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CHAPTER XVI Demon in the Synagogue
When Sabbath came, the residents of Capharnaum began to assemble on the large stone pavement where the synagogue stood overlooking Galilee.
The building was new, having been only recently erected at the expense of one Flavius Marque, the centurion of the local detachment of Roman soldiers. During construction, Flavius himself could often be seen shirtless, laboring in the sun with mortar and brick. On this Sabbath, Jesus entered the new structure and, as was his custom, began to teach. His knowledge of God and of things spiritual seemed so vast and deep that he could speak for days, revealing the nature of his Father with refreshing confidence. Interspersed in these messages were stories of his own personal experiences, his own struggles, and at times things dark and preternatural. During this particular teaching, his thoughts recalled that mountain of starvation and his encounter with the evil one. He remembered his demeanor, his air of detached objectivity, his attitude of intellectual superiority. "You must be vigilant," Jesus taught, "for the prince of darkness is sophisticated, subtle, cunning."
"Aggggh!" followed by the sound of loud retching. Jesus looked out into the crowd to see that someone had fallen. The people around him began to part, pushing their way backward in horror, the disturbance so severe that Jesus could not continue teaching. Attention had turned from him to a stricken man writhing on the pavement of stone. He left his place on the dais and entered the crowd to investigate. What he saw was revolting. The man on the floor had vomited. His mouth coated in red foam tinged with yellow and green bile, his eyes glazed, angry, terrified and in pain, as if beyond human endurance.
Utterly unlike the encounter on the mountain, here, there is nothing analogous to a polished professional. Here, there is to be no scholarly dialogue on matters of faith or the meaning of scripture. Here, presents the presence of incalculable evil in all its morbid, repulsive darkness. Here, there exists nothing that would attract men as a moth to a flame. Here, is unvarnished evil, denuded of beauty. Here, is evil revealing itself for what it really is.
His mouth remained locked and open. With neither his lips nor jaw moving, words spewed forth. His face frozen grotesquely in a misshapen configuration, sounds issued forth guttural, screaming, unformed in the manner normal to speech.
"What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are--you are the Holy One of God!"
The sound echoed as if in a corridor, or a deep well. Whatever it was inside him could not make up its mind whether to speak as one or as more than one. It seemed to the horrified standers-by that a chorus spoke, and then a leader, a representative of the rest. The man vomited again, violently emptying what was left of the contents of his stomach, mixed with bright, red blood on white stone pavement.
The eyes of the Son of Man clouded with anger and strength; his lips tight for battle, his visage ominous and totally unafraid. "Quiet!" he commanded as sternly and as forcibly as the word could be spoken. Instantly, the screaming stopped. You could not hear so much as a whisper. Still, the tormented man writhed in agony. Bile continued to flow from his mouth, which he was powerless to close. The Son of Man commanded, "Sons of evil, release this man! Come out and return to your place in the abyss!"
The man began to shake violently, uttering a wailing howl, a shriek of unbridled agony, and collapsed in a heap on the floor. "He is dead," whispers among the crowd of worshipers. Jesus stepped forward, taking the corner of his robe, cleaned the man's face and wiped his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, his breathing even and unlabored, his mouth and jaw relaxed and without torment. The exhausted man looked up at Jesus first in consummate relief and then in gratitude. The presence of evil was gone.
The dramatic change in the man astounded the onlookers. "What is this?" they said among themselves. "He commands evil spirits with authority, and they instantly obey him." The news spread quickly over the whole region of Galilee. The day's sermon was over.
Jesus and the others departed the synagogue and returned to the home of Peter and Andrew. Joanna's mother had awakened that morning ill and sick with fever. Involuntary whimpers issued from her mouth. The lines in her face betrayed her better than threescore years. She was a woman whose entire life was characterized by humble, quiet service to others. Ever since she had lost her husband, she had lived with Peter and Joanna. She was fortunate. Many widows had no family to accept them, which usually meant a life begging in the streets. Peter's house boasted several rooms clustered around an open courtyard, an architectural pattern followed more or less throughout the village. Owing to the warm days in summer, the family enjoyed sleeping on mats spread on the cool stone pavement in the courtyard shade. During rainy season, it was back into the surrounding rooms. The oven was set in the courtyard and it was here that Joanna baked and cooked. It was here also that her mother lay under the open sky. Jesus spoke to her as he and his friends gathered about where she lay, "Tell me how you are feeling, gentle mother." "Flushed," she responded weakly, "as if my body were burning up inside; very weak, very tired." Peter sat down next to her and took her hand. Joanna touched a cool cloth to her forehead. The elder woman smiled in wan gratitude. Jesus did not sit. Instead, he bent over and lifted her other hand. "Come," he said. "Get up. It's time you felt better." The moment his hand touched hers, coolness, as clear water from a mountain stream, enveloped her. At first, it hurt to try to rise. Jesus tugged gently at her hand and lifted her arm. She stood dizzily holding on to Jesus lest she faint. Joanna watched quietly with protective concern. Should she try to interfere? "Feel better?" asked Jesus, as the woman stood on her own regaining her balance. She touched her forehead with her wrist. "Yes," she said. And then breaking into a broad smile, "Yes! Much better," with genuine relief. The fever was gone. Her strength returned. She felt like a girl. "Yes!" she said again. "I feel deliriously better." And then, characteristic of Joanna's mother she said, "Here, Jesus, let me get you and your friends something to eat." Joanna attempted to stop her, "No, mother, let . . ." but Peter motioned her to let her mother do as she intended. Joanna's love for her mother wanted nothing more than to assist her, to do for her, but it also helped her to realize that the older woman felt completely expunged of illness and wanted nothing more than to do what she always did--assist others. And so she did. Jesus acted as if nothing were more natural and routine than to accept a plate of fresh figs from her hand.
"He did what?" Zebedee was incredulous. "It was amazing, father," James continued. "You should have been there. The man in the synagogue was hopeless, obviously possessed by some demonic creature." James was animated. He realized that what he was saying lacked credibility to anyone who had not actually seen what he had seen. "The vile thing actually spoke to him." "Creatures," corrected his brother. "They, or it, called him the 'Holy One of God.'" James seemed irritated that John would interrupt. "He spoke to it as if it were a plaything . . ." "He commanded it!" John interrupted again. "Do you want to tell this?" said his brother, annoyed. "You're leaving stuff out." "Then you tell it!" said James with exasperation. "Will the two of you stop acting like children?" demanded Zebedee. "Go on, son," he said to James, "finish your story." Why he would want these two adolescents among his disciples I will never know, their father thought irritably. "Well," James continued, "the evil spirit left the man, and he stood as whole and in his right mind as the next man." "And then there was Peter's mother-in-law," John again. James kept quiet and let his brother relate how Jesus had healed this woman. When he finished, Zebedee sat back in his chair bewildered at his sons. What is happening here? He asked himself. His wife stood by, absorbing every word. She knew Joanna's mother well. How often had they discussed the accomplishments of their sons together? Her sons, she thought, were magnificent. How fortunate this new rabbi was in having them as his friends and supporters. "I must speak to Naomi," she remarked absently. With that, she left the room unnoticed by her men. In the matter of an hour, or maybe two, the entire village knew of the events of the day. That evening after sunset the door to Peter's home crowded with people. They brought to Jesus every sick person in town, every person perceived as demonic. Jesus healed as many as came to him. That seemed to be the way with Jesus. Rarely did he interpose himself or interject himself into the life of another. But to those who came to him, he gave them all he had to give. No one turned away thirsty for more. As it was spoken of him six hundred years before through the prophet Isaiah: The evil creatures inhabiting the bodies of the tortured and demented were expelled at his command. They knew who he was. However, he would not allow his name to be spoken by them. They were inhuman, diabolical, supernatural fiends whose destruction was certain and total. For such a creature to speak his name would only defile the name it spoke, adding further condemnation and futility to the hideous thing's existence. Not allowing them to speak was an act of mercy, if such a thing can be imagined for such creatures of darkness.
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