bowl under one arm, and I placed one of the parcels in his hands.
“Will you stay until they close the gates?” I asked.
“Ordinarily, sir, but not today. Between the generosity of Lord Nicodemus and yourself, I want to go home right away and share my good fortune with my family.”
“Would you like me to guide you?”
Peniel smiled. “Not necessary, sir. I know every twist and turn between here and home.”
“Then go and be well,” I said. “We’ll see each other again …” I stopped in consternation at my ill-chosen words. “I mean, I’ll see you …” That was even worse.
The blind beggar laughed. “Not to worry, sir. People are always getting their tongues tangled around me, it seems. Perhaps it means the message of my life is getting through to them.”
“Shalom, Peniel,” I replied. “And yes, it does mean that.”
As I exited the Temple Mount and made my way back toward the Bethany road, I pondered Peniel’s cheerful good nature. What a bright, shining soul to live in constant darkness! If my sight were taken from me, would I still be grateful for my life, or would I be swallowed up in bitterness?
How many varieties of blindness were there in the world?
How blind were the Temple authorities, who had less regard for the beggars of Jerusalem than for their own comfort?
How blind were the people around me, so immersed in the struggles of each day that they could not thank God for anything?
How blind were those who listened to the words of John the Baptizer, or Jesus of Nazareth, and felt only curiosity, or nothing at all?
How blind was I if I let grief or worry or bitterness or anger overwhelm me?
So deep was I in these musings I did not notice where my steps took me. I had already passed out the Sheep Gate, beneath the frowning shadow of the Antonia, the Roman fortress, and reached the edge of the Pool of Bethesda.
The twin reservoirs together known as Beth Chesed, the House of Mercy, were also called, by some, the House of Shame. So far had the more extreme sect of Pharisees prevailed that to be crippled, blind, ill, or debilitated in any way meant that there was sin in the life of the afflicted. God punished sin, they said. They concluded that the more severe the punishment, the more flagrant the sin. Since the House of Mercy was a place where invalids gathered, hoping for a cure, it represented a collection of the worst sinners, unsurpassed in all of Jerusalem.
When I thought of Herod Antipas and the cronies of Lord Caiaphas, I had to disagree with the Pharisees, with one exception.
Surrounding the pools were white limestone colonnades supporting red tile roofs. These four porticoes, together with a fifth that divided the body of water into two parts, were another reason the structure was linked with Mercy. For cripples who had no ability to move from blistering sun or chilling rain, these covered spaces represented the only shelter many would find.
Reaching the terrace along the east side of the columns, I could not help myself. I turned in, expecting to see exactly what my eyes beheld.
Across the pool from me, crouching against one of the pillars, was Bikri ben Zimri—traitor and wretched talebearer—who had caused my grandfather’s death.
His skull-like head lolled forward on his thin, sunken chest. Dank, faded yellow hair hung across his face like discarded scraps of tattered cloth. His legs, useless and twisted, coiled beneath him like the snake he was. Only his arms showed any evidence of the hale and strong young companion he had once been to my grandfather. His shoulders still displayed some muscles near his neck. His hands were bound in leather strips, since they were Bikri’s only means of transport into shelter, or out to beg along the highway.
I was glad he was still there. I was not ready for him to die yet. He had not suffered enough.
Besides shelter from the elements there was yet another reason why the ill and infirm congregated at Bethesda: the possibility of a miracle. Every now and then, without warning, the water bubbled and roiled in the pool. It was said that an angel troubled the waters. In that instant, whoever was the first to enter the water would be healed … instantly cured.
I do not know if it was true or not. I had never met anyone who had been healed by the waters of Bethesda, but I hoped it was true. It