“I-I don’t know… I didn’t see where he went!” Timothy giggled with enthusiasm.
Tarsus gripped Timothy’s arm tight and said, “Come with us.”
Timothy had never seen the look upon Tarsus’s face before, but he understood its meaning clearly. Timothy gave no objection and followed Tarsus.
Tarsus led Timothy inside a large, ornate building, which glowed brilliant white as sunlight streamed through several windows and reflected off the polished interior. Timothy’s eyes had a hard time adjusting to the light and the number of decorations, but he soon took in his surroundings. The roof was open, like an atrium, and sunlight illuminated the room. Encircling him were eight Pharisees, seated around the atrium, all possessing an arrogant scholarly quality. Timothy stood nervously at the center of the room, waiting for something, anything, to happen. Not a word had been said since the initial rapid-fire question and answer session that was launched upon Timothy.
“You say…with mud he returned your sight?” Gamaliel, one of the younger Pharisees, asked the man.
“Yes, and I washed in-”
“The pool of Siloam. We know,” Tarsus said abruptly, “The facts of the story have been covered, but there is more to be concerned about.”
“Indeed,” said the prune faced Simeon, “He performed this act on the Sabbath! He cannot be a man of God.”
Silas, a monster of a man with muscles as large as his ego, nodded his head and added, “No work is allowed on the Sabbath. Any child brought up in the law knows this, and certainly a man of God. He knowingly breaks the law in God’s name!”
“But…how then can a sinner, which he must of course be, do such…miraculous signs?” asked Gamaliel, and then he turned to Timothy, “What do you have to say of him? It was your eyes that were opened.”
“He is a prophet,” Timothy said without missing a beat.
Tarsus reeled back like he had just been slapped. He looked back to the closed doors at the front of the building and yelled, “Let them in!”
The door swung open and an old man and woman entered. They looked horrified to be standing in this room, before these men. They stared at the floor where they were sure not to make eye contact with the probing eyes surrounding them.
“This is your son?” Tarsus asked the old man while pointing at Timothy.
The old man glanced up briefly, just enough to see Timothy standing a few feet away.
“Your son, the one that was blind, but now can see,” added Tarsus as though the information might be useful in identifying Timothy.
“He is our son…and he was born blind, as you have said,” the old man responded.
“And what of the man who gave him sight?” Tarsus asked.
“As for who opened his eyes, we will let him speak. He is of age; ask him,” the old man said.
Silas turned to Timothy, clearly frustrated, and yelled, “We know this Jesus is a sinner!”
“Whether he is a sinner or not, I do not know,” Timothy said with a modicum of patience, “What I do know is that I was blind, and now I see!”
Simeon jumped in and shouted, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?”
“I already told you!” Timothy shouted, “And you do not listen! Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples too?”
Every Pharisee in the room gasped.
“You are Jesus’s disciple?” asked Silas, aghast.
Simeon interrupted, “We are disciples of Moses! We know God spoke to Moses, but as for this fellow, we don’t even know where he comes from!”
Timothy had heard enough and couldn’t stand to listen for another moment. He burst out with emotion, “You’re unbelievable! All of you! You don’t know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes! We know that God doesn’t listen to sinners. He listens to godly men who do His will. Have you ever heard of a man born blind being healed? Have you ever? But here I stand before you, healed! If this man were not from God, he could do nothing!”
In all their years as Pharisees, not one of the men in the room had been spoken to in such a way. Silas leaned forward, his eyes twitching and said between clenched teeth, “You were steeped in sin at birth; how dare you lecture us!”
Grabbing Timothy by the back of his robe like an angry lioness to its cub, Tarsus dragged him violently toward the door.
Timothy crashed through the door and onto the street, skinning his knees and tearing his hands on small stones. A number of passersby stopped in their tracks and watched as Tarsus burst from the doorway and yelled, “This man is in sin! Stay clear of his wretched influence!”
Every soul on the street took a step away from Timothy and for the first time he could see the rejection he had experienced his entire life as a useless blind man. Timothy looked back. The eight Pharisees were moving toward him, fists clenched tightly. He saw his mother weeping into the chest of his father, who mouthed a single word to Timothy, “RUN.”
Timothy had never run in his life. He wasn’t even sure he knew how. But he had to try. If the Pharisees didn’t kill him, they’d surely incite the crowd to do it for them. He pulled himself up and stood to his feet. Just as Tarsus raised a fist to knock Timothy back down, Timothy surged forward, running.
Though in dire circumstances, Timothy smiled. Jesus had not only fixed his eyes, but also gave him the legs to run. He looked over his shoulder one last time and saw a growing crowd, led by the angry Pharisees beginning to pursue him. He prayed God would make him fast. He prayed to God to save him again.
As the sun lowered in the sky, Tom, David and Jesus walked the streets of Jerusalem debating as they now frequently did. Everything was fair game. The Jewish Law, morality, what is sin and what isn’t, and the natural world; Tom covered every subject at least three times and each time from a different angle. Whenever his point would be proven wrong or ineffective he would bend his statements to mean something else entirely, as he worked to find flaws in Jesus’s replies. Conversations like these were normally fast, intelligent debates that the other disciples either grew annoyed with quickly or could scarcely follow. The three decided it was best to take such conversations outside.
“I don’t understand why you don’t answer my questions straightforward, without all the riddles,” Tom said.
“Didymus, you are without doubt the smartest of the twelve,” Jesus said.
Tom wasn’t even flattered by the compliment. He just made a face that said, no kidding.
Jesus continued, “Yet you fail to grasp even the simplest answers. Why do you think that is?”
Tom didn’t respond. Jesus was talking in riddles again and Tom wasn’t going to play that game.
Jesus turned to David. “You understand what I teach. Tell me, what is the difference between you and Tom that he doesn’t understand, and yet you do.”
David thought for a moment and said, “Well, ahh, I would say…I search my heart for the answers. Tom searches his mind. I have faith. He doesn’t.”
Jesus nodded in agreement.
“Why not just make David the twelfth disciple?” Tom asked.
“How much more powerful a statement will it be when you come to believe in me?” Jesus replied.
“If, not when,” Tom said. “So I’m the challenge then? Make a believer out of me and you can make a believer out of anyone?
“Something like that,” Jesus replied.
“Well then, you’re God! Make a believer out of me!” Tom said with a sarcastic tongue, whipping the air.
Jesus looked at David with an amused eyebrow raised.
“C’mon, hit me with it!” Tom shouted. “Hit me oh Lord and I shall believe in thee-”
Whump! A man blindsided Tom and both fell to the ground in a sprawl of arms and legs. David and Jesus nearly burst out laughing, but moved in to see if the men were all right.
