Shiloh: the Man of Sorrows by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Oct 11, 1910

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 37, No. 40.

Shiloh: the Man of Sorrows

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Chapter XXXII.—The Healing of the Withered Hand

NUMBER of days have passed since occurred the dastardly murder of the prophet of the wilderness; and still the mighty works of the Man of Nazareth, whose forerunner the prophet was, have gone on and multiplied. Hundreds and thousands of lives have felt the uplifting power of His presence; thousands of grateful men and women bear witness in their own bodies to the healing power of His touch. The priests and rulers are correspondingly annoyed and angry; and, headed by Annas and Caiaphas, they dog His footsteps, and send spies to catch Him in His words.

Constantly they seek excuse to bring Him before the Roman authorities, and so put an end to that life which is at once a condemnation and a rebuke to their own corrupt lives.

The entire country is astir. Astonishing miracles are of hourly occurrence. Rabbi Shaphan of Nazareth, and Jazer the scribe of Jerusalem, have lost none of their old-time hatred for the Nazarene, and with Annas and Caiaphas and many other of the priests and rulers, have unitedly agreed to destroy Him. But they must play their craven part in quiet, when possible, using diplomacy and tact, where they once carried on their vindictive warfare in public; this because they have learned to fear the people.

The raising of young Reuben of Nain from the dead has been carefully explained away by the crafty priests; and now the healing of a blind and dumb maniac, calls for a display of fresh diplomacy and deceit, and the blasphemous cry is raised, “He casteth out devils through Beelzebub the prince of devils!”

Since the burial of the Baptist by Matthias and his fellows, Matthias has journeyed to Jericho, that he might visit the home of his one-time Master, Machbor the ruler.

As the reader may remember from past descriptions, this ruler was generous and kind of heart, holding the Man of Nazareth and His followers in deep regard. But Machbor was undeniably a man of the world. He loved the praise of men, and the highest seat in the synagog,—but most and best of all did Machbor love his possessions. In his heart this man believed Jesus of Nazareth to be the promised Messiah. The time was fulfilled, and the evidence was perfect. But this Man was not popular with the priests, the Pharisees, or the rabbis; hence the ruler was not ready to proclaim himself His disciple. With increase of wealth and multiplied possessions, comes hardness of heart. Altho a frequent visitor at the home of Lazarus and his sisters at Bethany, and well aware of the continual and astonishing miracles of this Man, still did the ruler seek to stifle conviction and to drown the voice of conscience, lest in some manner it result in the separation from him of his vast and increasing possessions.

Shocked and distressed were Machbor and his wife Zilpha, at the tale of tragedy and horror which Matthias brought them, for they had loved and honored the murdered prophet.

“Herod Antipas will never again know peace!” exclaimed Zilpha, her soft voice trembling with indignation.

“Nay,” returned Machbor, “it was the deed of a craven and a coward. His royal pathway is stained with blood—the blood of innocence—like that of his father, Herod the Great. Let us thank the Almighty, friend Matthias, that thou wast preserved in thine infancy from his bloody sword. What thinkest thou? is there not danger that even this mighty Miracle-Worker may fall before the sword of Antipas?”

“Verily, Machbor, the danger is great; but there is no less danger from the priests and the rulers. Indeed, there is rather more, I believe; for of a truth they are thirsting for His life. But the Master seemeth to care for none of these things. Sometimes He healeth a man even upon the Sabbath day; and then,” continued Matthias, “then the anger of the rulers knoweth no bounds.”

“Indeed,” rejoined Machbor, “none knoweth this better than my servant Cleopas, an old man who dwelt in Emmaus, until he but lately became my servant. Ho, Cleopas! come hither,” called Machbor, as an old man with an abba wrapped about him, came briskly up the steps of the outer court.

“Come, Cleopas!” exclaimed Machbor and Zilpha in one breath, “come, tell thou this man, Matthias our guest, how the Nazarene healed thine arm in the synagog at Capernaum; for behold, Matthias dwelleth in Capernaum.”

“Capernaum seemeth a busy city, indeed, young man,” began Cleopas; “but I have dwelt in Emmaus, lo, these thirty years and more, even since the death of my wife Abigail and my little babe. Before that time I was a merchant and dwelt in Bethlehem. Ah! there is no place so dear to my heart as Bethlehem, and yet,” continued the old man as a tear glistened on his cheek, while his voice shook with emotion, “I could not endure the sight of her streets, after that terrible night of slaughter, when of a truth I lost all that was dear to me on earth, and my right arm was cleft to the bone, by the bloody sword of the soldiers of Herod.”

“What!” exclaimed Zilpha, addressing her husband, “Why, my Machbor, we knew not this; verily we knew not in what manner the right hand of our good man Cleopas became withered; we only knew that it was healed by the mighty Nazarene. Speak, Cleopas, that we may know the truth.”

“Verily I do not often allow my lips to speak of that night of horror, but to-day—to-day—it hath been with me every moment—the memory of that night; and I must speak. After I have spoken, it may hap it will haunt me less.”

“Surely,” interrupted Matthias, breathlessly, “surely thou speakest of the night of the murder of the babes of Bethlehem; but they were not all slain, O Cleopas; for I, even I escaped.”

“Then surely hath the Almighty preserved thee, my son,” returned Cleopas; “but they entered our chamber and demanded to find the Babe. ‘Where is He that is born King of the Jews, O Cleopas?’ cried Varro. Then said Abigail my wife, ‘Behold, He is gone from hence, with His mother and His father.’ But the man of blood believed her not, and murdered my babe, even in the arms of his mother, which when she had seen, behold she died also; and when I would have pressed my wife and my poor babe to my breast, lo, mine own right arm had been cleft to the bone, and the fingers crushed and mangled. And of a truth, since then, mine hand hath been withered until—”

“Thou hast done well, O Cleopas,” interrupted Zilpha, brushing tears of sympathy from her gentle eyes, as the narrator hesitated a moment, “thou hast done well that thou hast told us this tale; for if but the hearing alone, sickeneth my heart, how must thou feel its horror in thine own soul?”

“But come, Cleopas,” demanded Matthias; “behold, thou art now healed, and I would hear of thine healing by the Nazarene. Where wast thou? and how healed He thine hand?”

“I was in the synagog at Capernaum, and it was the Sabbath day. The synagog was crowded. Many had heard of the wonderful works of the Man; but none presented themselves to be healed, because it was the Sabbath day, and they feared the priests. But, young man, I had no fear of the rulers, for I believe even as this Man teacheth, that they but bind heavy burdens, grievous to be borne, upon the people of the Lord. The teachings of the Man, on this Sabbath day, were so different from those to which I had been accustomed to listen from the lips of the rabbis, that my heart was won to Him, and I felt within my soul that He would heal me, even tho it were the Sabbath day. Thinking thus, I arose and took my position nearer the seat of the Nazarene as He taught the people. As soon as I had done this, I saw that I had attracted the attention of many of the priests and rabbis, and their scowling faces convinced me that they felt no pity for me,—a crippled, gray-haired man. But I cared not, and continued to listen eagerly to the words of the Man. Finally, I noticed that I was sitting by the side of Shaphan, of Nazareth, a rabbi, and that he, with many others, was watching me closely. My withered and deformed hand hung helpless by my side. The small, deep eyes of the rabbi from Nazareth, shifted uneasily from the calm face of the great Teacher to myself.

“Suddenly the Teacher paused in the midst of His discourse, and fixed His calm, searching eyes upon the rabbi by my side.

“Tell Me, Shaphan, thou rabbi of Nazareth, is it lawful to do good upon the Sabbath day, or to do evil,—to save life, or to kill? The face of the rabbi turned livid with rage, for he saw that the Teacher had read his thoughts. His deep-sunken eyes blazed angrily, and looking around about upon his friends, he opened his lips as if to answer, but no word escaped them.

“Meanwhile, I sat trembling, and was also silent,” continued Cleopas. “Then the Man fixed His eyes upon me. Not only had He read the thoughts of the priests and rabbis, but He had also understood my own unexpressed desire to feel the touch of healing; for of a truth, I had told no man.

“Arise, and stand forth!”

“The words were spoken with power, but the eyes which were fixed upon me beamed with a love and tenderness which it is not possible, O Matthias, for me to express.

“Stretch forth thine hand!”

“This I had never done, since the sword of Varro had shattered the bones. But the words were those of authority. Immediately I determined to obey. A power which I had never before felt possessed me, I stretched forth my hand. As I looked upon it, supposing that He would touch it, behold, it was whole, like unto the other.”

Cleopas ceased speaking, and sat with head bowed thoughtfully upon his hands, which lay the one above the other upon the top of his staff. For the moment a subdued and reverent silence fell upon the little group. Indeed, so occupied was each with his own thoughts that no one noticed the approach of a stranger, who suddenly appeared, standing by one of the columns of the court.

(To be continued)

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