Left Outside the Gate Beautiful
In my dreams, I run.
Or, at least, I think I do. For I never see or feel my legs. But I'm moving fast; the wind rushing through my hair and everything flying past me like a blur. I celebrate the freedom and throw my arms up in the air. And, as I close my eyes in the dream, I open them on the other side.
I close them again; hoping to return to the sweet freedom of the dream, but that world is lost to me now. All that remains is what's real.
I can hear the noise outside as the work of the day has already begun. The sound of the baaing of sheep and the stern but loving voice of the shepherd urging them on. The sweet singing of a maiden making her way to the well for water. The pounding of hammer on wood. That last sound causes me to pause more than any; for I know it is the sound of my friend, Achim, building something. I have lived in his dwelling for a while now. Ever since Father passed.
That particular thought pushes me on. Suddenly I'm up and sitting on the side of the bed. If I could, I would join Achim in his work. I would gladly be his apprentice. Lucky for him, he has two strong boys to pass his trade to. My Father too was lucky. He had two strong boys before siring me. I realize, as my mind drifts back, that I'm rubbing my legs again. It's an old habit. I rub them as if gently messaging them will bring them strength. But it is a futile habit. For, you see, my legs have never worked. I was born with these useless appendages. And this day, like many before and after, will begin and end much the same.
I dress and wash myself to prepare for the day. Why I feel I must look my best for such a menial way of life, I do not know. But I do.
“Daewon! It is a glorious morn!”
The man exploding into my room is my best friend, Achim. He rather enjoys mornings...a little too much.
He hands me a cup of cool water as he continues to welcome the day, “The sun shines so brightly and a breeze blows from the coast. That means lots of visitors to the temple, my friend! A good day indeed!”
I knew what he meant and I agree with a smile. With the weather good, there will be many visitors to the temple from both far and wide. More visitors meant more offerings. More offerings meant more alms.
“My brother will be here soon and we will be on our way to worship!” Achim announced as he bounded off.
He was always like this. Nothing could happen through the day to spoil his joy. It started with work and, then, prayer at the temple. There was more work and afternoon prayer before he finished the day with more work and time with his family. To some, it sounded tedious and boring. But, to Achim, it was life itself and he relished in it.
I found joy in his joy. It was contagious. It brought life to all those around him. And life, energy and joy were something I need desperately. I remember a time when just getting up and getting as far as I have today was nearly impossible. The monotonous life of begging alms at the temple, pleading with those around me for my sustenance, was too much to bear. It became too much for my aged father also. We lived out in the middle of nowhere on a farm and getting me to the city, much less the temple, was too far to travel. Oh, I had sat at our small town’s gate and scraped together a little. But it was minimal to what I was given now; what I was blessed with.
When Father passed, I knew something had to be done. And, when Achim announced he was moving to Jerusalem and offered to take me with him, I couldn't help but come along. My brothers looked almost relieved when they heard the news. I had been a burden to them since my birth. And, now, that burden would be lifted. But, I wonder sometimes, did the burden go away or just shift.
I could hear the sound of children playing. So, I pulled myself over to the edge of the bed and peered out the window. A group of about five children were just outside Achim's dwelling dancing in a circle. Two of them were his own children. Such a joy to watch. Obviously, I had never played like this; Not even as a child. Most of the parents wouldn't allow it. I was damaged goods; a product of some wrong done. I never understood that. My father struggled with that the rest of his life. The way people looked at me; at him.
“To be born like that...There must be sin somewhere to explain this! Someone sinned to create a cripple like that...” They would say as he passed.
Father was a holy and blameless man. He died broken.
My view of the children was suddenly blocked by Achim's wife, Shira, storming just ahead of Achim. It awoke me from my journey to the past.
“Shira! You cannot be serious!”
Shira was a beautiful young woman, but it wouldn't do to ever cross her.
“I'm sorry, Achim. We could be renting that dwelling for ten times what he pays you for it.” Shira scolded still walking away.
Achim reached out and grabbed her arm. This stopped her, but she wouldn't look at him.
“That's not the point. He has nowhere to go.”
Shira turned and countered, “He has family! Let him go back to them!”
Achim tried to reason with her, “He can make a better life here; close to the temple! He needs this.”
“And we need the income, Achim! You can only bring in so much with your work. Your father didn't leave that shelter to you for charity.” Shira looked away and caught a glimpse of me in the window.
I dodged back away from the window as I heard her simple say, “I'm sorry.”
It was the same everywhere I went. I was a burden. Never completely understood or wanted. I was imposing on my friend and I had known that for a while. He had been kind to take so little for this roof over my head. I guess it was time to face facts.
Within the hour Achim and his brother, Aryeh, appeared in the room. I had just eaten a meal brought to me by Shira. She wouldn't look me in the eye. I was used to that.
Achim and Aryeh stepped up to each side of me and hoisted me up.
“And up!” Achim said.
Aryeh added, “Have you put on weight? (to Achim) What are you feeding him?”
Aryeh always complained and Achim always scolded him for his lack of compassion. But he still showed up every morning to take me to the temple and appeared every afternoon after prayer to take me home.
The journey through the streets, to me, was the highlight of my day; all of the people coming and going, talking and doing business. People of every nationality moved to and fro on the very streets that King David once danced on. There were many of my Hebrew brothers and sisters here also; most of whom were headed to the temple just like us. But these streets are also lined with many of the broken of our people. The sick, lost and afflicted standing in the very shadow of the Temple itself. When I sit at dinner with Achim and his family, and mention them, he seems to never notice these people. But, if you take the time to look, you can't miss them; Men and women who have lost their way either by their own sin or the sin of others. And some who have traveled too far to ever go back; for they love where they have ended up.
The way becomes more crowded and thus more exciting. That is how I know the Temple is near. As soon as I notice, I turn to look at the glory that is the Temple of God. Some complain about Herod's gold being involved, but no matter. This is God's house and I can feel his presence here. That is why I insist on going as deep into the temple structure as I can. So many of the (dare I think it?)beggars await outside the entrance of the Temple; never daring to grace even the court of the gentiles. Some are left here of their own volition. Others are here because there is none to carry them farther. I feel a sudden gratitude for Achim and his brother. And, then, I hear his wife Shira's voice in the back of my head.
I see those strewn around the entrance unlike so many others who pass them by. I watch as those walking by toss coins without even once thinking about where they're throwing them. I hear the nearly monotone droning of those scurrying to quickly draw up the coin.
“Alms. Alms. Alms.”
The pleading has become hopeless song; a funeral dirge. Senseless, meaningless lives left behind and forgotten. Who knows where some of these sleep. I realize how fortunate I am to have a roof over my head....for now.
We pass through the court of the Gentiles; so many from all walks of life and differing nationalities. They come from all over the world to pray and worship here on the Temple mount but are still held off at arm’s length. And yet they come. Because, I assume, for them, it's not about the politics of the Temple, but the very fact of the presence of God. The Priestly leadership may not treat them as brothers, but God is still here and God is still listening. So they honor God by their presence and their prayers no matter the looks they get from the Sadducees and Pharisees. You would think they would not feel welcome, but they come and pray not to the spiritual leadership, but to God himself...as it should be.
I make eye contact with several of these foreigners; some of which live among us. They long for something yet undefined as if waiting for someone. I'm not given much time to contemplate this as we pass into the court of the women. Suddenly, I hear the soft prayers of the women; a sound I'm all too used to. I hear it all day, every day. It is a sweet sound to my ears as it is to God, I presume. Some sound almost mournful while others are outright wailing. There is more pain and grief here then one would expect. With Jerusalem being occupied by the Roman legions and all hope eluding us a nation, many are mourning the loss of our pride and autonomy. But some are mourning the loss of a loved one who died in the secret war waged in the shadows between the overpowering Roman forces and the fringe groups who just want them all dead. No, there is much yearning here for something different; something from God.
Suddenly, Achim and his brother stop. I look up and see the entrance to the Court of men and realize that this is as far as I can go; the Gate Beautiful.
As they lower me to the ground, Achim states, “Here we are, my friend.”
They gently set me down as Achim looks me in the eye and wishes me luck, “May the God of mercy bless you this day, brother.”
There is a moment when our eyes are locked in a deeper understanding than any other part of the day. I can see a tear welling up in my friend's eye as he pats me strongly on the shoulder.
“I will see you again this afternoon.” He squeezes my shoulder and suddenly lets go to disappear into the court of men.
He disappears so quickly for he knows if he stayed any longer he would break down into more tears. I know I do. For, once Achim and his brother disappear from sight, it all weights down upon me. For I know this is as far into the presence of my God that I can go. It is the Law. I guess I should consider myself lucky they will let me get this far. But, no. Those with infirmities such as mine are kept from the court of men. For, surely, there must be some sin represented here in the frail and imperfect body left helpless by the Gate Beautiful.
Suddenly, a coin lands in the woven basket I brought with me for just such a utility. Now was not the time for feeling personal pity. I was here for a reason. I was here to survive.
“Alms. Alms. Alms.”
The day wore on and the heat bore down as the afternoon grew old. I continue my mantra as I see the feet of those who pass by and some of which who toss a coin or two into my basket. The sound of the word 'ALMS' over and over again is almost hypnotic. It drones deep into my head so that, by the time Achim comes to get me, I am in a near stupor. The heat gets to me, but there are a few of the women who show us beggars compassion and bring us water. Their attention is as precious and needed as their water. It is the only eye contact I make all day besides Achim and his family. I tried for a time to look those coming for prayer in the face and thank them with a word or two. But it is not what they want. They simply want to give their charity and move on; leaving the pitiful cripple behind. After all, they are about to go into the presence of God himself and mustn't get too close to the sinner; mustn’t touch the product of a wrong done to God.
The religious hierarchy was the worst. They would go out of their way to put a distance between them and the tainted beggar. They couldn't be contaminated, after all. There were rules about purity that must be adhered to. Otherwise there was no way they could enter the holy sanctum of God. I had asked one of the priests to pray for me and bless me one time. I got no response. But it was obvious that they were unwilling to intervene on my behalf until someone confessed; which I would gladly do if I just knew what it was I was to confess to.
It was getting late in the day and, apparently, the pity was setting in. I had no room in my life for that; no time. I've seen the way it destroys you; eats at you...empties you out. It hulls a person out and replaces them with a seething, writhing, venomous entity that hates all; especially himself. I fought every day to not become that jaded, angry beggar. But it was hard. They all made it hard; their avoidance of me with their eyes and touch. Even the alms seem to be decreasing. Would it hurt them….there it went again. I knew there would be a day that I won’t catch that kind of thought. There will be a day that I either cease to care or feel or exist or I will become a raving maniac lashing out at everything. But today was not that day.
The courts were crowded again. It must be time for afternoon prayer. It was so hard to tell what time it was. In my youth, I could look to the sky and tell by the position of the sun in the sky. But, at my age, it was getting harder and harder to just look up. I tried again, but I only raised my head high enough to see the next wave of worshipers. Some threw alms. Others avoided me. Nothing had really changed. Would it ever change? Would there come a day when they can stomach me no longer and won’t allow me this far into the temple? Maybe they will decide to cast me out of the city; put me in camps like the lepers. It would be easier for them to live. It would be a nicer world for them; one without the dirty cripple. Damn the pity. It was relentless.
That was when I saw them; two men. They walked together and enjoyed each other’s company. They seemed to be excited about coming to the temple. For most, it had become another tedious law. It was something they were meant to do. But these two were different. They seemed to be discussing something that ignited a fire in their eyes; something so important it permeated their very lives. They weren’t from Judea. Galileans, I believe. Fishermen by trade probably. Wasn’t much else to do around the sea. But, if these men were fishermen, they were unlike any fisherman I had ever seen.
They seemed to gather stares from some of the Pharisees as they came to the Gate Beautiful. And, by the looks they were getting, it was more than the fact that they were ‘dirty fishermen’. No, the religious head’s eyes spoke volumes of hate and disgust. Something about these men angered the holy elite. Their presence here at the temple was unwelcomed. It was a look I was used to. But it was worse than the welcome I was used to. These spiritual heads looked as though they could kill these men for some indiscretion. But, apparently, like my sin, they had no legal foot to stand on. What had these men done to set the Pharisees against them?
Then I noticed some of the others around them. The women in the court began to talk amongst each other in a hushed excitement. Their eyes were lit with power and their prayers gained new life. Even the men who walked past them, many of them greeted them like brothers and stopped them in the middle of the court to discuss something they deemed of absolute importance; something that seemed to change their whole day. There was life here. There was hope. It was unlike anything else I had seen in the temple courts before. It was much like Achim’s joy. It was contagious. It made me want to know.
But, as they broke off from their friends to enter the men’s court for prayer, I knew I could not dare to ask. I had to know my place. I had to accept what life had given me; what they would give me. So, as they came near, I looked down and said the only thing appropriate to say to these men.
“ALMS…”
“Look at us…”
I was stunned. These men who I had just finished watching were not only standing over me (I sat in their very shadow), but one of them had addressed me personally. I didn’t know what to do. Had I done something wrong? Maybe he noticed I had watched him for quite too long. Maybe the day had come that they had finally had enough of me sitting by the gate. I wasn’t sure. But, he was talking to me. That was for certain. So, after a long pause, I did the polite thing and answered the command; I looked up at the two men who were both starring down at me.
Then, it dawned on me. Maybe they wanted to make a spectacle of this offering they were about to make to this cripple. They may possibly have wanted to make sure they were seen by all around. But the man who spoke didn’t sound like so many before who announced their charity and made a show of giving ‘so much’ to the poor beggar. I could feel the pity and the anger welling up. No, his voice was different. It was kind, not demanding. What he said was just for me. He did not intend on making a commotion. He simply wanted my attention. Maybe he had found compassion for my lot in life and had decided to bless me this day.
Whatever it was, there were most likely alms involved. So, holding out my basket, I looked up expectantly.
The kind eyes of the man looked down at the basket waiting to be gratified and, then, up into my eyes. We starred at each other for much too long. What was he waiting for? Then, I noticed his eyes move to my legs. Is that a tear?
Then, suddenly, resolve washed over his face; the kind of look you get when you set your mind to a specific task.
“Silver and Gold, I do not have…” The man said to me in almost an authoritative tone.
What? Why ask for my attention? This didn’t make any sense. He looked as though he were about to do something important, but he comes with empty hands? Is he toying with me? Is he making fun of me? No, it just didn’t seem that way. The man still looked down at me with the look of a loved one. I had seen that look on Achim’s face many times. You could tell he really cared. Maybe he felt sorry he couldn’t give me alms. Possibly the thought of not being able to help was too much for him; overwhelming even. The moment became uncomfortable; unbearable.
Then, he looked up. And, just when I wondered why, he looked down and continued, “but, what I do have I give to you…”
This was becoming confusing. I didn’t know what to expect. What could he possibly give me that would help more than alms? I prepared to be let down. Surely, if he did not have money, what he did have could not be that important.
Suddenly, he was reaching down as if to take my right hand. I wasn’t sure how to react. This had never happened. No one dared talk to me, much less touch me. But he was definitely reaching for my hand. Then, he smiled with a power that held me frozen in the moment. There was such love and understanding in his face. His eyes, though, blazed with an unknown energy. I was almost afraid now. Never had I experienced so intense a feeling between myself and another. This man was genuine and it was obvious he was determined to give me something he held as important. Then, he spoke.
“In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth,” he said in a commanding voice that caught the attention of the whole court, “rise up and walk!”
What?
Before I could even think, he took me by the hand and pulled me up quite suddenly. I didn’t have time to protest. At one moment I was on the ground and now I was at eye level to these two strangers. I could see the other man’s eyes grow wide and stream with tears as the women of the court stopped their praying. For a brief moment, it was dead silent. The men entering or leaving the court froze in astonishment. And, now, the women were weeping uncontrollably.
I had not had enough time to even process what the man had said. It really didn’t matter if I had heard it or understood. The deed had been done; the command had been given. And, in response, my feet and ankles that had once been so weak, exploded with power! I remember my only thought up till then was the fear of falling and hurting myself further. But, suddenly, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. My legs gave way a little until I realized the new power they had. I suddenly braced myself and STOOD!
There were gasps and shouts of praise, but I didn’t really hear any of it. Because, as soon as I realized I had the strength to stand, the unseen energy rocketed through my legs like a shooting star. Suddenly, I launched into the air with such force I thought I would fly. I remembered my dreams and I closed my eyes as I felt the wind blowing through my hair. I was moving fast, but this time, unlike the dream, I could feel my feet; every muscle moving under a new strength. I slowly dared to open my eyes hoping to God above that I wouldn’t wake up lame again.
Looking down, I could see my feet dancing across the court yard. The women had begun to dance and sing praise; a Psalm I think. Some of the men began to praise our God with hands stretched to the heavens. Some present stood in shock; not knowing what to do. I knew what to do. For the first time in my life, I was running and, if I had anything to do with it, I would never stop!
That’s when I realized I was at the Gate Beautiful and I did stop. That threshold had never been open to me. I was always kept just outside the presence of my Lord and my God. I didn’t dare step with in. The sin. There was sin. There had to be. I was a crippled beggar. That’s what they said. It was the only explanation. But, I looked down at my feet and I realized I was standing. I wasn’t a cripple anymore. Maybe they were wrong. NO! They WERE wrong. I was whole. I could feel it! I was standing within a new strength. So, turning to the two men, one of which was responsible for my present transformed condition, I waited as if for permission. Their response shook me to the core. The two of them stepped to either side of me as if to support me, but in such a new way. I didn’t need their help to walk into the court of men (Oh, that word sounded so new and exciting!). Their support was that of brothers. We were equals. They were no longer standing over me, but beside me. And the one who had spoken to me…touched me…healed me…smiled and nodded. So, with one mighty step, I leaped through the Gate Beautiful to give my prayers like a proper Jewish man.
And all around me erupted into an explosion of praise and prayer!
And as I danced and ran and leaped to my delight, all of those men who had tried so hard to ignore me for so many years could no longer pretend I wasn’t there. But I had no anger; no pity. I had no feelings of revenge or comeuppance. All I felt was power and strength and joy and total acceptance. And, although many of the men still looked at me as though I didn’t belong. They thought I was the same beggar left at the Gate Beautiful with no place among them. But God had answered my own secret prayers and changed everything. I didn’t need the acceptance of these men who had never seemed to care for me. NO, I had gained the acceptance of my God.
“Daewon?” A voice interrupted my jubilation.
I turned to see Achim and his brother coming through the gate for the afternoon prayers. Their eyes were wide and their mouths open. I smiled and danced around them. Suddenly, they exploded into song and joined me in joyous dance. We were joined by quite a few men, but not all. But that didn't matter. Achim was sharing my joy much like he had shared my misery all of these years.
“I cannot believe this! You can walk!” Aryeh blurted astonished.
I embraced him and announced, “It was these men and the power of Jesus and in His name I walk!!”
Achim embraced me. He didn't care who or what had done it. He was just pleased that this miracle had happened. We danced and sang and cried and embraced for a little while.
Suddenly, I stopped and ran to the two strangers who were, even now, laughing and praising my healing. I threw myself onto them and cried joyous tears of happiness. This man who had spoken a few words and changed my whole life began to speak again. But, this time, he addressed the crowd.
“Men of Israel! Why do you marvel at this?
Or why look so intently at us, as though by our own power
or godliness we had made this man walk?
The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.
The God of our Fathers, glorified HIS servant Jesus…”
JESUS! I had heard that name before, but only in hushed legend. He went on, but I missed most of his next words trying to remember something about this man, GOD’S servant, Jesus. But his final words I do remember, and, to this day no matter what came my way, I would never forget them. For they were the foundation of the rest of my long life.
“And HIS name, through faith in HIS name,
has made this man strong, whom you see and know.
Yes, the faith which comes through HIM has given him this perfect soundness
in the presence of you all.”
The man I came to know as friend and, by name, Peter, continued to speak to all within the sound of his voice. And although they were arrested and I was called into question, I knew what had happened. This Jesus had given me my chance and I was determined to take full advantage of it. This man Peter and his friend, John, through the power of Jesus' name had taken time from their day to reach out and touch me in such a powerful way. And nothing the Pharisees come up with could take that away from me. In fact, I walked out of that temple a new man; transformed. And I would use every breath of my life to pass the power given to me on to as many as I possibly could. Especially those with no hope, no strength; those who, much like myself, had been left outside the Gate Beautiful.