The Didymus Contingency

THIRTEEN
Tomorrow
30 A.D.

Jerusalem, Israel

The streets of lower Jerusalem, slender and flanked by homes squished together like bricks, were abnormally calm on that morning. Typically, the smells of cooking food, ripening fruit and steaming leather filled the air. But today, only the bright roses and dusty road reached the nose. Jerusalem, the capitol city of Israel, often buzzed like a beehive, but today-on the Sabbath, the day of rest-all was serene. Tom couldn’t decide if it was the kind of peace felt on a warm day at the beach, or an ominous calm before the storm. Either way, Tom was determined to use the lull in activity to spring what he believed would be the question to undo Jesus’s charade.

Much of Tom’s previous night was spent in deep thought and careful plotting, inspired by David’s insistence that he ask Jesus why bad things happen to good people. There had to be a way to catch Jesus, and Tom was sure he could find it. He hadn’t planned on taking all night, but Jesus was a crafty adversary and these things had to be carefully thought through. But his effort paid off and Tom was confident his plan was bulletproof.

That morning Tom insisted they take a walk through the streets of Jerusalem. The sun was rising, the streets were quiet and Tom would have all the time he needed to find a helper. Of course, he never mentioned his ulterior motive for taking a stroll, but the idea was quickly supported and they had set out, first thing that morning.

Tom’s feet quickly grew heavy and his eyes were sagging a bit, but his plan was masterful and the thought of executing it successfully gave him energy to walk the hard streets, though his body protested and cried out for sleep. He strode next to Jesus, in front of David and the other disciples. He was waiting for the perfect moment, the supreme opportunity. He knew that in the city, he wouldn’t have to wait long for the occasion to reveal itself. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Some coins for a blind man?” asked a decrepit man, whose body was soiled like a dust-covered rag. The man looked toward the sky as he spoke in the direction of the approaching footsteps. “Please, I hear so many of you. One of you could surely share some money, some food, something, please.”

This was it! Tom hustled forward and stood between Jesus and the blind man.

Jesus stopped walking and looked at Tom with an expression of expectation. The rest of the group slowed to a stop behind Jesus. David moved around for a better look at what Tom was doing, face crisscrossed with concern, but remained silent.

“Something troubles you?” Jesus asked Tom calmly.

“Explain something to me. Why do you allow this?” asked Tom, as he stabbed a finger at the blind man.

“What did he do to deserve this?” Tom said, and then he turned to the blind man and asked, “How long have you been blind?”

The blind man perked up, realizing he was being spoken to. He stood to his feet and stumbled toward the voice that had addressed him. “Since birth, Master.”

“Since birth,” Tom said, “What sin could he have done at birth to deserve this? Or maybe it was the sins of his parents? I’m not really sure how these sin things work.”

Tom waited, sure that his line of questioning would make Jesus stumble. Surely, this was the hardest question addressed to Jesus thus far. Tom’s mind raced with anticipation. He would finally outdo Jesus!

Jesus didn’t miss a beat.

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned. This happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life. As long as it is day, we must do the work of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no man can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world,” Jesus explained.

Tom stared, dumbfounded for a moment and said, “You lost me. What’s all that supposed to mean? Was that another parable?”

Jesus replied by spitting onto the dusty street. He bent down and rubbed the spit into the dirt, creating a small blob of oozing mud.

Tom worried that he had offended Jesus and that Jesus was planning to fling the mud at him. Tom took a step back and prepared to duck. Perhaps Jesus was growing impatient with Tom? Maybe his constant meddling with Jesus’s plans had gone on too long and Jesus was going to expel him? Maybe Jesus would lose his temper and strike him? Tom only wished it were true. That would surely do more to discredit Jesus then this dirty, blind man. He was both relieved and disappointed to see that the intended target for the mud was not himself, but the blind man.

Jesus took the mud and smeared it across the confused blind man’s closed eyes. Tom’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion and his nose crinkled with disgust. What in the world was Jesus doing?

“What is your name?” Jesus asked the blind man.

“Timothy…” the blind man said. Then the man’s eyebrows shot high and he sucked in a breath of air as though he had just been astonished. He spoke again, “Are you…are you Jesus?”

“Yes, Timothy,” Jesus said, “now go, wash in the pool of Siloam.”

Timothy smiled and grew excited, “Yes, Master!”

Timothy turned and began to hobble down the street. Jesus turned to John, one of the disciples whose kind eyes were hidden by thick eyebrows, and Peter. He motioned with his head toward Timothy. The two instantly reacted and moved to help the man on his quest to wash in the pool of Siloam.

“That’s it?” Tom asked, confused and slightly disturbed by the surreal event, “That’s your answer?”

“He’ll be back soon enough,” Jesus said, “Wait and see for yourself. Or maybe I should rub some mud on your eyes as well?”

“Riiight, the whole, “those with eyes that cannot see,” stuff again. I’m not blind. I can see fine.” Tom said, frustrated. “And I can see right through you.”

Jesus chuckled and began walking away. The other disciples followed him and smirked at Tom as they passed. David brought up the rear and joined Tom.

“Is it possible to get a straight answer from that man?” Tom asked, not expecting or desiring an answer.

“If you weren’t deaf as well as blind, you might have understood the answer,” David replied with a crafty smile.

Tom looked at David. “Funny.”

David smiled and laughed, clearly pleased with how things had played out.

Tom stayed quiet. He’d let David have his moment. This wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

After Timothy went to the pool of Siloam and washed as Jesus had instructed him, he ran up and down the now crowded streets shouting praises to God. For the first time in his life, he could see the sun, people’s faces and dirt. But what was more amazing was that he understood everything he was seeing. He knew a bird was a bird, though he had never seen one in his life. With sight came vision, with vision came understanding-as though he had been able to see since the day he was born.

Timothy’s loud praises didn’t go unnoticed for long. Like vultures to a kill, a small group of men called Pharisees, the keepers of the law, descended on Timothy. The four men, all dressed in extravagant purple robes, were led by Tarsus, an old man with knobby knuckles and a graying beard. They stepped in front of Timothy. “You say you are the man who earlier today was begging here, at this corner?” Tarsus asked.

“I am the man,” Timothy replied.

“How then were your eyes opened?” Tarsus asked.

“The man they call Jesus!” Timothy said, “He put mud on my eyes and told me to wash at Siloam. I did as he said and I can now see!”

“Where is this Jesus?” Tarsus asked with a tinge of disdain in his voice.

“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.

Timothy stood up quickly, dusting off his robe and apologizing quickly. “Sorry masters. Sorry.” He was about to continue running when Jesus stopped him. “Timothy, wait.”

Tom heard the name as David helped him up. He looked over and saw Timothy. As their eyes met, Tom realized that they were connecting; Timothy was looking Tom right in the eyes. Timothy was seeing! Tom nearly fell back down, but David held on tight. Tom later thought that his shocked facial expression must have been confusing to Timothy, who had never seen before, but right now, he was distracted by a sudden shift in Timothy’s eyes. Timothy was no longer staring at Tom. He was looking just beyond Tom, and his demeanor became that of a scared rabbit.

Tom followed Timothy’s eyes and saw a large, angry crowd, led by Tarsus, Simeon and Silas. Tom didn’t know who these men were, but they looked important. He looked to David, planning to ask, but kept his question to himself as he noticed David’s body language; David was stepping back, away from the crowd.

Jesus dusted Timothy off with a pleased expression, as though the encroaching mob did not exist and quipped, “Your eyes are working and still you walk like a blind man.”

“Sorry, Master, I-” Timothy said, as he tried to move away.

But Jesus held him still and asked, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?”

Timothy stopped trying to move. He stood still and looked Jesus in the eyes.

“Who is he? Tell me and I’ll believe,” Timothy said, having not yet recognized Jesus.

“You have seen him,” Jesus said. “In fact, he speaks with you now.”

“Jesus…?” Timothy’s face beamed as he recognized the man who had healed his blind eyes. “Lord, I believe!” said Timothy, as he knelt before Jesus and bowed his head.

Tom had little time to hypothesize about what had happened before he was snapped out of his daze by Jesus’s loud voice addressing the crowd, who had stopped only a few feet away, “For judgment I have come into this world, so that the blind will see…”

Jesus looked Tom in the eyes and continued, “And those who see will become blind.”

“Are we blind too?” Simeon asked with as much intimidation as he could muster.

“If you were blind, you would not be guilty of sin; but now that you claim you can see, your guilt remains,” Jesus replied with just the hint of a smile.

The Pharisees got a strange look on their faces. Tom could see that they had been defeated in verbal combat as quickly as he was normally. He knew that for these men to continue the conversation would be futile and would reveal to the crowd that Jesus had beaten them. It seemed the strangers knew this too. It took ten seconds for one of them to speak.

Simeon squinted. “Are you the one called Jesus?” Simeon asked, changing the subject and dodging a bullet.

“I am.”

“We’ll be seeing you again,” Tarsus said, as he and the other Pharisees turned and pushed their way through the crowd, which dispersed quickly for lack of action.

Jesus nodded in agreement, then turned and walked away. Bewildered, Tom turned to David and said, “I don’t think I understand half of what that man says.”

David smiled. “I don’t think they do either,” he said, as he watched the three Pharisees pound away. He turned to Tom and said, “You should hear it in the King James Version.”

Tom smirked and looked at the retreating Pharisees, “Who are they?”

“Pharisees.”

“They seem to be on the same page as me,” Tom said.

David’s eyes grew wide. “Stay away from them, Tom. I mean it.”

“Why?” Tom asked.

“Think of them as ultra-right wing Republicans,” David said.

“ You’re a Republican,” Tom pointed out.

“That’s not the point,” David said. “Left or right doesn’t matter. What does matter is that they’re the legalistic fringe of the current culture. They’re well read, well spoken and intelligent, but clouded by tradition and will defend their beliefs to the point of violence.”

“So they’re evil?”

David sighed and said. “No. Maybe some. ‘Misguided’ might be a better word. But others choose a different path. Look, let’s just say that nothing good can come from you speaking to those Pharisees.”

“Afraid they might help me?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

David looked at Timothy, who was talking with Jesus.

“Timothy can see,” David said.

“I was set up,” Tom replied without pause, as though it were a forgone conclusion.

“How was Jesus supposed to know what you had planned?”

Tom paused and then said, “You warned him…didn’t you? You knew I would try something and came to the same conclusion I did, that if I chose a person for Jesus to heal, someone that wasn’t working with Jesus, that he couldn’t heal that person. But you warned him and he had this Timothy pretend to be a blind man along the route he knew we’d take through the city! He knew I’d pick the first beggar we came to!”

“Ugh. Now you’re being paranoid!” David fumed as he shook his head and stormed away.

“I’m not paranoid… I’m… I’m…” Tom became distracted by the three figures walking away, their ornate robes dancing in the wind. These Pharisees might be useful. They were the only people who seemed to make sense in this backward culture. Tom decided to find out more about them. Maybe they could reveal the chink in Jesus’s armor?