The Man in the Middle

I made my way up to the very front. I leaned against a post, for I did not want to sit on the ground next to others and risk the chance of anyone seeing the outline of my hidden belt. One man in the crowd stood up and asked, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?”

The speaker in the center stroked his beard thoughtfully as he turned toward the man with the question and took a few steps toward him. “What is written in the law? How do you read it?”

The questioner said, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.”

As I heard those words, something stirred in me that had not been moved in a long time, just as it had when I’d heard the traveling man’s song earlier that day. I remembered hearing those words as a little boy when my folks took me to temple. I remembered walking the long, dusty road to Jerusalem with many others and hearing the men talk among themselves of such Scriptures along the way. That was before my father had died. After I lost him in the accident, I did not see the need to go to temple anymore. Mother had still gone occasionally, but I would always find some excuse to stay home with Brutus. Why waste your life serving God if your life could end tomorrow? What kind of “god” took people who were precious to you? I had not thought about my parents or the Scriptures in such a long time. I had been a different person then.

“You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.” When the man in the middle said these words, mumbling broke out in the crowd. Excited chatter spread; most seemed to agree that he had quoted the law correctly. Some in the crowd leaned over to the people beside them to point out the man in the center and say, “That is Jesus.” Those around me nodded and seemed intrigued by what the man was saying. I too was riveted to the spot, fascinated by this man, Jesus, who could touch forgotten parts of my memory.

Some of the other men with the one who had asked the question did not appear to be fascinated at all. It was obvious by their gleaming robes and stern faces that they were religious leaders of some sort. They leaned in together and whispered to each other. The man in the middle continued to walk slowly around the inner circle formed by the crowd, smiling a bit to himself. He looked as though he could not wait to hear what they would ask next.

After a short conference with his companions, the man asking questions boldly asked, “And who is my neighbor?” He had a satisfied look on his face, as did his comrades, as they eagerly awaited a response.

The man with the answers looked around the crowd. He was silent for a bit, deeply pondering this question. He walked around the circle, coming closer to me. Silence filled the air as the expectation of the crowd grew. I too was intrigued by what I was witnessing, and I could not wait to hear what his answer would be. He stopped right in front of me. Silence. Our eyes locked in an intense gaze; I could not tear my eyes away. A picture of the man I had just robbed flashed vividly into my brain, making me surprised that I had so quickly forgotten what I had done earlier. Looking straight at me, the man began to speak. “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and departed, leaving him half dead.” Our eye contact was broken only as his eyes moved down to my “new” tunic. I followed his gaze, and panic resonated through my body as I noticed that part of my tunic was tucked around the belt, which was now clearly visible to all. Impossible, I thought. I had been sure the belt was hidden. I felt my knees begin to give. I looked up, and our eyes met again. He knew what I had just been a part of—but how? Did he see into my mind? Was what I had done that obvious? Guilt and shame pulsed through my veins, and my face grew hot. I wanted to run, but I also wanted to stay. For some reason my feet were immovable. I could not turn my head away. My eyes were locked in a gaze that I could not escape. I expected him to take a step forward, grab my arm, and proclaim, “This man is a thief and a murderer!”

But then a strange feeling caught me by surprise. There was no hatred or condemnation behind his eyes. Still, somehow he knew that I was guilty, and the severity of what I had done hit me with full force. The weight of the belt around my waist seemed to tighten, and I suddenly found breathing difficult. A vision of a woman waiting with her children at an empty table for her husband to come home flashed into my mind. I knew how hard it had been for my mother to raise me after my father died, and now my actions had brought that hardship upon another family. I did not understand this strange feeling. I knew my guilt, but never had I seen such a look of compassion. I could not handle the mix of emotions surging through my body. I wanted to scream. Then it was over. The gaze was broken as he looked away and continued his story, again strolling around the inner circle of the crowd. It was only a story.