Fifteen

Andrew had all but decided to go then and there to question (to confront?) Jesus on the topic, but he at that moment seemed to have reached the house he had mentioned, which turned out to be Simon's. He stopped in the doorway, and immediately a rather large crowd began to gather around him. "Afterwards," Andrew said to himself.

Jesus began a speech or sermon, which no one was paying particular attention to; they were all still too interested in the fact that Matthew was evidently going to be one of their number, and were anything but happy about it, and some were even quite annoyed, like Andrew, that all his sins would have been simply forgotten, if the story had any meaning at all.

He looked at Matthew, who had not heard anything of what Jesus had said before, and realized that he, also like Andrew and practically everyone else, was not hearing what he was saying. Matthew seemed too concerned with whether his sins had been simply erased, or whether he was expected to pay for them somehow. The pained and worried look on his face, as much as shouted, "Will I have to give up all I own?" a prospect he evidently found anything but pleasant.

Suddenly there was a commotion behind Jesus in the house, drawing everyone's attention. Something was going on on the roof, but the students were too close to see what it was.

All at once, the ceiling opened, and a stretcher came down through a hole made in the thatch of the roof. Simon looked indignantly up at the vandalism, and was about to mount the ladder on the side when the stretcher, with a young man lying on it, came to rest just at the feet of Jesus, who was actually standing slightly inside the doorway, talking to the crowd that packed the space in front of the house.

Jesus looked at the youth, and then up through the hole in the roof, and said to the--evidently paralyzed--boy lying there, "Child, your sins are forgiven." The boy's face suddenly lit up with relief and joy; it was as if this was what he had hoped for, rather than the obvious, to be free of his paralysis.

Another case of forgiving sins! thought Andrew. What could they have been? Were they what paralyzed him? And was everything simply erased? And was it Jesus who forgave the sins, whatever they were, or did he simply declare that God had done it? Of course, if he were the "beloved Son," it probably made no difference. Or did it?

The crowd, however, was in no mood to engage in philosophical speculation. "Why does he speak thus? This is blasphemy! Who is able to forgive sins except the one God?" Exactly. And if the Reign of God was about to start, it would doubtless be the Reign of Jesus.

Jesus looked over the crowd, at one or two of those who had been complaining. "Why are you having debates about this, and harboring evil thoughts? Which is easier, to tell him his sins are forgiven, or to tell him to stand up and walk?

"But to let you know that the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins," and he turned to the paralyzed lad, "I tell you, stand up, take your stretcher, and go home."

And the boy stood up, and crying, "Hallelujah! Hallelujah!" picked up his stretcher, and went off, leaping and shouting.

Everyone was awestruck. "We have never seen anything like this." "Praise God!" "How did he do it?" "Strange things are happening today!" "Then his sins must have been forgiven!" "Nonsense!" "What else could it mean? You heard what he said!" "But if only God can forgive sins--" "Yes. What then?" "I do not understand it."

Well, there was no question now. It was Jesus who forgave the sin, even if only God can forgive sins. So Jesus was God, somehow, even though he was his "beloved Son." It boggled the mind. But then, a paralyzed boy simply leaping up--as a sign of Jesus's divinity--and running off home boggled the mind.

As people were milling about, discussing what had happened, Andrew was about to approach Jesus with his question about Matthew and Ezekiel, but Matthew got there ahead of him, and said something or other to him in a low voice. Jesus also answered in such a way that no one heard, and they began a rather lengthy conversation, in the midst of which Jesus laughed and said, loud enough to be heard, "Your problem, Matthew, is not that you do not believe, but that you do not believe that you believe," and then lapsed into the undertone again, as Matthew struggled to understand him. They gradually walked off, still talking, not noticed by anyone except Andrew, and interestingly John, Thomas and--of course--Ezra, and after a short time were not visible by anyone.

Ezra, who was fairly near Andrew, said to Thomas, "Interesting. Did you see? Once again there and then nowhere. The two of them."

"Indeed?" answered Thomas. "I simply assumed that they had turned a corner or something while I was not looking."

"They turned some kind of corner. I was following them carefully, wondering if just this would happen. It was as it was with him in Nazareth. No one could say just when it occurred, but afterwards they were not there. One must blink, after all."

"Well, if they went somewhere private, that is their business, I suppose."

"Still, it is interesting."

"What is there that is not 'interesting' connected with this man?"

So he was gone and Andrew's interview with him would have to be postponed again. John and Ezra went on talking, but Andrew wandered off, trying to fathom what the cure of the paralytic did for his problem. It seemed to shed no light on it. The boy's sin was forgiven, and the cure confirmed that Jesus did it. But did that mean that everything involved in the sin was simply erased? That was the question that Matthew's forgiveness raised. How could one erase the misery he had caused?

But Jesus was not there to be asked, and so Andrew sought Judas, who seemed the most intelligent and learned of the students.

Judas happened to be with Simon, Andrew's brother, and Thomas. Andrew approached and said, "So, Judas, what do you make of all this? It has me bewildered."

"Well, Andrew," he replied, "I was just saying to Simon that it is obvious that Jesus is filled with the Divine Spirit in a way even beyond what the prophets, including such as Elijah and Elisha were. They had to invoke God, while the Master simply does miraculous things as if by his own power."

"As if?" said Andrew. "You think it is not by his own power?" Did he not say that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins?

"Well, clearly, it is by the power of God. They are perfectly right; only God can forgive sins. But 'The Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins.'" So Judas had noticed this. "Either he is saying that he is God, or he is claiming that God has given him this power. But only God Himself can forgive sins, and God is a spirit, not someone with flesh and blood. So the only reasonable thing to do is say that he is a man somehow filled with God. Either that, or he is a liar."

"Or," said Simon, "he is God."

"And you can see how absurd that is, I hope."

Simon, who could and could not, made no reply, and that seemed to end the discussion. What was there to reply?

Thomas also seemed to be a bit nervous, as if he had some information that made him think it not absurd. And Andrew also did not think that the case was as open-and-shut as Judas made it out to be, though he did not want to bring up his vague idea for Judas to ridicule. He wandered off by himself, pondering this last development.

But when one thought about it, how absurd would it be for the Infinite to limit Himself? Of course, he would be infinitely beyond the limited "version" of Himself, just as a man walking about with his eyes closed still was capable of seeing, even though he was for practical purposes blind. It was thinkable, at least. In that case, the limited "version" could actually do what the Infinite Himself could do, since he was merely--merely! Andrew laughed to himself--the Infinite in a limited "version," whatever that might mean; but there would be a sense in which they were the same, if even there was a "they" there. If this were true, then Jesus, the limited "version" could occasionally step out of his limitations in one way or another--as the "blind" man could open his eyes--and perform some miracle.

What incredible nonsense this all sounded! And yet, "only God can forgive sins," and "the Son of Man has the power on earth to forgive sins." And think of all the other things he did, the cures, the casting out of demons (who always seemed to be about to tell the world that he was the Son of God, before he silenced them).

But what of the damage the sin caused? Could that be erased somehow? But how? Not by making it not have happened, but--but that it would be something like Zebedee's legs, an event which turned out to be not really damage. If Jesus was a limited "version" of the Unlimited Being, then he could manage the harm, presumably, as he had managed the legs of Zebedee.

Perhaps.

Then that would mean that Thomas's brother Samuel somehow had had a favor done to him by being killed at that time and in that way. How far-fetched! Of course, the death was not a murder, but an accident, and did not the Master arrange things so that those he loved and who loved him would ultimately not suffer? Was that all that was necessary to take care of the harm one's sins had done? And even if it was a murder (which was absurd, but even if), then as far as Samuel and his fate was concerned, it was the same as an accident. That is, the sin of causing the death had nothing to do with it as a sin, since the act was the same whether it was the result of deliberate malice or not. So perhaps God could turn this into another case of Zebedee's legs, somehow. And so with the harm from every sin; it was the same as the harm from an earthquake or a tornado, for which no human was responsible. Presumably, God would not allow the victims ultimately to suffer from these things, but would somehow make them better off than they would have been if it had not happened. In that case, the sin or lack of it was irrelevant.

Perhaps. But did that mean that the sinner was absolved from responsibility? When looked at in this way, it made no sense. I hated you and maimed you; let God see to making it right.

So Andrew went futilely back and forth.

Jesus joined them after a while, looked over at John with a rather amused smile on his face, and then said to everyone that Matthew had an errand to perform, and would rejoin them on the morrow.

Jesus, Andrew saw to his joy, did not seem to be very occupied; and in fact he went over to Andrew as if to enter into a private conversation, and said, "You are close, Andrew. Quite close."

"Master!" said Andrew, wondering what he meant.

"About the limited 'version' of the Infinite Being. I told John, in fact, back when the other John was bathing people, that one day I would reveal that the Father and I were one and the same thing. You have all but concluded to it. You are very astute."

"Well thank you, Master." Andrew blushed. "But there is much and much that I do not understand."

"You had a problem with Ezekiel, for instance."

If he was the limited "version" of the Creator, clearly he knew what Andrew had been thinking. Still, it was a shock.

"It does not seem fair to me," he managed to say.

"And you wonder if your notion of what is fair is why you are here."

"That thought had crossed my mind. It does not seem to . . ."

"Let me ask you this: Is Thomas a drunk?"

"Well, he was a drunk."

"True, but is he one?"

"As far as I know, no. I have not seen him drink anything but water, and he never acts drunk. I suppose he is not."

"So a person who was a drunk and then stops drinking is not really a drunk after he stops."

". . . I suppose not."

"And by the same token, is a person who, like Thomas, has devoted his whole life to sinning some other way and then stops sinning and acts virtuously, is that person now a sinner or a virtuous person?"

"When you put it that way, obviously a virtuous person."

"And why would one punish a virtuous person for his sins? His reality is that of a virtuous person, even though he was a sinner. That is, you are punishing him as a sinner, though he, like Thomas, is virtuous. Does that make sense?"

"Well, but he did commit the sins."

"True, and Thomas did get drunk. But why punish Thomas now for his drunkenness if he is not drunk?"

"You are saying that now he is not the same person as the drunk, or the sinner."

"Exactly. What you are is what you are now, not what you were. You were a boy, but what you are is a man. You are the same person, but you are not the same, and should not be treated like a boy. So to go back to Ezekiel, when a man sins and then repudiates the sin and acts virtuously, he now is a virtuous person, the very opposite of the sinner, and my Father regards him as what he is, not what he was. And, of course, when the virtuous person repudiates himself as virtuous and commits sin, then what he is is a sinner, and deserves the consequences of what he is, not what he was. It makes no sense to reward someone for something that he has rejected, just because he once believed differently."

"It still . . ."

"I know. It is not fair. But how 'fair' is it to punish a virtuous man who has rejected his life of sin? You are punishing a virtuous man as a sinner, and he is not a sinner."

"When you put it that way, it makes sense. But still . . ."

"You say, well, what of the damage he has done? But you yourself found the solution to that. Any harm that comes to a person that he did not deliberately bring on himself is in the providence of my Father, who loves him, and who has the power to turn the evil into good, as you saw in the case of Zebedee. I am telling you that this always is the case, though it may not be apparent in this life. Even, for instance, with Samuel. And it may be, if things develop in a certain way, that Thomas and his father may discover that, for instance."

"That is a saying that is very hard to accept, you realize."

"And that is one of the reasons I am here; to establish the Kingdom, where it will be apparent. In fact, where the harm simply will not happen. And even if I am rejected, and harm remains on the earth (because evil will have its punishment), then it will still be true that ultimately, all will be well for those who love my Father.

"But if evil will have its punishment, what of the harm the sinner has done? Does that simply disappear? What I mean is, is he not responsible for it?"

"Indeed he is. Each sinner suffers for his sins, even after he has rejected them. My Father is just, not simply merciful. Have you noticed how Thomas strokes that little bladder he has at his side?"

"How could one not notice it? It happens every hour, it seems."

"He does that to fight off the desire to drink from it, on the grounds that if he did not have it, he would be so frantic he would go find a wineskin and drink. Some day, he will do without it, and that day will seem the end of the world to him, even though he has not had a drink of anything but water for over a year now. The sin is gone, but the effects of the sin continue to torment him, because he has done damage to himself, which can only be repaired slowly, and will never really completely disappear--until the Kingdom is established.

"And have you noticed the worried look on Matthew's face?"

"I have. He seems concerned about whether he will have to pay back those he cheated."

"And you think he has reason to be concerned."

"Well, he did cheat them, and does he not have a responsibility to them?"

"Yes, of course. And he is concerned with facing it. But one must take one step at a time, not leap over whole countries at a bound. But notice that there is no practical way he can actually pay back those he cheated, because there is no way he can know who they were exactly, or what damage he has actually done and so forth."

"But that makes the whole situation impossible."

"Not impossible, when my Father is taken into account. My Father knows each of his victims, and has care for each of them. Matthew must--and will--make some effort at restitution, but he need not worry about his doing strict justice, because strict justice in a human sense is impossible. But if he tries, then he and my Father will bring it about that he actually helped rather than hurt them--that they are better off for his cheating and his attempt at restitution, though he himself may not realize this. My Father loves each of us, and will not allow us to be harmed by others, whether, as in Thomas's case, accidentally, or as with Matthew, by ignoring the harm he was doing. Did you notice what he was doing when I called him?"

"It seemed there was something in his hand."

"It was a knife. He was going to stab himself to death--which would have only compounded the evil, of course. That was what I stopped. But the point is that he had come to realize for a very significant reason the harm he was doing to others. That was when he was ready to change his way of thinking, and that is why I was there."

Andrew realized that whatever this "significant reason" was, it was not for him to know. It also implied, of course, that everything was somehow "arranged." It was a frightening thought.

"Have no fear," said Jesus, answering what was not spoken. The Father and I love you all. There is nothing to worry about. But there is something more to this. We have separated out the sin from the act the sinner performs, and rightly so. A person might sin in wanting to kill, say, a crippled man, and in his attempt, he frightens the man so that he recovers from his paralysis. His sin was murder, but his act actually cured his victim; so the two are not the same.

"The sin, you see, lies in the choice the sinner makes. He wishes in some way to do something that contradicts his reality. And of course, he cannot actually contradict his reality, and so what he wishes to do is actually impossible. It is this attempt to do the impossible that is the sin; but that exists only in the choice, not in the act by which he tries to carry out the choice.

"But that choice is a spiritual act, and therefore an eternal act; and as an attempt to do the impossible, it is a self-frustrating act. That means that the sinner carries beyond his death into eternity the self-frustrating attempt to do the impossible--and so is frustrated for eternity. And that is a fate far worse than maiming or crippling, or any earthly punishment. That is what I save him from by forgiving, or if you will, erasing, the sin. It does not change the act; it removes the self-defeating choice. Do you follow?"

"I am not certain, but I think I do. What you say, Master, makes a great deal of sense, though I--I understand very little of it at the moment. I am overwhelmed with what you have told me. I have enough to think about already for the rest of my life. But, though I do not really grasp more than a small bit of it, at least I can now see that there is another way to look at things.

"I think."

"I have given you about three times as much as I would be able to give others, and I realize that you must digest all this at your leisure. Let us therefore mingle with the others. That is enough for now. There is more that concerns you, but we can leave that for later."

"It is more than enough for now, certainly. Thank you, Master."

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