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The paralyzed man
sits on the rubble, his head down, not daring to lift it up. He waits for the
verbal shovel to land full-force.
Nothing.
His head still
down, he imagines the Rabbi shaking His head, as if stumped by the audacious spectacle
his friends have created.
Hmph! The
man’s imaginary ear hears Jesus’ irritated inflection,
What am I going to do
with you and with these good-for-nothing friends of yours?!!!
There are muffled gasps,
and murmurs, and whispers, but none of them come from Jesus.
The quiet is so
magnetic that finally, ever so slowly, the man raises his head.
His eyes meet Jesus’.
There are flames of
fire and ocean depths mingled together there, along with the sound of rushing waterfall and the smell of jasmine on a
warm summer day and the gentle round tenderness of a lamb leaning against his
mother wrapped in the dusk of an early evening.
In that
split-second moment, in that unexpected collision between time and eternity, the
walls and the floor fall off the paralyzed man’s heart. He is still quite firmly seated on the pile of
rubble, but he feels as if he is levitating, as if he is suspended in mid-air
by an invisible force.
Son, your sins are forgiven. He hears the words just above a
whisper, but their sound are rattling the walls and the floor of the packed-out
room.
…Son…
…son…
…son…
… your sins…
… are…
… forgiven…
… forgiven…
…forgiven…
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