The Miracle At Sheepgate Pond

The Miracle At Sheepgate Pond

(The Jesus Diary Continues)

The next time I saw Jesus was at a pond in Jerusalem near what is called Sheepgate. I heard that many cures took place there. It was the sort of place where Jesus might show up and I was hoping to see him. I was not disappointed.

The water in this pond is generally very still and placid. The ill and the aged congregate around it with an intense gaze, looking for the slightest rippling in the water, the merest disturbance of its tranquil surface. That is the sign of an angel dipping his toe in the water.

The first person who enters the pond after the angel appears will be cured of his malady. But not the second, or the third, or any of the other supplicants. Only the first.

No one knows when the angel will stir the water, thus making the hopefuls very intent. Although there have been many cures here, most leave disappointed if they are not quick enough to plunge into the waters before anybody else.

The area around the pond was packed with the aged and infirm, some standing alone, others with an entourage to carry them to the water. Many tried to get up close. I could feel the eager anticipation.

Was that a flicker of disturbance? Everyone stared at the water. Yes! Yes, it was! Then the rush began.

But it was hardly a rush. Sick and old people do not move very fast. But they tried. They tried very hard. Some hobbled on one leg with a cane. Some crawled. Others, lying on their cots, hoped to be carried to the water. The blind were totally out of luck. My heart went out to them, all of them.

They had spent days and even weeks here, in the chance that they might get to the water first. And now I saw one lucky man actually do it!

He had a withered arm. But no more. Standing in the water, he yelped with delight as his arm regained its normal shape and strength. His family and friends surrounded him, smiling their congratulations and thanks. There would be a big party in his house tonight, and for once, he would be the perfect host, serving his guests with two good arms.

The rest of the crowd looked disappointed. They had failed again, some for the umpteenth time. A few continued to stare at the pond, praying that the angel was still there. But their eyes were empty of hope. Most just wagged their heads and slowly turned away. They would try again another day.

Some stayed right where they were. They weren't going to take a chance to be absent when the angel came again. When would it be? No one knew. Five minutes? An hour? Or days or weeks? It didn’t matter; just the chance for a cure drew people to the water's edge, regardless of how remote that chance might be.

I was in awe at their faith. How many times could a person come here hoping to be cured only to return home still ailing, but always ready to come again?

I admired the faith of an elderly man, lying immobile on his cot. I couldn’t imagine how he got there, unless some friends brought him. If so, it seems they had abandoned him now, as he was helpless and alone. There was no way he could move himself to the water.

Then Jesus stepped out of the crowd and walked up to him. Looking down, he said: "Do you want to be cured?" I thought to myself: "Of course he wants to be cured!"

"Sir," the man said, "I have been like this for thirty eight years! There is nothing I can do. I can't walk. When the waters are disturbed there is no one to drag me to the pond. But I stay here because I believe that someday I will be cured."

Thirty eight years? A lifetime! Yet the man still believed he had a chance to be made whole. His faith was overwhelming. Jesus stared at him, obviously moved by his faith.

We looked at Jesus. What would he do? What could he do? Would he carry the man to the water and command the angel to appear again? He said he was the Son of God so I suppose he could have done it.

Instead, Jesus reached down to the man still flat on his cot and touched him lightly on the shoulder. Then, quite casually, he said "Get up. Pick up your cot and go home."

No one spoke. Then as if some unique serum began coursing through his veins, the lame man began, slowly, ever so slowly, to get to his feet! For the first time in thirty-eight years he was able to stand on his own!

He tiptoed gingerly to test his newly cured legs, and then fell on his knees before Jesus. His lifetime of faith had finally been rewarded. His tears of thanksgiving filled my eyes and those of most of those who saw this miracle take place.

But not all. Standing at a distance was a gaggle of Pharisees, easily identified by their typical outlandish dress and phylacteries. Their eyes were filled, but not with tears at the miraculous spectacle before them.

No, their eyes and their souls were filled with hatred for the man who consistently bested them, berated them and upset their lives. They murmured quietly together, casting malicious looks at Jesus. Finally, they nodded to each other, gave a final haughty sneer to the crowd and the water and the deliriously happy man cured by his own strong faith.

Then they swaggered off, confident, as if they had found a solution to their Jesus problem. I shuddered at the thought of what it might be. I turned away to head for home but gave a quick glance back at the Pharisee squad. Fear gripped my heart as I saw them slithering behind the man that Jesus had just cured.

(This article has been adapted from the book The Jesus Diary, An Anonymous Observer's Record of the Life and Accomplishments of Our Savior, which is available at Amazon, Walmart.com, and other online retailers, and can be ordered at any bookstore.)