When Jesus Wept - By Bodie Page 0,71

can’t seem to let go of the wrong he did to us. The betrayal.”

“So his sin continues to hurt you.”

“Yes. I have no compassion for him. I can’t forget—can’t let go, let alone forgive. You say to love my enemy. To pray for those who despitefully use me. You command it, but I can’t. Hating this man is a dark cloud that keeps the sun from ripening the fruit. I rejoice, you see, in his unhappiness. And so my fruit is unripe and bitter, setting my teeth on edge.”

“What can be done, Lazarus? To end your suffering? So only sunlight shines on your heart?”

I inhaled deeply, knowing the answer. “Look. The sun is setting. Shabbat Shalom, Lord. Will you be going to the Temple in the morning to teach?”

As the sun rose the next morning, I walked to Jerusalem with Jesus and his disciples. The city was quiet, the marketplace empty because of the Sabbath.

Jesus took my arm and directed his disciples to leave us and go ahead of him into the Temple. We watched them retreat. Peniel looked over his shoulder and grinned broadly. Perhaps he was remembering this was the anniversary of his healing. He waved cheerfully and matched Peter’s gait stride for stride.

Sunlight beamed on the parapets of the vast sanctuary. A flock of mourning doves rose above us in a spiral, like the smoke of living incense.

“I love this time of day,” Jesus said quietly.

“Yes. At rest.”

“Except for the poor and the sick. The beggars at the gates. They can’t rest.”

“No.” My reply was curt. My heart was pounding in anticipation of what was to come.

“So. Where are you taking me, my dear friend?” Jesus inclined his head.

Wordlessly I led him through the streets to the pool at the Sheep Gate, where the animals of sacrifice entered the city. Outside the entrance I halted, hardly able to enter.

“My enemy is inside. Beneath the third portico.” I managed to choke the words out.

“And why did you bring me to your enemy?”

“He has no one to help him.”

“What is that to you?”

My mouth opened. Emotion constricted my throat. “I want to forget about him. I want to let go of my joy at his anguish.”

“Why have you brought me here?” Jesus asked again, more earnestly.

“I … I don’t … I can’t hold on to the past anymore. My anger. My heart filled with bitterness.”

“What is that to me?”

“Help me, Jesus. Help me let go of the sins of Bikri the thief. The liar. The man who betrayed my grandfather for money.”

“How can I do what you ask? Tell me. Say it aloud.”

“I ask you to … heal my enemy. Let him walk again.”

Jesus nodded. “You will have to enter this place of suffering with me.”

“I … can’t. I have never confronted him. Only watched him from a distance.”

“You must show me the man, Lazarus, my friend. Take me to his place.”

I knew Jesus meant for me to take an active part in this. I could not hide myself and simply hope Jesus would find Bikri out of all those who camped beside the pool.

I linked my arm with his, and together we waded in among the multitude of sick and lame who lay beneath the porticoes of Bethesda. I covered my nose against the stench.

Jesus scanned the sea of human misery displayed before us. Every space on the pavement was filled.

“He’s over there.” I lowered my voice.

“Lead on,” Jesus instructed.

I picked my way carefully through the filth and rubbish of those who waited for a healing angel to descend and stir the waters. The beggars seemed not to notice us as we wound our way toward my enemy.

And then we came upon him. He lay at our feet. He looked up at me. A vague flicker of recognition crossed his face. Did he see my grandfather reflected in my eyes? Did memory of his sin flash through his mind? He smiled slightly with decayed teeth. Then he raised his bony hand, palm up, in supplication.

His voice cracked. “Mercy, young sir. Have mercy on a poor cripple. A blessing from heaven upon you in exchange for a coin. A mite will do. Anything.”

He was an old man. Pathetic. It occurred to me that he had begged here for thirty-eight years. What would become of him if he could suddenly walk?

Jesus stepped between me and my enemy. A shaft of light beamed down on the Lord. Jesus gazed at him with pity. Studying the cripple, he then asked, “Do you