Second Touch (2 page)

“Ah, look, Lily. There’s Antares. Spica.” “Which direction of the sky will Messiah come from, you think?” “All the light from unseen stars will arrive with him when he ¬comes to Yerushalayim! Blast the earth at once! Light! No north, south, east, or west anymore. Just light. Angel armies filling the sky ¬everywhere we look! Singing! Singing.” Lily imagined it. Smiled. “And you’ll sing with them.” “Yes. Yes. I’ll sing.” Cantor clasped her right hand in his. “You too.” “Yes. Wouldn’t it be something if it was tonight?” ¬I’m praying again, Lord of the Angel Armies! Do the prayers of this Valley reach your home in heaven? If ¬only . . . come tonight! Hear our prayers and gather us in! Don’t forget your lost sheep! There are more of us than usual in the dying cave. My heart is shouting to you, Lord of all the Angel Armies. Here I am! Lily, leper of Mak’ob! Do you hear my prayers from where you sit? Don’t forget your lost sheep in Mak’ob! We’re here because ¬everyone else wants to forget about us. But you! You! Son of David! Don’t forget us, Lord. We’re all waiting. Hoping! And we who live here and die here . . . we need you more than anyone!

What was the time? The great city of Jerusalem was ¬only just stirring. A merchant leading a donkey out to water passed by the gardenia bush where seventeen-year-old Peniel, the potter’s son, and Yeshua of Nazareth sat together. Unnoticed. Unremarkable. Ordinary. Yet Peniel knew the truth. All who sought Yeshua tested Him. When they found Him they sized Him up, trimmed Him to fit their expectations, and tried to force His image into a puzzle of their own making. But Yeshua did not fit. Peniel knew Yeshua did not fit. Peniel needed no miracles in order to believe He Was and He Is and He Will Be and He Can and He Wants To! Nothing is impossible with God! Peniel sensed the stars glistening on the night wind when the city was silent, and he knew. Peniel heard the echo of creation in his heart and he knew. The Great Timekeeper lived outside of time. Stepped into time. Just for a moment. Dwelt in our time! And Peniel knew! Peniel needed no miracle in order to believe these things. And so, like an unbidden wind, the great miracle had caressed him, stirred him, root and branch, and he knew! Now Peniel had seen The Face and he knew the certainty of what had been unknowable before! The Great Potter! He who made eyes had seen! He who made ears had heard!

Wonder Worker. Origin of First Light. Knower of Secrets. He who sang galaxies and crickets into existence with equal delight! Yeshua! He had stepped from eternity into time and stooped to make Peniel’s eyes out of red clay! Paused to finish the creation of an unfinished life! To show one born blind . . . The Face! And Peniel knew. Yeshua clasped Peniel’s hand in friendship. “This is the first light of a new day, and life will never be the same.” Never the same! Peniel grinned up at the colors of the morning sky. Never the same! Peniel—no longer a beggar, but a man of Isra’el—stood and walked at Yeshua’s side. They passed slowly through the early-morning shadows of the city. Yeshua rested His hand on Peniel’s shoulder as Gershon, Peniel’s elder brother, had done long ago when they had walked together toward the Pool of Siloam. Peniel took in the sights with wonder. He said without regret, “You’ve changed ¬everything in my life, Lord. ¬I’m cast out of the synagogue for giving true testimony of what you’ve done for me. Rejected by my parents. Now the religious rulers will kill you if they can. For giving me sight on the Sabbath, you know? ¬I’m glad you did it. But they want you dead. Healing on the Sabbath and all.” Yeshua smiled, sharing His secret with Peniel. “They’ve missed finding the pearl because they stoop to grasp a copper, eh, Peniel?” “Sure. I see what you mean. Yes. Point is, I was blind and now I see. No matter what day of the week it was, you healed me. It’s the best day of my life so far.” “What’s the best day to show mercy, Peniel?” “Every day, I think, Rabbi.” “Well spoken.” “You know what I think. ¬I’m glad you ¬didn’t turn away from my affliction because ¬I’m poor and it was Shabbat.” “Not poor, Peniel. Just without . . . things.” “I live among the broken people, Lord. Castaways. Waiting without hope. They’re left to pick through the rubbish heap beneath the viaduct.” “Who will care for them?” “I asked myself that same thing. But . . . nobody. Nobody.” Yeshua gave Peniel an enigmatic smile, then abruptly changed the subject. “Today is Shavuot.” Yeshua glanced up toward the light gleaming on the golden peaks of the Temple. “Today the heavenly Bridegroom ¬comes to Yerushalayim. What do you think? Would you like to hear a story about a mighty king who prepared a wonderful banquet for his son’s wedding?” “You know me. ¬I’m Peniel. I love a good story.” They walked. “So. The king sent his servant to the prominent men in his kingdom to tell them that ¬everything was ready. They should come to the wedding feast. But all those important fellows were too busy. One had bought a field and sent back the message that he had to go see it. The other had a new yoke of oxen

to try out. Another had just got married and so sent his apologies. But apologies were not enough to the good king. He told his servant, ‘Hurry up! Go out into the streets and alleys of the city! Bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, the lame! Carry them on your back if you have to, but bring them!’ When this was done there was still room in the palace so the good king sent his servant out again. ‘Go out to the country roads and lanes. Make them come in so that my house will be full! I tell you, not one of those important men who were too busy to come will get a taste of my banquet.’ ”1 A few paces more. Peniel digested the meaning. “Point taken. Well spoken.” “Who will go out? tell them? carry those who ¬can’t walk? bring them in? fill my Father’s house?” “But, Lord, the rulers. They’ll try to kill you, Lord, and yes . . . maybe kill me too. Though ¬I’m not so worried about myself as you. They’ll try to put out the light. But why?” “They prefer the darkness to light, Peniel.” They walked in silence for a time as Peniel wondered how anyone could choose blindness over sight. “Morning has broken.” Yeshua spoke at last. “Yes. I feel it. I hear it! Listen! Listen to the cock crow!” Then Peniel followed Yeshua’s gaze to a ragged beggar sleeping in a deserted doorway. A leper, judging by the stink. What was such an outcast doing here? Was he dead? “So . . . this is what the world looks like in the light.” “Darkness is a comfortable place. The candle of Adonai illuminates suffering which most would rather not see.” A chill of apprehension coursed through Peniel. “Beneath the viaduct where the paupers take shelter, I heard their moans. I smelled the lepers outside the camp. So hungry. So alone. I dreamed a dream that Mosheh, the lawgiver, spoke to me. He said I would be sent to tell them . . . tell them . . . something. It’s not clear to me now. I always try to remember my dreams. But then I wake up and they fade away.” “The answer will come back to you. When you need to know.” “My ears saw their misery. Oh!” Peniel thumped his hand against his chest to indicate his pain. “¬I’m afraid, Lord. Afraid of what my heart’ll feel now that I have eyes.” Yeshua paused and searched Peniel’s face. Sad smile. Yeshua, like a father seeing himself in the expression of a son. “You have my eyes, Peniel.” “Who am I to do anything?” “It’s not who you are.” “So many, as you say. All around, I mean.” Peniel shook his head. “Yes. Seeing requires something, eh? That’s all the Law and the Prophets. Summed up.” “So many men know the Scriptures. And still there’s the viaduct. The rubbish heap. People who exist in the long, dreary waiting, like animals locked up and forgotten.” How well Peniel knew this truth.

“Easy not to be bothered. Easy to follow the letter of the Law. Make a great show of keeping the Law. But men forget the true intention of the Law.” Yeshua did not avert His eyes from the bundle of rags in the alcove, but neither did He slow His pace as they strode toward the Pool of Siloam. “And by turning away from those who suffer, they miss great blessings from heaven. Maybe the one they refused to help was an angel in disguise. Thus ends the lesson. Now, Peniel, practice what you’ve learned.” Why, Peniel wondered, did Yeshua not stop and heal the ragged man? He could have done so in an instant. Yet Yeshua walked on. The leper would never know how close he had been to his salvation. Yeshua said, “There’s much you won’t ¬understand until all things are complete, Peniel. The road ahead ¬isn’t easy.” They walked on, unspeaking, as Peniel attempted to reason out all that Yeshua had told him. There were few other travelers abroad. Shops were mostly shuttered; the Lower City at the foot of the Temple Mount slumbered in the embrace of its shadow. Pentecost morning, the sixth day of the month of Sivan, in the seventeenth year of the Roman emperor Tiberius, was thus far serene. Peniel shut his eyes and listened to the creak of hinges, the clatter of breakfast plates within still-barred doors. The trumpets of the morning sacrifice had not yet sounded, nor had he heard the Levite-led psalms ring down from the Temple Mount. From first light until now? Such a tiny fraction of a life, and yet fuller in the company of Yeshua than any span in Peniel’s memory. Had less than two hours passed? It was inconceivable. Peniel opened his eyes again, reveling in his view of the translucent, pale blue sky and the glistening white marble of the Temple framed by it. It was as if the pillar of shimmering cloud by which the Almighty led His people in bygone times rested again atop the Holy City. Peniel’s gaze darted ¬everywhere, eagerly sorting and cataloging. The dark green leaves of an orange tree hung over a garden wall. Its verdant foliage cooled the warm honey tones of the sandstone blocks. A shaft of light lanced through a gap in the Temple structures overhead. The beam caromed off a bright brass candle sconce in a second-story window, ricocheting to dazzle Peniel’s sight. More people emerged from their homes; the city came to life as Peniel watched. Today was a holy day when no unnecessary work was to be done. A gaggle of yawning Torah schoolboys, having no doubt been up all night meditating on the five books of Mosheh, was herded along the street by their instructor. The colors of the clothes, the objects the passersby carried, the myriad variety of gaits and postures—all these delighted Peniel. But chiefly it was their faces that most fascinated him. Some were fresh, bursting with energy, like newly opened gardenia buds. Some were stiff and leathery, the passage of many sunrises and sunsets imprinted on their brows. Some were brittle as thin pottery, concealing inner turmoil, as if

their lives were apt to shatter if examined too closely. And this was merely the beginning, Peniel thought. After seventeen years of blindness, less than one day had passed since Yeshua of Nazareth had given him his sight. Peniel drank in the visions like one who came to a fresh spring after wandering the desert of Moab. Peniel turned to study the Teacher. Slender of build, with brown curly hair and smile lines imprinted around his eyes, perhaps Yeshua was merely commonplace in His appearance. But not to Peniel. He stared openly at his benefactor, determining to memorize ¬every single feature . . . and was caught in the act. Peniel ducked his head, embarrassed, then raised it again at Yeshua’s laugh. They reached the entrance to the Pool of Siloam, where yesterday Peniel had been sent by Yeshua to wash away the clay that had covered his sightless eyes. Peniel had emerged from the portico able to see for the first time in his life. The city gate, leading out into the countryside, was a few yards beyond them. Yeshua stopped there and looked back the way they had come. “Yerushalayim! Yerushalayim!” Yeshua murmured as He took in the lofty towers. He let His gaze slide down the walls to linger on the multitudes moving up the street. “You kill the prophets and stone those sent to you.” He winced as if some painful memory had struck Him. “How often I longed to gather your children together like a hen gathering chicks ¬under her wings. But you ¬weren’t willing! So. Your house is left to you . . . desolate.”2 Silence. It was as if the tumult in the city came to a halt in that instant. No one moving. Breathing. Speaking. Frozen. Then Peniel heard a distant rumble like thunder, ¬only deeper, more penetrating, as Yeshua opened His eyes. The blue sky flashed bright white as if lightning had struck out of a cloudless sky. And life resumed again. Had anyone else seen or heard what Peniel saw and heard? “You’ll come back some day, Lord?” “Yes. I promise. Soon. And what will you do with what you’ve been given?” Peniel considered the gifts Yeshua had given him. Vision. Healing. Hope. “I know Yerushalayim well,” Peniel said at last, hoping this was the right answer. “Every corner. Every beggar. Every blind man.” “Yes. You’re blessed.” “Can’t say as I’d call it a blessing yet. We’ll see. But I’ll do what I can.” “I’ll be in the north.” Yeshua searched Peniel’s face for some sign of fear. “Use your head. Be wise. They’re wolves, these fellows.” “I know. But why would they bother with the likes of me? A blind man?” “You’re not blind anymore.” “Oh. Yes. Point taken. Well, you must stay clear of Yerushalayim. They hate you. I saw it in their faces at the meeting yesterday. They’ll try to kill you.”

No reply. Yeshua placed His hands on Peniel’s shoulders and made a b’rakhah for parting. And then He melted into the crowds.

First light streamed through the high window of thirty-seven-year-old Simon ben Zeraim’s bedchamber at his Bethany estate. He snuffed out the lamp that had burned on his study table through the night. From twilight till dawn Simon had performed the Shavuot obligation of reading through the five books of Moses. Legend held that during the long, dark hours of study, the heavens open for an instant. In that moment the Lord would hear and answer any prayer. Any prayer? How fervently Simon had prayed! Every breath had contained a reminder to God of Simon’s faithfulness, his righteousness! Where was the answer? Simon held up his hands to the light. He clenched his fists and moaned. So. Heaven had not heard his supplication. With difficulty now he performed his final duty of piety. Sunrise on the day of Shavuot marked the marriage between Messiah as the bridegroom and Israel as His beloved bride. Simon rolled up the Torah scroll. Haltingly, he recited the ketubah of marriage between Messiah, the heavenly Groom, and His bride, the nation of Israel: “On this day appointed by the Lord for the revelation of the Torah to his beloved people . . . the Invisible One came forth from Sinai. The Bridegroom, Ruler of all Rulers, Prince of Princes, said to his bride Israel, ‘Many days will you be mine and I will be your redeemer. Behold, I have sent you golden precepts through the lawgiver Mosheh. Be my mate according to the law of Moshe and I will honor, support, and maintain you and be your shelter and refuge in ¬everlasting mercy.’ ” Simon paused. “Mercy.” He muttered the word bitterly and shoved the ketubah to the side of his desk. No bridegroom had descended with the golden dawn to redeem the nation of Israel. Today would be like ¬every other day, Simon mused. A day when false messiahs, blasphemers, prophets, and rebels polluted the landscape, insulted the authorities, endangered the government, and duped the common people. Simon’s head throbbed. Shoulders ached. Eyes burned. He felt no enlightenment from his obligatory study of the Torah. The answers to his agonized questions remained elusive, even though he had been faithful in the performance of duty. How long could he keep his secret? How long before he became an object of public humiliation and condemnation? The stirring of servants seeped beneath the bolted door. Simon’s wife, Jerusha, had already been up for hours decorating the house with roses for the holiday. Jerusha. Her gregarious youthfulness had blossomed and ripened over the