Second Touch (41 page)

Simon felt dizzy. He was grateful when Jotham rushed to provide support ¬under one arm. Zadok put both hands on Simon’s shoulders: a blessing, a welcome. Touch! How grateful Simon was to experience it again. He had not known how cut off from all he loved and from those who loved him he had been. His life was brand-new. A thousand unanticipated joys spread in front of him. The air hummed with questions: What had just happened? Had a miracle occurred? Who had been healed? Simon turned, faced a throng pressing inward, their visages full of inquiry. All of them, pushing, shouting, cheering, struggling to get close! Yet a few feet directly in front of Simon was one face not suffused with wonder or praise. Unmistakable marks of antagonism were printed there. Simon knew that face! Eglon, assassin of Herod Antipas’ court! Eglon! Confidant of the high priest! Eglon was within the circle nearest Yeshua! Simon glimpsed a spark of sunlight on a burnished blade! A dagger! The knife, now upraised, gleamed in the Galilean sunshine. “No!” Simon shouted, shaking off the vertigo and the encumbering arms. “No!” Zadok echoed. Simon leapt forward. No thought that his life, so recently reborn, could end, impaled on six inches of steel. Arms extended to block the blow, he rushed beneath the descending weapon, colliding full force with Eglon. The crowd erupted in shrieks of dismay and confusion! Simon and Eglon tumbled backward on the slope, knocking Peniel sprawling. Eglon flailed at Simon’s back, nicking his clothes with the tip of the instrument. The point snagged a trailing length of torn lapel. Eglon struggled to pull it free, changed his grip, and lost his hold on the weapon when Simon rolled away from the blows. The ragged cloth, symbol of the leper’s impurity, snared the assassin’s tool . . . and flipped it harmlessly out of reach. It slid beneath Peniel, who snatched it up and dropped to the ground to cover it with his body. Eglon leapt to his feet. Locked eyes with Yeshua. The predator bared his teeth with the rage of a cornered animal. He backed away, cursing Peniel

and Simon. Damning Yeshua. Threatening to finish what he was sent for. Yeshua, calm and assured, said, “Tell the foxes who sent you: ‘Not today.’ ” “Get him!” cried John and Ya’acov. Eglon roared and slammed into three stunned watchers in his bid to escape. Yeshua’s talmidim in pursuit, Eglon ran toward the creek bed and disappeared into the willows. “Let him go!” Yeshua called after his talmidim. “Let him go!” They halted their pursuit reluctantly, returning to Yeshua. Yeshua gave Simon a hand up. The Master guided the shaken but uninjured man into the care of Jerusha, Jotham, and Zadok. “I thank you,” He said. “Simon of Capernaum. Simon the Pharisee.” “No, Lord,” Simon corrected. “From now on I’ll be called Simon the Leper. A badge I’ll wear with honor.” Yeshua nodded, approved the title. “Go home then,” He instructed, signaling for a group of three small boys and a red dog to join them. “Go home, and begin your life again.”

Peniel cowered where he had fallen. Huddled over the dagger, he gasped for air as if his lungs were as full of remorse as a drowning man’s of seawater. He wished the earth would open up beneath him. Swallow him up! Hide him from his shame! He recognized the feet that appeared in his view. Peniel sobbed. “Take back my eyes! I ¬don’t deserve them!” He gripped the dagger, revealing it to Yeshua as if offering the Teacher the opportunity to strike Peniel with it. “I betrayed you. I would’ve stood by and let you be killed!” The words of Simon’s miracle still reverberated in Peniel’s ears: healed and forgiven. Yeshua kneeled, stroked Peniel’s hair, lifted his face. Wiped away the tears. Brown eyes, flecked with gold, penetrated Peniel’s soul. “I betrayed you,” Peniel sobbed. “After what you did for me. And ¬I’m a traitor to you!” “Yes.” “Can you ¬ever forgive me?” Yeshua answered, “Yes, Peniel. Have you forgotten? That’s why the Son of Man was sent. Sent to heal . . . sent to be betrayed . . . and sent to forgive . . . again and again.” Between gasps, “Then . . . Lord . . . please! A second touch! Forgiveness! My heart will break if you ¬can’t forgive me!” “I can. And I do. With all my heart. I will never forsake you. Peniel. You have forgiveness the moment you ask,” Yeshua said. Then stronger, bolder. “My friends,” Peniel begged. “¬I’m afraid for them. They’re tied up . . . helpless. Can you . . . would you . . . go with me to

help them?” “Yes. They’ll be needing our help.” Yeshua raised His chin, sniffing the danger on the wind. “Come on. You and I. We’ll go together.”

Jekuthiel leaned heavily against Lily. Although she was the stronger of the two, her strength drained with ¬every mile. Hawk, dozing, rode on her shoulder as they struggled to reach the Valley of Sorrow before morning. The moon rose late, illuminating the road before them. Lily was grateful for its glow. Thankful to be traveling through the night. In dark houses and quiet villages ordinary people dreamed their dreams, unaware two untouchables passed so near. They were like the shadows of two birds brushing the landscape. They left no mark, made no difference to crops, or commerce, or joys, or sorrows in the world they moved through. No one cared for them. No one would remember their names. How short their journey had been in the scope of things. Meaningless. This was suddenly surprising to Lily, who had begun her time on earth with such expectation. ¬I’m wondering again. Is it not said that before a soul enters this world and breathes its air, the Lord conducts it through heaven? He shows it what it’s leaving behind when it ¬comes to earth? Last of all it is shown the First Light which, at the creation of the world, illuminated all things. That Light God removed from earth when mankind became corrupt. Once I asked Rabbi Ahava, “Why, since I was meant to live as an outcast, stricken by God’s hand, why was my soul shown this Light?” He told me it was so my soul would yearn to see the Light a second time. Search for it. Seek it. Oh, Lord! My soul has longed to see your Light. Longed for the second touch of your Light upon my face! But you, O Lord! You’ve kept the Light from shining on my dark life! And now I will die. I will die wondering what point my brief years ¬ever made in your plan of eternity. We are nothing. Our lives less than nothing. I’m praying again, You Who Never Hear Me Pray. Look at your creatures. Those of us, multitudes who suffer, while the rest of the world turns away, afraid to look at us. Despised. Rejected. Scarcely human in our bodies. Yet wholly human in our longings! What are we? We are the faint stirring of curtains in a sleeping child’s room. The echo of a voice in a dream that cannot be ¬understood. The disturbing sense that something ominous passed near which cannot be remembered upon waking. It was, Lily thought, as though she and Jekuthiel were already dead. She felt her own deadness fully for the first time. The wilderness reared up before them like a wall. With difficulty they ascended the road. As they labored between the windswept mountains the sky began to lighten. Stars dimmed. The moon grew pale in the sky behind them. A mile farther through the pass Lily stopped in amazement. The gatekeeper’s cottage had burned to the ground. The evil Overseer had vanished. And so, at last, Lily and Jekuthiel came to the end of their journey. The Valley of Mak’ob lay below them.

29 Yeshua carried the clay lamp along the dark path toward the ¬tumbled-down house. Peniel darted ahead, came back. Tried to match his pace to Yeshua’s steady footfall. No use. Too slow. Too slow. Peniel rushed ahead again. Stopped. Looked back. Waited as the bobbing lamp approached. Sheep stirred behind a stone wall as they passed. Insects buzzed in the brambles. Peniel heard the wind stirring in the green trees beside a creek. “I’ve never been afraid of the dark before,” he said, trying to explain his fear. “But what if they’re there? waiting in ambush?” Yeshua walked on, never varying His pace. The moon glowed behind the mountain like a fire dimming the stars. Peniel worried. “If they’re there, they’ll spot us in the moonlight. See us coming up the path.” Yeshua said, “Come here. Walk beside me. Let’s be silent for a while and listen.” Beside Him Peniel felt safe. Like lying behind a wall when the wind blew. Yet still the night whispered terrible thoughts in Peniel’s brain. What if his friends had been murdered? What if Eglon had circled back and slit the throats of the helpless ones just for spite? Yeshua and Peniel crossed a ridge and descended into the swale where the prisoners had been left. “The house is just there. No light.” Yeshua held up the lamp and examined the tracks on the path. He rose with a sigh and proceeded without caution to the dwelling. With His foot, Yeshua nudged the door open. It groaned on its hinges as it swung back to reveal . . . nothing. Rubbish. No one. Peniel’s eyes leapt from one heap of rubble to the next in the interior. He spoke softly, “Shalom? Gideon? Amos?” Gone. Gone. An owl hooted in the tree. Peniel, stung by their absence, shouted out the window, “Jekuthiel? Where are you? Hey! I brought him! He came with me! Hey! Amos! Eglon’s . . . gone!” By the lamplight Yeshua examined the interior of the room. He stooped to retrieve a wadded-up scrap of parchment. He opened it slowly and read silently. “What is it?” Peniel asked. Yeshua did not reply. He stood in the center of the broken house and listened. Listened as though He could hear voices, discern all the reasons why the house had fallen in on itself. And then from behind a heap of trash came a whimper. A cry like that of a wounded animal. “Who’s there?” Peniel’s heart pounded. The voice of Amos replied. “Peniel?” A scruffy head poked up. “Peniel? I

was hiding. Heard someone coming. Saw the light. I was hiding.” Peniel threw himself into the dwarf’s arms. “Ah, Amos! I thought they’d killed you!” “Not so far. But I believe it now. If you live long enough you see ¬everything. Who’s this with you?” “The one we came looking for.” “Are you himself then?” Amos stood up slowly. “Yeshua of Nazareth?” “Yes.” Yeshua extended His hand to the dwarf. “I thought you were dead. ¬I’m glad you’re not.” “The others are gone?” Yeshua asked. “Gideon bolted. Off to start a new life as a thief and a liar elsewhere, I suppose. As for the leper? Jekuthiel. Back to Mak’ob. Gone back to die there with his wife and child. I wanted to remind him that life is the candle we put out when morning ¬comes. Good one, eh? But I was too heartsick to speak when they left.” Yeshua replied, “Well spoken. A good proverb.” Amos regained some of his brass. “Good if you’ve got a large candle and a long way to travel till morning ¬comes. Little comfort, I suppose, if you’re going to die soon . . . like the leper. Better a single candle in the darkness than . . . oh . . .” Yeshua reached out and grasped Amos by the shoulders. Gripped him hard. Gazed straight into his face. “A true word, Amos. Rightly spoken. One to remember.” Amos stammered in a drunken voice, “I ¬didn’t . . . ¬didn’t get a chance to . . . to . . . to . . . tell him and the girl. She was a leper as well . . . well . . . well . . . I suppose. Came looking . . . looking . . . for a bird wearing . . . a bell. The bird wore the . . . the . . . the . . . b-b-bell I mean. A very strange p-p-pair. I would have liked to . . . to . . . to send Jekuthiel off with a word of w-w-wisdom.” “I’ll tell Jekuthiel when I see him.” Then Yeshua asked, “Now Amos, what is the proverb about things that grow overnight? Tell me.” “Rents . . . debt . . . girls . . .” Amos finished with a sigh and sank down on the ground, exhausted. Yeshua, towering over him, whispered, “You’ll have something new to add to that list now.” A long, deep snore replied. Amos was asleep. Peniel gaped at his friend. Long legs protruded from a too-short cloak. Arms extended from too-short sleeves. Big feet. Very big. Peniel gasped, “It is written . . . when Messiah ¬comes, all the sick will be healed. The ¬undertaker will be out of business and the shoemaker will have new customers! Look at his feet!” “Such a tall man needs feet in proportion to his height.” Peniel said in awe, “He’ll be amazed come morning.” “It’ll take a few days but he’ll get used to it,” Yeshua replied with a smile. “I would have liked to have been here to see him when he wakes to find his

clothes are too small.” “He’ll stitch a proverb to fit.” Nothing is too hard for God. Suddenly it came to Peniel that Yeshua had much more to accomplish. Jekuthiel! “Lord! I want to go with you.” “Yes.” “We have a long journey ahead of us, ¬don’t we?” “Yes. Yes. Come on then, friend. They’ll be waiting. The candle is almost out.”

Peniel stood at Yeshua’s right hand as they surveyed the deep canyon of Mak’ob. “They say ¬only a leper can enter that terrible place,” Peniel observed. “How will you get word to them that you’ve come? That you’re here?” Yeshua did not answer. The shadows of late afternoon filled the Valley with gloom. Far below the precipice tiny antlike figures moved in the gardens. Walked slowly along paths. Drew water from the well. Tended cook fires. Lived on in the midst of dying. The tangy scent of woodsmoke curled heavenward. So ordinary. Like any other impoverished village on the rim of this wilderness. Peniel spoke. “From this distance, Lord? Up here? Look! They’re just people. They seem no different than anyone. Could be anyone. Like ¬everyone.” Yeshua smiled faintly, amused that Peniel still did not ¬understand. “I tell you the truth, Peniel, they are everyone. Or rather, everyone is them. No difference. No. None at all.” “¬I’m not a leper.” “Don’t you see? The true sickness in a man’s heart is pride. Pride justifies wrongdoing and conceals the truth . . . even from a man’s own self. Every person is a leper on the inside, Peniel. That is the condition of each soul trying to live outside God’s sovereignty and purpose. What you see on the outside of the people of Mak’ob is an image of what’s inside ¬everyone.” At this insight, Peniel considered again what had driven him to do what he had done. “Point taken. Well spoken. I was so proud, Lord. Proud when you healed me. As if I somehow deserved it. And I wanted to prove to ¬everyone that I was right about you! So I brought my friends and they betrayed you. And I betrayed you too! I was so proud! And yet I failed!” What remained after Peniel’s failure? Shame and disgrace! If left to fester, unconfessed and unforgiven, such emotions would have eaten away at him like a sort of leprosy, rotting his heart beat by beat. And yet Yeshua had forgiven him. Fully. Loved him. Unconditionally. Even before the act of betrayal had been fully played out, Yeshua had immersed Peniel in mercy as deep and wide as the sea! Peniel’s heart had felt the second touch of forgiveness from the hand of the One he had betrayed.