“That is he with the grave face and gentle eyes, and he is not a physician, but a worker of miracles.”
Anxious to obtain a nearer view of him whose name is in every mouth, I endeavored to force my way through the crowd, when a man running at full speed and making wild gestures with his hands called on the multitude to part and give him speech with Jesus, which they did, as soon as they fully understood his meaning and from whence he came. Then he called out, saying: “Lord, my master saith, Trouble not thyself, for I am not worthy that thou shouldst enter under my roof; say but the word, and my servant shall be healed.” Jesus lifted his head, and I saw his face for the first time; nay, but that part which extends from the top of the forehead beneath the eyes. But what eyes—how full of life, and holiness, and truth! And methought they fixed their piercing glance full upon me as he cried aloud: “I say unto you, I have not found so great faith in Israel.”
But the crowd pressed about him and I saw him no more, for he retraced his steps, followed by the multitude, while I pursued my way, filled with curiosity as to the result. As I neared the house of Marcus I heard sounds of thanksgiving, and what was my surprise to hear, and in a moment after see, the man who had been ill, perfectly restored, and fairly dancing and laughing with joy.
Marcus is a man of probity and considerable influence, as you well know, and his faith in the power of Jesus is very great, which can hardly be counted singular.
Having transacted my business, I went on my way, marvelling and reflecting much, albeit I am not given to running after strange prophets, nor to walk in new paths. But once lighted upon, it seemed this untrodden way was to open out fresh scenes to my view.
The next day I betook my steps early to Nain, where my brother-in-law, Jonah, lies sick of the fever, which is now making fearful ravages in that city. Returning in the cool of the evening, I suddenly encountered a funeral procession. A woman deeply veiled followed the corpse, piercing the air with heartrending cries. At the same moment a group of travel-stained men entered the gate of the town. In their leader I recognized Jesus of Nazareth, and at his approach an indefinable feeling possessed me. I cannot describe it save in saying that I would fain have fallen at his feet, as though in the presence of some superior being.
“Whom do you carry?” inquired one of the travellers.
“The only son of his mother, and she is a widow,” was the sad response.
Jesus touched the bier, and the bearers paused. Turning with a look of ineffable compassion to the heartbroken mother, he said, in tones gentle as those of a woman, “Weep not.” Then, in a louder voice, “Young man, I say to thee, Arise.”
My breath came thick and fast, the cold dews gathered on my forehead, for, miracle of miracles: the dead arose, cast aside his grave-clothes, and fell sobbing upon his joyful mother’s breast. This I beheld with my eyes—I heard him speak, I saw his happy tears. But Jesus calmly gathered up his robe and pursued his journey, and once again I fancied—or did I fancy?—that he singled me out from the crowd, and fixed his eyes on mine with an expression that was almost an appeal. My eager gaze followed him till I could no longer catch the outline of his garments; after which, I slowly returned to Jerusalem.