Twenty

Jesus then said, "Let us proceed to the house, and I think it would be useful as we go if I told you a little story. I tell this just to you and not the crowds at the moment.

"Two men once went into the Temple to pray, one a Pharisee and one a tax-collector. The Pharisee stood there and whispered this prayer: 'My God, I am grateful to you for not being greedy, dishonest, and adulterous like other people--or even like this tax collector.'"

John had been watching Levi during this time, wondering what he thought of Jesus, now (for the first time) telling little stories. He looked up in shock, and John saw that he thought the story was about him. There must have been another person also in the synagogue before the crowd came, standing praying (as many did) in the front.

Jesus was continuing, "'--a week, and I pay my tithes on everything I own.' The tax-collector, however, stood in the back of the Temple and would not even raise his eyes to heaven; he only kept beating his breast and saying, 'My God, please have mercy on this sinner!'

Levi turned pale, confirming John's suspicion. It must have been a very great sin to bring him into the synagogue after all this time--something much greater than all the sins he had committed in his work as a tax-collector.

"--point is," Jesus continued following his custom of acting as if nothing was happening, "that he was the one who left the Temple virtuous, not the Pharisee. Everyone who elevates himself will be lowered, and one who lowers himself will be elevated."

There was a silence. The paleness suddenly left Levi's face, and it flamed crimson. And then he noticed everyone looking at him. The group had not had Jesus tell them a story before, and its obvious application to Levi was evidently supposed to indicate to them what their attitude toward him should be.

James the Owl came up to Levi and asked, "Were you (hem) ever in the Temple, Levi?"

"Call me Matthew, please. That is the name I was born with, and I now no longer have to disguise it. The one I wished to avoid now knows who and where I am. No, I was never in the Temple. It is a story. You must ask him if it applies to me, and how, if at all."

No one was fooled by this, of course, and everyone took it to signify that Jesus was telling them that he had left the synagogue with his sins, whatever they were, forgiven. But how was it possible?

This was a new development. Jesus did not exactly say that he forgave the man's sins, but that the man's attitude induced God--or better "allowed" God, who "did not want the death of the sinner but his repentance"--to forgive him. Still, Jesus was clearly indicating that he knew that Levi was now virtuous; and if he was "one and the same" as the Father, perhaps he could forgive sins on his own--because he, somehow, was not on his own. It was all very confusing.

Clearly this Matthew was struggling with the same concept. Finally, it seemed to occur to him that if it were possible, perhaps a new life could begin, after all.

Philip, who could not let go of an idea, came up to him at this point, and said, "Did I not see you in the synagogue in Nazareth, a couple of mornings ago?"

"I have been in that synagogue but once in my life." "Oh. I thought I saw you when--but it is of no consequence."

Levi obviously was quite astute. No doubt he had been in that synagogue but once, and that was the time. John saw that Thomas, who looked over at Ezra, had caught it, as had Ezra, who nodded agreement.

Matthew--as his name now would be, it seemed--was walking within earshot of Andrew and Nathanael, who were discussing the story among themselves, without seeming to realize that he could overhear them. "But how can he say that the Pharisee did not leave the Temple virtuous?" said Andrew. "In what had he sinned? He did everything he was required to do. Who pays tithes on everything? And what did the tax-collector do except admit that he was a sinner? Does recognizing what you are absolve you from your sins?"

Matthew shrank as if stung, but the two took no notice.

As Nathanael paused before replying, John thought, "No, but repentance--the right kind of repentance, perhaps--allowed God to do so."

Nathanael then answered, "Clearly, there is more to it than that. The tax-collector was beating his breast and begging for mercy, after all. He was hardly bragging at how clever he was at sinning. He wished forgiveness, and forgiveness was granted him. It is a question of attitude, I suppose. Remember David after Bathsheba, and his psalm. He was forgiven."

"But he had to pay," Andrew countered. "His beloved son was killed." Matthew shrank back in fear. Would he have to pay back all the money he had cheated out of everyone?

"True. But he was forgiven, and so was the tax-collector. We know not what he had to pay afterwards."

"Well I think he should have mentioned it. Why should sinners simply have everything wiped away as if they had done no harm?"

"I think, Andrew, that we have entered a new order of things."

"It seems we have." answered Andrew. "Especially since the Pharisee's virtue did him no good. I might grant what you say about the tax-collector, but why should the Pharisee's virtuous acts count for nothing? Explain me that!"

"You notice how proud he was of everything he did? 'Not like the rest of men,' or whatever he said."

"Did you notice, Bartholomew, that he expressed gratitude to God that he was as he was?"

He paused for a moment. "Yes, but he had a list of all his good deeds ready to hand. Why was he praying thus to God, reminding him of all that he had done for him? One does nothing for God! God is infinite; he needs nothing from us."

"Then why does he require us to do things?"

Another brief pause. "Obviously, for our sake. They make us better--"

"You see?"

"But not if we do them as if we were doing favors for God, or bargaining with him. No one bargains with the Almighty."

"But it is not fair! It is not just!"

"You sound like what Ezekiel says the Master said about the Israelites when they complained that he was not fair in punishing a man who had been virtuous his whole life and then committed one sin and in forgiving a notorious sinner who then turned and became virtuous. He said something such as, 'Am I unfair, Israel, or is it you who are unfair? If I reward the man I reward him for his virtue, not for his previous sins, and if I punish the man, I punish him for his sin, not for the previous virtue.'"

"Yes, I know." Andrew answered. "I have heard the Scripture, and it has always bothered me."

"Evidently, you do not see things as God sees them."

"And you do, I suppose."

"Put it this way: I am willing to consider that there may be another way of looking at things. And to return to this story, the Master's point was that those who elevate themselves will be lowered, apparently whatever the reasons they can give for elevating themselves, and those who lower themselves--and I suppose, beg for mercy--will be elevated, whatever they have done. Perhaps that is because of the way things will be when God takes over as King."

"It seems a rather easy way to escape the consequences of one's acts."

"I rather suspect it is anything but easy. It requires a whole new way of thinking--and after all, the Master is constantly saying that we must change our way of thinking, since God is about to begin his rule over us."

Andrew paused, and then said in a rather disgruntled tone, "I suppose I have not managed it, then."

"I doubt if any of us has."

In the silence that followed, John was pondering that passage from Ezekiel. Why would a man be condemned for one sin when he had led a life of virtue? Did not God reckon the good with the bad?

But then he thought of it the other way, as in Matthew's case. Why would one act of virtue erase a life of sin in God's eyes? Obviously, because that act transformed his life--or perhaps better, disposed him to have his life transformed. The person he was was defined by this act, and thus his past no longer mattered--except perhaps as a temptation to go back to it. In one sense one is what one is now, whenever now is; the now spreads back over the past and changes the whole life. It is not a question of a series of events adding up on one side and on the other, to be balanced at the end. It is what one is, not what one has been; that only influences what one is.

And in that case, the one sin after a life of virtue made the person a sinner--unless he repented, of course. His virtuous acts of the past are no longer his acts, because he now is a sinner, hating God. And how can one who hates God find favor with God? After all, it was a question of one's relation to God, and that was one's relation now, not what it had been. Ask someone who has just learned to hate you, "Are you my friend," and he will say, "No," even though he had been your friend until yesterday.

It had to be something like that. Time, one supposes, means nothing to God.

Which gave John grounds for hope, and simultaneously for fear. What he did to Samuel and Thomas was not his act, because now he was not that person. But on the other hand, if he let his inclinations have their way, then he would not be what he now was, and--but that was not even to be thought.

Jesus now 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.

He 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 even quite annoyed that all his sins would have been simply forgotten, if the story had any meaning at all. John heard what Jesus was saying, which was something he had heard before, and realized with amusement that Jesus probably had to say the same thing four or five times, because different people became distracted at different times.

He looked at Matthew, who had not heard anything of what Jesus had said before, and realized that he was not hearing what he was saying now. 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.

But there was a sudden 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.

Suddenly, 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.

And there it was! Jesus was now saying that he forgave sins! Well, not in so many words, but what else could it mean? Perhaps the transformation of the young man's soul? Everything he did had a thousand purposes, one of which in this case clearly was a graphic answer to Matthew's problem.

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?" Well, the reign of God was about to start, was it not? It looked more and more as if the reign of Jesus was to be the reign of God. Another of his purposes.

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."

John's quibble was now answered. It was not God who forgave sins--at least God apart from Jesus--and Jesus who was aware of it, it was Jesus, the God-man, who himself had the power. It was another "sign," and a clearer one, and now one confirmed by the miracle of the physical cure.

As people were milling about, discussing what had happened, Matthew seized the opportunity, approached Jesus, 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 John, Thomas and--of course--Ezra, and after a short time were not visible by anyone.

"Misdirected attention" again. Ezra noticed it. Ezra 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?"

"True. By the way, I spoke to Jesus a while back, and told him about my invisible status--"

"Surely, he did not agree."

So, John thought, Ezra realized that he was "invisible," except (he thought with some pride) to a select few.

"Well, he did not exactly disagree; he seemed to understand that, because I stand out, people do not find it easy to approach me, at least as one of them."

"And so?"

"And so I suggested that it might be wise that I simply be an observer here, and not one of whatever 'nucleus' he was going to form, for whatever purpose; and then afterwards, I might go to Ethiopia or somewhere else in Africa, where I could transmit what I learned. You remember he made some remark about you and India."

India? wondered John. Thomas was to go to India?

"I know. It filled me with dread."

"But if the whole world is to change, then we witnesses of all that goes on from now on will have to disperse far and wide to report the good news about the world's transformation. Perhaps it will spread gradually, based on what we say."

"And so what did he say?"

"He told me he thought it would be a good idea. And I thought, now that we have spoken of possible spies in our midst, that an observer who observed without being observed, so to speak, might be a useful article."

"Of course, I cannot believe that he would be ignorant of something of the sort."

"True, but we might be, and he might not be too eager to inform us--who knows? But it will not hurt to keep my eyes open."

"Well, I wish you--I was going to say 'success,' Ezra, but that implies that something akin to a spy comes into our midst, and I fondly hope and pray that that never happens."

"Yes. Well, I have one or two people already who could bear watching."

"You do? Truly? Who?"

"Come, now; you do not expect me to tell you, do you? You are too transparent. You would begin looking askance at them, probably for no reason but my unfounded suspicions, and--well, you understand, I trust."

"I understand that if you start looking askance at me, I will have to be careful where I walk." Ezra laughed.

So now, thought John, we have two spies among us. One presumably loyal, who is to inform--someone--in Rome, and one who is to spy on the spy or spies--or on secret rebels. The group seemed to begin to resemble Ezekiel's wheels within wheels, or better, Zechariah's multiple eyes within some of the creatures of his visions.

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