Eighteen

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 Thomas thought of him in the synagogue. Was there another in there? Jesus, however, simply went on, "'--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!'

It must have been what had gone on in the synagogue before they arrived. Thomas saw the color drain from the man's face.

"--point is," Jesus continued 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."

Everyone took it to signify that he 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? Thomas recalled how Jesus seemed to have told him that whatever evil he had done had been erased also. Which meant that he knew how God removed sin. Well, if he were indeed the Son of God . . .

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

This time it was Philip, who 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."

But the nuance was not lost on Thomas, who was certain he had been there. Perhaps what he said was true. In all probability, if he were there, it would have been for the first time in his life. Thomas looked over at Ezra, who seemed to sense what he was thinking, and nodded agreement.

Matthew, as they walked along, was within earshot of Andrew and Nathanael 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. Nathanael 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. Thomas saw that he was wondering how much he would have to pay.

"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."

And there was the crux of the matter, thought Thomas. And, if Mary was right, they had plenty to adjust in their way of thinking. A little thing like sins being erased because one repented would be a drop in the ocean.

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."

And Thomas agreed.

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. Matthew's face glowed also, Thomas saw, as did Thomas's own. It was not simply that Jesus knew that God forgave sins, then; Jesus himself did so. And so, what he had done--or the evil in it--was indeed gone! If he was what Mary said he was. Thomas was torn between joy and disbelief.

But the crowd did not know what Thomas knew, or thought he knew. "Why does he speak thus? This is blasphemy! Who is able to forgive sins except the one God?" Perhaps the reign of God was indeed beginning.

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."

The cure, then, was a sign, certainly now: a sign that he had the power he claimed to have, to forgive sins. It would take more than one such incident to convince people, but it definitely was a start. Thomas's joy began to make headway against his skepticism.

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 Thomas and--of course--Ezra, and after a short time were not visible by anyone. Thomas mused that Matthew was not alone in not believing that he believed. But Thomas began to suspect that he did indeed believe. But it was impossible! It was all so confusing!

Ezra came up. "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."

"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."

"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.

Jesus apparently not only wanted to do something private with Matthew, but wished to leave them alone to digest what had developed. The implications were stupendous, even to Thomas, who supposedly was prepared to see them for what they were.

Judas Iscariot was taking careful note of everything; he was mentioning to Simon and Andrew as Thomas joined them that it was obvious that Jesus was 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?"

"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.' Either he is saying that he is God, or he is claiming that God has given him this power. But 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. Thomas thought that Judas's view was the only reasonable one to a person who did not know what Thomas knew; but he realized that to try to tell Judas would only leave him open to ridicule--or condescending pity, more likely, which would be worse. Besides, the information he had was not necessarily something he had a right to divulge.

Jesus joined them after a while, and said that Matthew had an errand to perform, and would rejoin them on the morrow.

A month. Thomas longed to celebrate. But he would last out another day. He hoped.

It was interesting; the longing was beginning to become a kind of ache that one knew was there, but began to be vague somehow, until one thought of it. He could not say that he ever forgot it, but it became somehow part of him, like a scar that had not quite healed, and which would become an open wound again as soon as he picked at it--which in this case meant remembering what was bothering him.

But he supposed that he was making progress, because he now had to remember that he desperately wanted a drink of something besides water.