walk.”
What was that sound? It was like water…water pouring from every direction. Warm water. Gentle water. From everywhere, yet inside. An inside that he only dreamed was there. As if a dry leaf was being filled with water from the roots of it’s very being. As he listened to the life being poured into his flesh, an even greater stirring began.
What was that? At first is was unfamiliar. Yes. His fellow sufferers were taking in deep breaths of amazement. But why? Had someone been given an unusual gift? A generous offering for one of the poor? Was the pool waters moving? No. They were still, even as the evening air made ready. He looked at them. They were looking up at him. Up at him? He was standing! His legs were full and complete! All of him was risen. His skin, his muscles, his tendons, so long rigid and still…all together, he and his body had risen! Risen by this Man’s Word! They were made ready. And now they moved! Easily. Naturally. As a child he had run with the winds. It was like that now. Yet now the winds were running with him!
The others…the murmurs were reaching beyond. The echos among the cold stones of the porches was stunning, full of wonder, amazement and surprise. And was he dancing? This one who was crippled all those years? And to what music? He was knowing more than he understood. It was a song from within. It was the song of joy, of belonging. Of being touched by someone in love. How long had it been? Was there ever such a touch? It was beyond him, yet now within him. He was moving to the inner song of being whole. The dance was now somehow familiar. He knew some steps. Not all, but enough to walk. Oh to walk! To move freely…this way and then that way! The chorus of sufferers was the outward accompaniment to this symphony of glory.
He turned to look at the man, the light and shadow of the voice that spoke. But where was He? He turned around and around, trying to put his eyes on the One. But all he saw was the others. The ones who watched over their wards. The ones who could move, could walk. The ones who demanded their price from those who could demand nothing, from the ones who could not refuse. Together they existed. The lame, with their bowls of pity, filled with so little, and what there was, these watchers seemed to take it all. They were coming. What would they take?
He reached down and picked up his only friend, his bed. It seemed grateful to be wanted. It too was nothing but a story of sadness, a cast off of the rich ones, weary of it’s wear. Tossed to the beggar one night as he shivered in the chill. It was a shadow of hope, this thread-bare bed of his. Even as it crumpled into his supple arms, he paused. Were these his arms? They seemed so strong. So sure. So ready. For what?
The watchers were confused. Where was their beggar, their little bowl of money? Was that the sound he had heard, as it was knocked into the pool, with it’s meager offerings sinking into the depths? The 38 years of sorrow were gone, like those coins. It was such a final sound.
He stepped back as the watchers rushed past him, desperate for an explanation. Where is he, our daily price? Our living? They didn’t seem to recognize him. There was such confusion. And there was an air of elation. Was that what hope sounds like? Was that an aroma of new life? It was such rare thing around these pools. He knew this only too well.
The man also knew enough to keep walking. Not too fast. Not too slow. He knew these watchers. He knew these cold stones. Up close he knew them. But the Man. It was as if He was still there, but within him. What a change. What did this mean? He would look for Him. He would find Him and ask…what? For more? Was there more?
He was outside now, the evening breeze was familiar, but new. It touched him in news ways. He was moving. The wind was moving. Together. Yes. There was more. He would find Him. He sensed that it all wouldn’t be easy. The angry shouts down by the pools told him this. But he also understood that the Man knew. And this was even more real than the 38 years of anger he heard coming now from around the pools.
He decided he would, and could, face this all. He would move toward the Light that he had seen. He would endure what must come next. For he already had received… what do you call this?
What could he return but his thanksgiving? Yes. He would find the One who spoke. He would thank Him. Was He the miracle worker, the prophet he had heard about? Was He more than this? He had heard those whispers of hope. They just weren’t his whispers. Until now.
And he would do…he would be… what ever He spoke. He would find Him and listen to everything. He would follow this One who made him well.
Featured Image Harold Copping
