A Story from Mark – Jesus’ Works Displayed, Crowds Gather 

By Bethany Riehl 

(Editor’s note: Below is a fictionalized account of a familiar story from the New Testament, specifically from the book of Mark. The article is Part One of a series, and the story will be continued in a subsequent issue or issues.) 

I once was a child, full of bravery. I climbed trees – always going higher and higher than everyone else, then mocking them for it. Until the day that I walked too far on a limb, although my father hollered at me from down below to stop being foolish, and the limb broke. My world went dark and still. 

After that, I sat beneath the window in our home, hour after hour, watching my family scurry about, listening to the gossip on the street, of which there was plenty, and cursing my useless legs and the God who let me fall. 

I wasn’t allowed to mope out loud, so I did it in secret. Jealousy for my siblings and neighbors consumed me so that I almost hated everyone in the beginning. 

My mother was a hospitable woman, kind and generous. She often had guests in our home to share meals, whether they be family, neighbors, or strangers. She would hand me dough to knead in the bowl, or a bowl and nestle to grind herbs, making use of my hands as I leaned against the wall, useless legs spread out before me. 

Because of her generous spirit, children felt welcome in our home, and those children, always staring at me with curious eyes, were encouraged to talk with me and ask questions. Some avoided me altogether, but many befriended me. My old friends even came back around. My mother’s no-nonsense way of including me in conversations and giving me jobs to do went a long way in helping me to speak up and talk with our guests. 

Four such children continued to come, through the years, trying to teach me what they were learning in Hebrew school now that I wasn’t able to go. They asked me intellectual questions, and let me exercise my mind. They let me grow with them in my own way, and their friendship helped me set aside my jealousy and anger, although it hadn’t fully gone away. 

They made a habit of carrying me to the places they wanted me to go, no matter how I protested – their weddings, the street to sit in the sun and greet passersby – when they thought I’d grown too melancholy in the house. 

Some days were too cold to sit outside. 

That Sabbath was such a day. 

I’ll never forget how they came in, cheeks red, eyes ablaze telling me what they had heard, what they had seen. They were full of excitement, talking all at once, their words tumbling over one another until I finally hollered to get their attention. 

“He speaks as one who has authority—” one repeated. 

“—and not at all like the scribes,” interrupted another. 

“And then came the man with the unclean spirit! I felt my stomach turn over when he first called out; but my knees started knocking together when He sent the demon away.” 

I furrowed my brow. Had they been drinking? It was Sabbath! And the morning! I pounded a hand on the dirt floor repeatedly as hard as I could until they blinked at each other, then looked at me. 

“Sorry, Friend,” one said, sitting near me. They all followed suit, but their knees bounced as if they couldn’t sit still. 

“It’s that man that we heard about; the one that John baptized. They say the heavens opened and something like a dove came down to rest on Him and they all heard a voice from heaven that said, ‘You are my Son, in whom I am well pleased.’ But then He walked into the wilderness and no one saw Him again for well over a month.” 

I nodded, remembering. “So, He’s been seen again?” 

“He was in the synagogue today. Teaching with authority!” 

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard. Speaking as if He wrote the Scripture Himself! And then that man with the unclean spirit started to yell, calling Him the Son of God!” 

A shiver went through me. I’d heard of this man with the demon; he wandered the streets at night, crying out and scaring everyone. No one could contain him. But as far as I knew, he’d never entered the synagogue. What would compel him now? 

“Wait, what did you say?” 

In my wondering, I had missed the rest. 

“This man, Jesus of Nazareth, told the demon to be silent and to come out of him. And it did. It cried out loudly – oh, what an awful noise it made – and drove the poor man into convulsions on the way, but out it went.” 

My friend slapped his hands together and shot one out like a rock soaring from a slingshot. 

As I listened to them telling me of the man  – “Plain as can be. You wouldn’t even stop to look at Him on the street” – a low hum began to build outside the window. I’d heard it before, most recently when John had begun to preach in the wilderness, then after Jesus had gone to him to be baptized in the Jordan, the streets had been full of chatter and conjecture, questions and opinions, until all of the conversation grew to a fever pitch. 

It hummed like that again, and my friends stopped talking and listened. One stood and hurried outside. 

Two women passed by the window, talking fast. “The fever is gone?” 

“Yes, she’d been down in bed for days. I know Simon and his wife were getting worried; she’d been burning up and sweating, not making sense when she talked.” 

“So He’s a doctor then?” 

“What kind of doctor can touch a woman’s hand and immediately cure a fever?” 

We stared at one another, trying to make sense of what we’d heard. Our friend returned and told us the story on the street, passing from house to house as people spread the news while keeping Sabbath. 

“Simon, the fisherman. He’s begun to follow this Jesus. When they left the synagogue, He entered Simon’s house and they told Him about the sick mother-in-law. He went to her, took her by the hand and the fever left her. She even got right up and began to serve them. It’s like she was never sick!” 

Simon the fisherman. His house was a Sabbath’s walk from mine. I felt my face go flush and looked down at my legs, covered with a blanket. Where my friends’ legs were muscular and tanned from the sun, mine were shriveled and pale. Useless. But if this man taught the Scriptures with authority and cast out demons and could rid a fever like it had never even touched upon a person… 

Last time I had a fever, it took me days to recover once it was gone; it had drained me. And yet the woman was serving the household, immediately? 

I looked up to find four pairs of eyes watching me, their cheeks flushed with hope. My heart began to pound, and I shook my head before they could suggest it. 

They pressed, but I pressed harder. I didn’t want to be carted down the street, in front of everyone, only to be turned away. 

And if this man was sent from God, I had no right to face Him. Not after the way I’d cursed Him. 

One by one, their pleas dropped off and they returned to their own homes as the sunlight on the wall opposite of me softened from yellow to orange to purple, then black. Sundown on the Sabbath. 

Soon, the noise in the street grew to a fever pitch. My mother stood in the doorway, watching, telling me what she saw. 

“There’s little Hannah, helped along by her parents. Oh, her limp has gotten bad; she never did heal right after that fall. They’re going to Simon’s house. And Joel, too; his cough has kept him home for weeks now. Oh,” she grimaced, “he can barely walk, the cough seizes him so. Oh! There’s his son to help.” 

On and on she went, telling me of everyone that passed and gathered at the door of Simon’s house. Then, eyes wide, her voice high and hurried, she spoke as they passed again. Hannah walking straight. Joel’s cough was gone, his pallid skin healthy again. It seemed the whole village had gone to Simon’s and come away whole. Healed. 

Because of the man from Nazareth. 

I lay still all through the night. Thinking, praying. Wondering if I had a right to pray. It seemed I was more aware of each and every sin of my soul than I ever had been before. I related to the words of David in the psalm, “For day and night Your hand was heavy upon me…” 

My sins piled up like bricks on me. 

Maybe if I could be a working man, I could ignore the guilt, push it away. But having no way to escape my thoughts, I turned them over and over in my mind. If I could just walk…but could I outrun my sin? No. But perhaps I could work hard enough to outweigh it. If I could only walk… 

Above the din in my head, one word rang out above the rest. 

Authority. 

The Man had authority like no one I’d ever heard of. 

To teach the Scriptures. To cast out demons. To heal the sick. 

But, did He have the authority to make the lame walk? Nothing like it had ever been done. Not even into the night as mother watched neighbors and strangers walk to Simon’s. 

Did He have the authority to remove sin? 

By daybreak, I had decided. But before I could send mother for my friends, they arrived, a determined glint in their eyes. I nodded, already ready to lay down on my pallet and let them carry me to the Man. This Healer with authority. 

I clenched my eyes against the morning sun as we made our way, so afraid to hope. What if He sent me away? 

What if He couldn’t heal me? 

But what if I didn’t try? I heard the low groan of the crowd as my friends joined others that had also waited through the night before they decided to give the Healer a try. Simon and his brother, with James and John and a few others came out, but not Jesus. 

My friends set my pallet on the ground and sat with me. But as we waited, watching where Simon and the others had gone, a cold fear swept through me. It rose the hair on the back of my neck and made my fingers tingle and jerk nervously. 

One of the men that had followed came back, rubbing the back of his neck. He spoke to someone near the door and gestured toward the wilderness. 

Soon the questioning murmurs of the crowd grew into loud protests. 

The Healer was gone. 

 

Bethany Riehl lives in the Treasure Valley with her husband, three kids, and a dog. She writes articles and fictional novels when she can, and her one desire is to point others to the love and sufficiency of Jesus Christ.