Chapter 11

At this juncture, Jesus stepped forward and gazed down into the bewildered eyes of the invalid. Anybody could see at a glance what ailed the emaciated young fellow with the twisted, shrunken limbs. Every few years a dreaded epidemic of paralysis, to which children and youths were unaccountably vulnerable, would make helpless cripples of a dozen, a score, a hundred. No one knew the cause—or the cure.

Jairus edged in closer, full of curiosity to see what might happen. The silence in the room was tense. The Carpenter had quietly become the commanding figure in this company. All eyes were upon him.

‘My son,’ he said gently, ‘your sins are forgiven.’

There was an impatient stir among the critics from Jerusalem and a sullen rumble of indignation. Nathan, the High Priest’s representative, growled angrily, ‘This is blasphemy!’ Old Obadiah, Chief of the Temple Scribes, called out, ‘How does this man forgive sins?’ Ben-Sholem snorted, ‘That is not what the sick man came for! He wants to be healed of his paralysis!’ ‘Aye!’ they all muttered. ‘Heal him!’

Jairus’ heart was pounding hard now. He had found himself instantly attracted to the Nazarene and had hoped that he might give a good account of himself before these surly pedants; but it was clear that he had got himself into an indefensible position. The wiseacres from Jerusalem were right. It was sheer blasphemy for any man to forgive another man’s sins. The Carpenter was merely temporizing with his problem—and doing it in the worst possible way. How could he expect his enemies—or his friends, either—to endorse this stunning sacrilege? Jesus would have to do better than that if he hoped to combat the criticism of his detractors.

Now the room was suddenly hushed to silence again as the Nazarene, stretching forth an arm toward the sick man, calmly addressed the murmurers:

‘You have questioned my authority to forgive sins. Let me ask you: is it easier to forgive sins or to say to a paralytic, “Arise and walk”? To assure you that I have been given this authority…’ He broke off here to turn his full attention to the young man on the cot. Lowering his hand until it touched the thin arm, he commanded, ‘Rise up, my son, and walk!’

It was the craning crowd, massed in the open doorway, that broke the strained silence with a gasp and a cry of astonishment. The paralytic had reached up to take the proffered hand of Jesus, had pried himself up on his elbow, had sat erect, had struggled laboriously to his feet!

Jairus’ throat was tight and dry and he had a sickish feeling. Confusion broke loose now among the men from the Temple. ‘A fraud!’ they shouted derisively. ‘Prearranged!…’ ‘The man was not a cripple!…’ ‘Away with this impostor!’

Out in the broad corridor the wide-eyed throng backed away to clear a path for the young man, who advanced with short, experimental steps. His eyes were swimming and his lower lip twitched. The open-mouthed spectators stared into his contorted face as they lurched back to give him room, trampling their neighbours’ toes. No one offered him a word or a smile as he passed. He was as one risen from the dead.