Blind From Birth
A Bible ficlet, written in honour of Nisan 14th
As Jesus and his twelve apostles are walking by, they pass a man – a beggar – apparently blind; from birth, it would seem, rather than by some chance or accident.
"Teacher," asks one of the twelve, stopping and looking at the sightless man whose hands are awkwardly outstretched in their direction, "who was it that sinned?"
Jesus turns slightly to face him, brow lifting.
"This man," he continues his question, speaking a trifle more rapidly as if to get the question out a bit faster, "or his parents? So that he was born without sight."
Some rabbis hold the teaching that persons may sin while still in the womb, and can be punished for such sins at birth, having a confused understanding of inherited sin. Jesus gently corrects this idea, saying, "Neither this man sinned nor his parents, but it was so that the works of God might be made manifest in his case."
"Who's there?" rasps the beggar, turning his head both ways.
"I am. I, the one called Jesus." Jesus has crouched down and spat onto the ground, mixing earthy clay with his saliva to create a paste, which he gently smooths onto the man's unblinking eyes. "Go wash in the pool of Siloam."
Something about his voice, and perhaps also the way the paste feels smooth and cool against his eyes, compels the man to obey.
As he bends over the pool – once he has reached it – and slowly and carefully washes off the paste, there's a pinprick, then a stream, of light. Then there are colors. He has never known what color is before this moment, though his parents tried to explain it to him more than once, the concept altogether too baffling. The color is followed by shapes, shadows under these shapes and those colors settling into place and focus.
He can see. He has been given sight.
On his way back towards where Jesus spat and made the paste, hoping for a chance to thank him, as well as to see everything in this place he has never seen before, though he has been there so often, he finds people are whispering about him.
"This is the man who used to sit and beg, isn't it?"
"It is he!"
"No, it isn't, but he looks like him."
A great grin spreads across the former beggar's face. "I am he."
A murmur... And then, "How were your eyes opened? How can you now see?"
"The man called Jesus made a paste and smeared it on my eyes and said to me I was to go to Siloam and wash, and so I went, and washed, and gained sight!"
"Where is that man? This Jesus?"
The bright look on the restored man's face dims slightly. He had thought there would be great rejoicing – certainly he is rejoicing – but many of these questioners sound scared, and a little annoyed.
If he believed those who questioned him near the spot where he used to beg were unenthusiastic about Jesus, hesitant to be pleased with His miracle, the Pharisees they have brought him to are worse still.
A great deal worse.
They've only gone and dragged his parents into it, though he has already told them all about Jesus, already explained – most succinctly – what happened.
Of course, his parents are afraid of being thrown out of the synagogue.
"He is of age," says his mother.
"Ask him," says his father. "He must speak for himself."
The Pharisees have turned to him again now. "You – tell us – what did this man do to you? How did he open your eyes?"
Looking at their expressions, their mouths pulled so taut, seeing – as he would not have only a few hours ago – the bitterness in their faces, he cannot help but give a little smirk and a shake of the head.
"I already told you. And yet you did not listen. Why do you want to hear it again?" The smirk pulls further into the corner of his mouth, granting him a dimple. "You do not want to become his disciples also, do you?"
A/N: If you have enjoyed this Bible-inspired, dramatized ficlet featuring one of Jesus's many performed miracles, it is my sincere hope that you will participate in the commemoration of The Lord's Evening Meal, to remember the life and death of Jesus, tonight after sundown.
