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My heart ached. My closest friend⸺ the man I had grown up with, played with, caused trouble with⸺ lay on a mat unable to move. Neriah had been this way for months now. His betrothed had left him for another. His aged father had returned to fishing in order to feed the family. Any coins the family had managed to save over many long years had been spent on physicians and medicines. None of them did any good.
Then I heard about the teacher, Yeshua. I’d heard about his miracles. But for everyone who believed, who praised him, just as many declared the stories blasphemous lies.
Then last week I passed a house where he was teaching. Probably fifty people were packed inside like fish in a net, jamming the doorway. Many more peeked through windows, stood on toes just to catch a glimpse of the man or hear a word or two.
A crazy idea struck me. I raced home, found my brother and my sister’s husband, and told them of my insane plan. I dragged them to Neriah’s house, and along with his brother, the four of us grabbed the corners of his mat and headed for the overflowing house. I knew there was no way anyone was going to let us in. So we headed for the stairs built along the back of the house and carried Benaiah up to the flat roof.
I dropped to my knees and began digging a hole through the dried-mud roof.
“Are you crazy?” my brother said.
“Yes.” I replied without looking up, and I kept digging.
The other three laid Neriah down gently and began to dig with. We finally managed a tiny hole that reached down through the layer of dried mud as deep as a hand. I stuck my finger down and hooked it under. I broke off a chunk as big as a fist, then I did it again and again.
Below me, people backed away as dried mud plonked on their heads. Some shook their fists and scolded. If I hadn’t been so focused on my task, it would have been funny. When we had an opening large enough to lower Neriah through, I jumped down, people scrambling in all directions. The other three
sprawled out on the roof on their stomachs, each holding part of the mat. I placed my hands underneath, guiding it until Neriah lay at Yeshua’s feet.
The rabbi took one look at him, then looked at the four of us. He knelt at Benaiah’s side and smiled. “Son, your sins are forgiven.”
Benaiah’s legs straightened. He sat up, joy, gratitude, and shock taking hold of him. Then he did what Yeshua had ordered him to do.
It didn’t matter how many people said he was a blasphemer, or a troublemaker, or a fake. I knew at that moment, this Man was the Son of God.