Return to Table of Contents/Writer’s Den

Chapter Twenty-One

Miracle Through The Roof

When we arrived back in Capernaum, they were waiting: crowds from the towns of Galilee, Judea, Decapolis, and even Perea. No sooner had we reached our destination and arrived at Peter’s house hoping to rest and eat home cooked food, than emissaries from the towns appeared, grinning and waving happily at the miracle worker and preacher. Jesus was pleased but everyone else, including Peter, groaned with despair. We were in no mood for this. Perhaps it was temptation from Satan, but I longed to see Mary Magdalene. I had the same feeling for Deborah, an earlier convert. Now, I was satisfied just to see Mary’s bright face and hear her tinkling, nonsensical voice. Alas, though, as James reminded me, I was meant for greater things.

We could see the crowd from a distance in what was either an amazing coincidence or divine intervention: a great multitude brimming a hill. A spokesman for the delegation, who identified himself as Uzziah, stood forth immediately before we could enter the house, bowing in greeting and, without delay, announcing the towns from which they came. Certain he would impress his listeners, especially Jesus whom he addressed directly, he waited with bated breath, rubbing his hands together excitedly as Jesus formed a reply.

“Dear Uzziah,” Jesus said as delicately as possible, “my disciples are worn out by our journey. Please tell the people that I’ll come tomorrow morning.”

“Yes,” John muttered aloud, “tomorrow. Thank your Jesus.”

“Just tell them to go away,” grumbled his brother.

“Tell me, Uzziah,” Jesus added after some thought, “…. did the people bring food with them?”

“Oh no,” Philip mumbled, slapping his forehead, “here it comes.”

“I don’t know sir,” Uzziah answered, pointing to each of his friends. “Ishdad, Ezmir, Hadad, and I brought victuals. I assume they did the same.”

“You didn’t make sure before you left?” Jesus looked at him in disbelief.

“Rabbi,” Uzziah said, ignoring the question. “I had a dream—no a vision. An angel appeared and said, “Call forth the people of Israel. Take them to Capernaum. There, at last, you shall find the Messiah, whom they call the miracle worker, who is Jesus of Nazareth. I knew at sight that you were he.”

Greatly moved by his words but worried about the people, Jesus replied, “Uzziah, I know that my Father brought you and the multitude here, but did those people bring food?”

Again Uzziah dodged the question, “It’s only common sense, Jesus. What fool travels without provisions?”

“You didn’t answer my question, Uzziah.” Jesus grew impatient. “Did they bring food?”

“I think so,” Uzziah answered dubiously. “I can go check.”

“Don’t worry, rabbi,” Ishdad said with conviction, “most of them probably did.”

“Uzziah told us the Lord would provide,” chimed Ezmir.

“And here we are, Rabbi,” Hadad said, bowing graciously, grinning like a fool.

“Master,” Peter pleaded, tugging his sleeve, “the men are exhausted. Can’t this wait until the morning?”

It seemed unrealistic to us for them to expect us not to rest from our journey, and yet they looked at each other in bewilderment, disappointed by this delay.

“Yes, of course,” Jesus answered Peter, giving the emissaries a troubled glance. “I’m sorry. I would go back with you this hour, but I need my disciples with me, rested up and fed. Please explain this to the people.”

“Very well, rabbi,” whined Uzziah, “but those people are anxious. It’ll be like holding back the tide!”

Upon that warning, we entered Peter’s house. We had been fearful that Jesus’ sympathy for the multitude would force his hand, but we had underestimated his wisdom. Peter’s wife Esther, daughter Bernice, and mother-in-law Dinah greeted us warmly, asking many questions before we had a chance to catch our breath: “Where did we travel?”, “What wonders did Jesus do this time?”, and “What did those strange men want?” came just from Dinah’s and Bernice’s lips. Esther was more concerned with Jesus, her husband, and the disciples’ well-being.

“Thank you for bringing my husband home,” she added, kissing Jesus cheek. “Once more, rabbi, our home is blessed.”

Suddenly, to my delight, Mary Magdalene, who had held back politely, stepped forth. Her eyes seemed to lock on mine immediately, until John appeared, diverting her attention at once. Looking back and forth with a mischievous grin, as we ogled her, she understood our feelings. I’m certain most of the other men admired her too. While she stood before us, Peter introduced his family to the new members. When he came to Mary, my heart leaped again. Judas not only eyed Mary lustfully but also appraised the blossoming Bernice. He then greeted our hosts with a bow and flurry of words, complimenting them on the aromatic smell filling the house. As always, though in his fine yet travel-stained clothes, he looked out of place. Mary giggled foolishly at his behavior.

After these introductions, we set about washing ourselves up for dinner, which was difficult now that Capernaum’s visitors were lurking outside. Normally, we would be able to splash our faces and hands with water from the well, but this time there was only one basin, which grew murkier and murkier after each use. Like John, I felt embarrassed as Mary and Bernice watched. Judas, who wound up last in line, slipped out the back door, pale in hand, and, flinging curses at the crowd, managed to cleanse himself at the well. Though James, criticized his manners, I thought he showed great courage. I noticed that Mary and Bernice thought so too. Most of the disciples were, in fact, impressed, especially when Jude returned with a bucket of well water for our morning ablutions. Throughout this example of Jude’s fortitude, if not courage, the crowd outside grew more restless. We managed to ignore them at first. Peter’s mother-in-law asked Jesus anxiously how the crowd knew they were coming home. Jesus simply raised his eyes heavenward. I had a few questions myself, as we waited for dinner.

“I’m confused,” I confessed to him. “Some of the disciples call you master now, but I’m no longer sure what to call you. After all, you’re the Messiah.”

Placing his hand on my shoulder, Jesus gave me the answer I wanted. “Call me Jesus,” he replied, smiling with mirth. “I am your brother and leader, but also your friend.”

“Thank you,” I nodded, “I hate formality.” “There’s something else,” I looked at him quizzically. “Uzziah was told by an angel to bring the people to the Messiah, and yet he and his cohorts called you rabbi. I got the impression they weren’t sure.”

“It’s good that you ask this question,” Jesus expression grew serious. “You are perceptive, little brother. Uzziah and his friends are agents of the temple. I suspect soon I’ll be harried by Pharisees and scribes who came with the multitude. I’m afraid we’ll get little peace this afternoon.”

“Really, Jesus?” Peter gave him a worried look. “Uzziah sounded so convincing. Why would they give themselves away?”

“They’re wolves disguised as sheep,” Jesus smiled sadly.

“Stupid wolves.” Simon snickered.

“Perhaps,” Jesus agreed partially, “but wolves nonetheless. What better way to draw me out than representing pilgrims? Perhaps, if God wills it, I’ll convince them too.”

“Well, you have me!” piped Simon. “Now, I’m just one more sheep!”

“I wonder how many of them are out there?” Andrew peaked through the window.

“Agents or rabble?” John sneered.

“Both.” His brother heaved a sigh.

Jesus raised his eyebrows. “That should concern us. Let’s not worry about Caiaphas’ agents. Those people have come a long way. There’s a lot more of them this time. Uzziah and his men had nothing to do with that. What is most suspicious is the fact that they don’t know whether our visitors brought food.”

“They might’ve brought food, but ran out,” suggested Matthew. “If that’s true, there might be unrest. You know human nature. When the stomach growls, the mood darkens.”

“I can hear those humans now,” Philip said, cupping his ears.

“Listen” Bartholomew gasped. “Those are voices. Can you hear them? What if those men got them worked up like they did in Nazareth and Bethlehem?”

“Yeah, Jesus.” Andrew’s eyes widened. “You just assumed their friendly. That could be a mob out there!”

“And it could be a trap!” Thomas looked around fearfully. “They sprout up everywhere, ready to turn on us at a moments notice: rabble, agitators, and agents of the high priest!”

“Shut up—all of you!” Peter waved impatiently. “You mustn’t lose heart. Jesus will protect us. We’re safe anywhere with him!”

Tobin stood in the background, as did the women, listening intently. “Compared to those people in Bethlehem this is nothing,” he remarked coolly. “Those people might be hungry but they’ve come here to hear Jesus preach!”

Jesus glanced with approval at Peter and Tobin. Though the other men showed a lack of nerve, Peter and Tobin had demonstrated courage. The remainder of us (by our silence) had at least appeared calm. Like James, I had made up my mind to keep my head, as did Peter, while Tobin, unlike the rest of us, seemed genuinely unafraid. Inside of me, I was in a panic, like everyone else. We were letting our imaginations get the best of us. Fear also registered on Esther’s, Dinah’s, Bernice’s, and Mary’s faces. For a moment, as someone hammered on the door, Peter tried showing how brave he was, growling fiercely through the door, “Aren’t you listening. They can wait until tomorrow!”

Having given the fake representatives of the people this same message, Jesus gave a faint nod and folded his arms, pondering his next move. As the commotion outside worsened, Peter stood beside him, as if expecting him to use his powers, perhaps to make them go away as he had Barabbas. Then a voice boomed through the door, “Open up. Give us the miracle worker. Our father is paralyzed. He can’t walk!”

“That’s all they want,” Peter stomped his foot. “Uzziah implied there were thousands coming. Let’s hope they’re not a bunch blind people and cripples. You can only do so much!”

“Phew!” James exhaled. “It’s only a supplicant!”

“For now, there’s only one,” Jesus corrected him. “There will be more.”

The rest of us heaved sighs of relieve, and yet silently, Jesus held his ground. We had never seen him refuse a healing, but enough was enough. With an anxious look on her face, Esther informed us that supper was ready. I could see Mary in the kitchen with Dinah and Bernice. As we sat on cushions around the room, Esther and Dinah, with Bernice’s and Mary’s assistance, began serving us our food. Thomas, normally by himself, sat between Bartholomew and me. While we gave him sympathetic looks, the others scowled at him. My brother James also looked at him with disdain. Only Simon and Matthew had made some effort to accept him into the group. Too busy looking down Mary’s and then Bernice’s front as they served him, Judas could care less. For a moment the commotion outside ceased, but then to everyone’s horror, they began boring through Peter’s roof. Mary grabbed her mouth in terror and Bernice screamed.

“Hark!” Jesus cried, pointing to the ceiling. “They’re here!”

“I won’t stand for it!” Peter cried. “It took me a week to repair my roof after the last storm!”

He and his brother Andrew charged the door now, livid with rage. All of the disciples, in fact, with eyes raised and fists clinched, forgot themselves completely and shouted threats, insults, and oaths. Tobin wrung his staff and Bartholomew waved at the ceiling with his cane.

“I’m sorry, Peter.” Jesus grabbed his tunic. “It’s too late. Listen people: In a few seconds the roof will give way.” “Everyone in the kitchen!” he cried.

Dropping our bowels of food, we scrambled out of the way just as timbers and tiles crashed to the floor. Accidentally, I ran right into Mary’s lovely bosom, too filled with fear to care. A bizarre set of actions followed those moments: an elderly man lying on a makeshift pallet was lowered by ropes down to the rubble strewn floor, the ropes were released, and we could hear his cohorts clamoring off the room. Knowing full well the ire waiting down below, the man had a frightened look. His cohorts in this act didn’t even bother to show themselves, as the man waited to be healed.

“Papa, Papa!” Bernice wrung her hands. “Look what they’ve done!”

“You stupid bastards!” Peter shouted at the ceiling. “And you.” He wrung his fist at the man on the pallet. “You’ll pay for this. So help me, this is going too far!”

“I agree,” Jesus said, patting Bernice’s and Mary’s heads, “but he’s here. What am I to do?”

“Turn him to stone!” Esther shrieked. “He’s ruined my house!”

“Oh, Jesus,” Dinah wailed. “You’ve worked miracles. You should’ve stopped this. How could you let this happen?”

“Wait a minute,” I exclaimed, coming to Jesus’ defense. “This isn’t his fault. We get these types all the time. Those people could’ve waited. That was a reckless, foolish act of desperation. How could he foresee that?”

“The question is,” spat Peter, “who’ll repair my roof? They had no right doing that. Jude’s right; they could’ve waited until tomorrow. If you hadn’t been here Jesus, I would’ve throttled that man!”

“But I’m here,” Jesus said, with a shrug. “It took both lawlessness and great faith. I shall deal with his faith now.” “Sir.” he looked down at the man. “No harm will come to you.”

“I’m sorry, rabbi—” he began contritely.

“He’s the Messiah!” interrupted Peter. “At least get that right!”

“Lord,” the man began again. “Whatever name they call you—Redeemer, Deliverer or Messiah, I believe you’re the Promised One.”

“If you know this to be true,” Jesus studied him, “understand also that I come to heal the spirit as well as the body.”

“Yes, I do, I do.” He bobbed his head.

“Azariah,” Jesus reached down to touch his head, “you have lived a spiteful life.”

“Yes, Lord,” he looked up in wonder, “but how do you know my name?”

“I know many things,” answered Jesus. “I know that you’ve treated others wrongly, bore false witness against them, and acted with a mean spirit but have not repented until you were in the depths of despair. Will you promise to live a righteous life from this day forward?”

“Yes, Lord.” he nodded expectantly. “You have my word.”

“Don’t call me Lord.” Jesus wagged a finger. “I work on His behalf.”

This was, of course, a great underestimate of who he was. We would learn later why Jesus shunned that title. Lord was interchangeable with the title God, especially in simple folk’s mind. Azariah was a simple man in spite of his station in life. That Jesus was more than the Messiah, we couldn’t have imagined. It was only natural for some Jews, though, especially those influenced by pagan religions, to think of someone who could works miracles as either a sorcerer or god. Ironically, I see in retrospect, as do all members of the Way, Jesus was, in fact, God. As he looked into this sinners face, he saw something only he could see. We were still angry at the roof falling in and the fact that too many people looked upon Jesus’ miracles more than his words. It seemed to us that this lawless act which the man inspired should cancel out his plaintive words. Nonetheless, taking the water pitcher from Peter’s hands, Jesus performed the ritual we had performed for countless initiates. Sprinkling water on Azariah’s gray hair, he now completed the ritual by saying something that startled everyone in the room. “Your sins are forgiven, Azariah. Your faith has made you whole. Rise up and walk, and sin no more!”

Azariah was so overjoyed his voice was as paralyzed as had been his legs. Just as he began raising himself up, and, with Jesus help, was brought shakily to his feet, however, voices shouted down at Jesus, “You said, ‘your sins are forgiven.’ Who are you to forgive sinners?” There was also a tumult of voices outside the house, echoing his cry, and the thud of rocks against the walls. A second man, who managed to climb onto the roof, now screamed, “Blasphemer! Your leading people to perdition!”, and a third overhead, shrieked those fearful words, “Stone him! Stone him!”

While Jesus remained calm, our anger turned to fear. Several more voices rang out on the roof and through Peter’s door, repeating the outrage of the second and third man. It was an ambush that, at the very least, sullied the miracle. Without censure from Jesus, most of us tossed our supper bowels and mugs at the men standing by the hole in the roof. Judas flung a pitcher at them. Simon drew his sword and waved it menacingly. Tobin, like Esther, Dinah, Bernice, and Mary tossed handfuls of food, and Bartholomew shook his cane. These actions merely agitated the detractors above us that much more. In fact I hesitate to record their fulminations. Nevertheless, ignoring the onslaught, Jesus helped the man walk a few paces before letting him go, as we followed up our first volley with anything at hand. When Azariah was on wobbly legs walking on his own, he called up to the men angrily, “Stop this at once. Jesus is the Chosen One—the Anointed. He healed me and made me whole. It’s only right that he forgave my sins!”

“Is that Azariah, the paralytic, that Pharisee from Chorazin?” asked the first man.

“Yes, it’s him all right!” exclaimed his friend. “He’s been cured!” “Of all people to say such a thing,” he muttered aloud. “I knew him before he was stricken. He was a real firebrand for the law!”

The third antagonist—the very man who had called for the stoning, was at a loss for words. Peering down through the hole, the three men continued to look at Azariah in disbelief. Azariah shook his fist up at them, crying. “Of course, it’s me, you fools. Why’re you so surprised? Why do you think my sons carried me all this way? You’re a disgrace—all of you! How dare you spoil this moment.”

“Go away now!” Peter looked up and made scooting motions.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my bow!” Simon shook his fist.

“I’m sorry.” Azariah said to Peter “I’ll pay for the damage. The commotion I caused for your house is unforgivable.” Turning to Jesus, he exclaimed, “Jesus of Nazareth. You’ve healed more than my body. It was my sons who insisted on smashing through your roof. Those idiots on the roof and shouting through the door were once my colleagues and friends—Pharisees and scribes, who shared views with me I now reject. I am a new man now—one of you!”

“That you are.” Jesus sighed heavily. “It took a miracle, Azariah; it takes that for some. But I believe you. I know your heart. That’s all that matters.” “Go in peace!” he added, ushering him gently toward the door. “Your original views have misled your people. You were a hard, bitter man. One physical calamity and a miracle changed all that. I have forgiven you, and God has forgiven you. Your example has been duly noted by my critics. It will, God willing, encourage those men to join the Way.”

“What is the Way?” Azariah turned, as Peter opened the door.

“It’s not a group as in the temple or synagogue.” Jesus explained, reading his thoughts. “The Way is a place where your soul is safe. The barbs of the world might prickle you, but they’re temporary. Life is transient, Azariah; heaven is forever. With others, separately or in families or friendship, you’ll share fellowship, and then eternal life and the glory of the Lord. As a member of the Way, the word of continuing revelation is placed in your heart: God will speak to you. You have but to listen, and he will speak.”

“What is this Word? Azariah gave Jesus a dumbfounded look. “There’s nothing in the Law or the Prophets about continuing revelation?”

There was an edge of impatience in Jesus’ voice. “They are spoken by the Spirit of the Lord, whom you know,” he answered wearily. “Listen with your heart not your mind, as you have done as a Pharisee. Don’t question so much. Trust in His silent voice.” “Remember this Azariah.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “…There are no Pharisees or scribes who think as you once did in the Way. You’re a child of God now, no longer an enemy of the truth.”

“The truth?” Azariah persisted. “I’ve been an enemy of the truth?”

“Yes,” Jesus said with some bitterness, “you and your kind, like the scribes and priests, have blinded people to the truth!”

As we listened to his words, there was silence all around. All commotion ceased. Those on the roof and even those outside had completely stopped their protests. Once overwhelmed with rage, Peter had calmed down, as did the other disciples, Peter’s wife, mother-in-law, and daughter. Mary Magdalene, who would one day rival Jesus’ own mother in importance, stood there, staring stupidly into space. There would be no greater rebuke of the Pharisees, than what Jesus said today. We learned that Jesus can forgive sins, something we had sensed all along—a claim that would follow him each time he was confronted by Pharisees, scribes, or priests. More importantly to us was the clearest definition of what the Way really was. It was, as I understand it even now, not similar to a synagogue, the temple, or other association having rituals and tradition that separate them as a specific group. Jesus believed that all men and women were equal to priests. They were a universal priesthood of believers, each a place of worship unto themselves. That we meet in secret together now, as we did during those dark months, has become a necessity, not a requirement given to us by Jesus. The simple definition given to Azariah, but also meant for us for the Way, would be carried by us throughout our lives, contradicting the ecclesiae sprouting up later in Jerusalem, Damascus, Antioch, Athens, and Rome.

Jesus said a few more inspiring words to Azariah just before he departed. As Azariah emerged on the other side of the door, we could hear him shout at the top of his lungs, “Hear this Pharisees, scribes, and rabble rousers and citizens of Galilee, Judea, and Decapolis, too. If you fear God, stop your noise and agitation. Jesus forgave me and he will forgive you, but only if you repent your sins. He’s the Messiah—the one foretold by Isaiah. This house, which my sons damaged, is sacred. Drop you stones and stow your hatred. When Jesus comes out tomorrow, listen to him. Open your minds and hearts!”

Jesus smiled that moment. “My beloved disciples.” He embraced us with his eyes. “That was a prelude of what will come, but fear not—you’ll prevail. Today was yet another milestone we weathered together.” Glancing at the pugnacious Simon, he added with a twinkle in his eye, “You’re becoming warriors for God. Azariah, when he returns home, will be such a warrior. Nothing I have done so far to quiet a mob will ring louder than that man’s voice. No one—rich or poor, great or small—is excluded from the word. He was an important Pharisee in Chorazin, brought low by his sins, and now, thanks to those words, he silenced the mob.” Looking up to the hole in the roof, Jesus added with a chuckle, “They’re gone. They’re all gone. Hopefully, we’ll see them again when I preach. Azariah set an example for them to follow. Until the morning, my brethren, eat some supper and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day!”

Next Chapter/ Return to Table of Contents/Writer’s Den