On a mat in a slouching mudbrick home as crooked as his lower half, a man named Lavan lay, unable to stand, unable to walk. Paralyzed since the day he was born, he disliked his body, would often pray for a new one. Because of the Levitical prohibition, he could not enter the Temple, would never be able to so long as he could not move on his own. Why had Yahweh made him this way? What had he done to deserve this? How could he be guilty of something that obviously preceded his birth?

As Lavan pondered these questions, an itch gnawed at his back. Because of the spasticity in his hands, he could not reach or scratch the itch. Until his family came back, all of whom were out in search of a healer promising miracles of body and spirit, he would just have to endure. On top of all that, a sudden wave of nausea unsettled his belly.

“Lavan!” a voice rang out. “Lavan! Are you there?”

Lavan shifted his attention from his stomach to the open doorway. “Reuven?”

“Yes! I’m in the courtyard. Where are you?”

Lavan rolled his eyes. “Where I always am when no one’s here.” He could hear his friend’s determined steps growing louder, closer.

A short, olive-skinned man entered the main room. “There you are.”

As his stomach growled, Lavan managed a weak smile. “Where I said I would be.”

Reuven knelt to Lavan, grabbed his shoulders, his grip a little too tight. “He’s coming, Lavan! He’s coming to our town. He’s on his way!”

Lavan frowned. “The publican?”

His friend shook his head. “No. Thank God, no.” He then shot up, hands raised as if in praise. “The Messiah! Praise be his name!”

Lavan furrowed his brows. “Who?”

“The Nazarene! The one who heals the deaf, gives sight to the blind, cures the lame. How could you not have heard?”

Lavan gestured to his legs. “Easy when you can’t get around on your own.”

“I’ll bring him to you, then.”

Lavan felt his belly grumble. “I’m not feeling well.”

“Even better! If what they say about this healer is true, then you’ll be all better by sundown.” Reuven raised his hands in praise. “Legs and stomach restored…forever!”

“Can’t he come another day? What’s the rush?”

“Listen to yourself!” Reuven pounded his friend’s mat with his fist. “Don’t be so stubborn. Don’t be so proud. You want to be cured, no? Be able to enter the Temple? Be free of this curse?”

Lavan narrowed his eyes, gesturing to his legs. “This curse?”

Reuven looked uncomfortable. “I, uh…I didn’t mean that.”

Lavan frowned. “Are you sure?”

Reuven looked away. “Just let me bring the Nazarene here. He’ll help you. Better yet, he’ll heal you.”

Lavan sighed. “Fine.”

Reuven stood and raised his hands. “Praise the Lord! May he bless this house!”

Lavan felt his itch become only more persistent. “Reuven, can you do something for me first?” Another wave of nausea then hit him. He closed his eyes and reached for his side. “Reuven? Before you leave, could you help me?” He winced. “Please, I need you to move m—”

Lavan threw up. Partially digested chunks of orange stained his mat. Some of it even landed on his tunic. Recoiling at the sight of the vomit, he could smell the sour odor of what had only moments before roiled in his stomach. As best as he could, he rolled himself off his mat. Though not great, it was a better alternative than lying in his own throw-up. As he lay on his back, he felt a stream of wind, heard the door to the courtyard shut.

Reuven was gone. His tracks on the earthen floor were faint but visible. Must be nice, Lavan thought, to go where you want, whenever you want. To not have to live like this. Maybe, though, the Nazarene could help him, could restore him. Would it be a sin to reject his offer of healing? Probably because of the vomiting, Lavan felt weak and fatigued. As he prayed for discernment, he felt his eyelids lowering. Even his itch, which continued to pester him, couldn’t keep him from falling asleep.

* * *

Lavan woke to voices in the courtyard. Still belly-up, he wondered how long he had been asleep.

“Move, move. Not too close!” Lavan heard his friend warn. “Make way for the Chosen One!”

“Reuven?” Lavan lifted his head. “Reuven!”

The door from the courtyard opened, and Lavan’s friend entered. Still subject to the wind, which had only picked up, the door slammed behind him. “He is here! The Messiah has come!”

Lavan shook his head. “No, not now.” He gestured to the vomit on his tunic. “I’m in no condition to meet him.”

Reuven waved his hand. “Don’t worry about that; the Nazarene won’t care.”

“But I do!” Lavan was surprised at how loud he was. Even his friend looked surprised.

Reuven knelt and helped lift his friend’s back from the floor. “Listen to me,” he said, cradling his friend in his arms, face serious as stone. “He won’t come back; this is your only chance.”

“Then I won’t see him. I’d rather be unhealed but clean than cured but dirty.”

“God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” A different voice. A deeper voice. A voice outside the door. The space between the sill and floor filled with shadow.

Lavan furrowed his brows. “Is that him?”

Reuven nodded excitedly.

“If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me,” the voice spoke with authority.

Lavan gripped his friend’s hand. “Please don’t let him in. Please tell him to go away.”

“I am the way and the truth and the life,” the voice rose in volume.

Go away, Lavan prayed in his mind. He felt his hand, still balled in his friend’s, sweating and aching. “Please don’t open the door. Please!”

“I’m sorry,” Reuven unclasped his friend’s hand and eased his body back to the floor, “but you need to be healed.”

“Reuven,” Lavan pleaded. “Reuven!”

Lavan friend moved to open the door, but before he could, it flung open, startling him. Before the two stood a tall, swarthy man, dark hair to his shoulders, body unblemished.

Lavan tried to prop himself up on his elbows but failed. He reached out his hand, half-expecting the stranger to help him up, but the man did no such thing. When Reuven moved to assist Lavan, the stranger held up his hand. A gust of wind blew through the house, shutting the door as it died down.

“Please, sir, won’t you help me sit up?” Lavan asked.

The man’s face stayed unchanged, unmoved. “Do you believe I can heal you?”

A scent of vomit wafted, causing Lavan to wrinkle his nose. “I, I…think so. Yes.”

The stranger looked to Reuven. “Unless he truly believes in his heart, he will never enter the kingdom of God.”

Lavan squinted at the man but kept silent. The relentless itch on his back was wearing his patience.

The stranger knelt to him.

“Why did the Lord make me this way?” Lavan asked.

The man gently lifted the hem of Lavan’s tunic so that his lower thighs were visible. “So that others might believe through you. Just like with the blind man.”

“That’s it?” Lavan furrowed his brows. I’m only a means to an end?

The stranger studied Lavan’s face but said nothing.

Lavan’s itch was now unbearable. He began to rub his back against the earthen floor.

“Trust in the Lord,” the man said, attempting to reassure Lavan. “He’ll never give you more than you can carry.”

Lavan frowned. Carry? If only I could! As his itchiness dissipated, he felt a sense of relief. He widened his eyes. Maybe only in a body such as his were such moments of corporal succor so sweet, so appreciated. Maybe his paralysis was not a curse, after all.

The stranger reached out for Lavan’s legs. “One day, you’ll be free of these fleshly rags.”

Rags? Lavan stayed the man’s hands before they could touch his lower half. Shaking his head, he said, “No.”

“Lavan, what are you doing?” Reuven squeaked.

Murmurs from the crowd outside grew louder. All those who stood on the other side of the door could probably hear what was being said.

For all his supposed wisdom, this healer just doesn’t understand. Lavan gestured to his legs. “This isn’t a burden; this is part and parcel of me.”

Reuven’s eyes widened. “Lavan!”

The stranger looked at Lavan with pity but said nothing.

“Sorry,” Lavan motioned the man away. “But I don’t need you to fix me.”

“Lavan, don’t do this! Please!” Reuven pleaded.

The stranger closed his eyes, stood, and turned to Reuven. “I’m sorry, but I cannot help him.”

Reuven grasped for the man’s hand, but he gently pulled away. Slumping to the floor, Reuven looked down in shame.

The stranger proceeded through the doorway, to the crowd waiting in the courtyard. Lavan could hear members of the crowd chattering amongst themselves:

“Is the man well now?”

“If you can walk, come out to us.”

“Show us the work of the Lord!”

Reuven sighed and turned to his friend. “Satisfied? Now you’ll never be healed.”

“Let us through to our son,” a voice Lavan recognized as his mother’s announced. “Is he well? Can he walk?”

“May he no longer be a burden on our family,” a voice Lavan recognized as his father’s added. “May he be healed at last!”

Not in the way you mean, thought Lavan, but I am healed, I am well. Having finally propped himself up on an elbow, he hugged himself with his other arm, trying to feel every inch of his body. Every curve, every scar, every ulcer. Though vomit still clung to his shirt, though the smell still pervaded the air, he felt good, dignified, sacred even. He felt taller than he’d ever had, his body never more alive.