Fifteen

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.'

Levi looked up in shock, and Nathanael assumed that he had been in the synagogue earlier than their arrival, possibly with only one other person before people came in for morning prayer. Jesus was saying, "'--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!'"

Based on Levi's expression, he was describing what had happened there. Jesus had again demonstrated that he knew what was going on even though he could not possibly have known it by observation.

"--point is," Jesus continued, "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." Interesting. Now Levi had a new name--except this one was an old one. Could it be that he had changed it so that the "friend" would not be able to locate him?

Of course, everyone took the story to signify that Levi--Matthew--had somehow left the synagogue virtuous. But how was it possible? How could all of his evil--and there must have been an enormous amount--simply be erased? Nathanael's sin was apparently forgiven, and had he not told Thomas that whatever evil he had done had been erased also? He was sounding more and more as if he were--or at least thought he was--God in human flesh rather than some super-Moses.

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

Philip now came up, and confirmed what Nathanael suspected he had said to Thomas earlier: "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."

A bit of sophistry here. He could have been in the synagogue once and that once was the time when they all saw him there. He saw Thomas and Ezra nodding at each other; they had caught the equivocation.

Andrew was beside Nathanael--and in fact, not far in front of Matthew as they walked along. "But I do not understand the story at all," he said. "It makes no sense."

"Why do you say that?" asked Nathanael.

"Well, he said the Pharisee did not leave the Temple virtuous, and he did nothing wrong, and in fact did any number of virtuous things. And the tax-collector" he looked around to see if Matthew was nearby, but missed seeing him "was not only a sinner, but admitted that he was."

"But he was sorry for it."

"Well, what of that? He did nothing about it. If I murder someone and then say I am sorry, does it bring him back to life? What of his wife and children? How am I exonerated by saying that I am sorry?"

"Spoken like a virtuous man, Andrew. I have a suspicion that in the Reign of God, things are not going to be as you expect them to be."

"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? What I require to know is how recognizing what you are absolves you from your sins."

Out of the corner of his eye, Nathanael noticed Matthew cringe. He 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." At this, Matthew shrank back in fear.

"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?" There was a point to that, of course. But Jesus knew what he was doing, did he not?

"I think, Andrew," said Nathanael, coming to his defense, "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?"

True, but . . ."Yes, but he had a list of all his good deeds ready to hand." That had to be it. "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?"

Andrew was not a fool. But there was an answer to this also. "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."

But Andrew, who went away at this, had given Nathanael a good deal of food for thought. Why was the sin not punished? Why was his own sin not punished, or why (he glanced over at Thomas) did Thomas not have to atone for his sins of drunkenness? Or was the sin itself the punishment, somehow? Then why did we want sins to have an obvious punishment? Jesus seemed to be looking at sin as a kind of affliction that could be cured just as physical diseases were cured. There seemed to be a period of convalescence afterward, which he and--obviously--Thomas were experiencing, and which he supposed Levi--Matthew--would experience; but flogging in addition did not seem to be necessary. He hoped not.

And clearly it was the complacency of the Pharisee that did him in. He obviously had the attitude that because he had done what he was required to do, then he had earned the smile of God, and could look down on the (afflicted) sinner with contempt, at someone less than human.

And we would have to look on Matthew as as much a human being as any of the rest of us. Hm. That, of course, was the point. It was not enough to forgive him; we must learn, somehow, to accept him, as we would accept a cripple who had been cured--or a drunk who was now sober.

At this, Nathanael realized with a shock that one of the reasons he had held himself rather aloof from Thomas was that, somewhere deep below his ordinary consciousness, he found him repugnant, just as he still found his mother. He pitied her and understood with his mind that it was not her fault, but something in him said, "Oh no?" --and he had to think of Thomas, who had fallen into the addiction without realizing what he was doing to himself--and something in him said, "without fully realizing it, perhaps."

Well, suppose they were at fault, either to some extent or even fully--which was absurd. But suppose it were to some extent. Look at his own cowardice. Was he totally inculpable in giving in to his fears? Could he not have tried harder, and perhaps pleased his father that he was actually trying?

But Jesus forgave the sin.

He was not saying that it was not his fault; he was saying that it was erased as a sin, was he not? As was the sin of Thomas, and all the sins of Matthew, which were certainly deliberate, and not, probably, excusable by weakness.

So the sin was not "forgiven" because one could find an excuse for it. It was erased because, however it was incurred, it was an affliction. People wanted sin punished because they did not realize that in itself it was an affliction, and Jesus did, and cured the affliction. But people wanted more. But why?

Well, that would take more 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.

Evidently Matthew himself was 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.

There was a sudden commotion behind Jesus in the house. 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.

There it was, thought Nathanael. Here the boy had an obvious affliction, and also one that no one but Jesus could see. And Jesus cured the serious one--as clearly the boy felt. Nathanael wondered what he had been cured of.

But the crowd did not know what Nathanael suspected had happened. "Why does he speak thus? This is blasphemy! Who is able to forgive sins except the one God?" And, of course, this again raised the question of who this Jesus really was.

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."

Everything Jesus did seemed to have all sorts of significance. It was as if he were answering Nathanael's musings about his story, and confirming what he thought. He cured the internal affliction first and erased the sin, allowing the boy to start living again (another one born again), and then, to prove that this was what he did, he cured the obvious affliction.

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 walked away by themselves.

Shortly afterward, Nathanael noticed Thomas and Ezra in earnest conversation; it looked from what Ezra was saying as if Jesus and Matthew had just disappeared. Evidently, they had something private to do, and if Jesus wanted to be private, he was private. If he had, indeed, disappeared; but if he had not, where was he, and where was Matthew?

Doubtless Matthew would need rather special attention from Jesus, since his "affliction" was rather a profound and doubtless complicated one.

After all this, Nathanael could not decide whether things made sense with Jesus, or whether life with him was more confused than ever. But it seemed, taking all in all, that it was at least leading in the direction of making sense.

Perhaps.

"Perhaps" was becoming as much a theme as "He knows what he is doing."