City Life Starter

Excerpt from “Broken Souls” (Pending publication)

Written by Stefan Johnsson

As Jesus went, the people pressed around him. And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years, and though she had spent all her living on physicians, she could not be healed by anyone. She came up behind him and touched the fringe of his garment, and immediately her discharge of blood ceased.

Luke 8:42-44

Before I could process what was going on, pain wracked my body from the inside out, burning from deep within my very soul. A whimper escaped my lips, giving off a hopeless cry for help that would never come. Each gasp for air was a constant struggle for survival and it took courage to fight through the agony that would not let go.

I could never get used to the pain that spread throughout my body, causing me daily suffering. No one could save me, and no healing possessed a magical formula for the disease that sought my very life. All I had was gone and there were no options left to bring me hope for a cure. As the pain subsided, my mind could finally process what was going on around me.

There was something different about this noise that had awakened me so suddenly. I could hear the crowd in the distance and my mind felt that it carried with it something that I must have, a spark of hope that would bring life back to my weak body. My cry for help fell on deaf ears, but still I tried. The house carried the soundwaves throughout its empty rooms, unable to provide support from its lifeless stones. I was on my own, but this would not stop me. Determination kept me from letting this opportunity pass me by.

The window above me was low enough to reach. As I pulled myself up with the strength of both hands and clenched teeth, I began to see the beginnings of a crowd forming in the distance. The commotion was bringing a profound sense of excitement to the entire village that grew with each passing minute. It was hard to see it all from my second-floor window, but I knew that this was something more important than life itself.

A couple of the villagers came walking past and I cried out to them, hoping they would hear my voice. As they raised their heads, I gathered myself enough to ask who or what it was that caused the crowds to gather at the edge of town. Their surprise was evident, as if what I asked had been common knowledge to everyone around. “It’s Jesus of Nazareth who is coming this way,” one replied. “We want to see the miracles and hear the Rabbi speak for ourselves.” As if this finished their duty with me, they quickly left towards the approaching crowd, not wanting to miss another minute of what Jesus would do or say.

I was left to my own thoughts. “Miracles?” I voiced out loud. Could He cure someone like me? I had to find out. I needed to find out. If only I could just get close enough, to be in His presence, then He may show me mercy.

I could see the crowd moving in my direction, as if they would be passing by my very house. The sounds of people and that calming voice…it’s unmistakable. It has to be Him that I have heard so much about. The strain of pulling myself up to the window was hard enough and I let go and fell back down to my bed. I had to conserve my strength for what would come next. It would be my only chance, the only opportunity to change my life and heal that pain which had been with me for so long. 

The Rabbi who heals the sick, the lame, the deaf, and the blind is coming my way, but not into my house. The hardest part was standing up without something to hold on to and my current goal was to reach the stairs that lay only a short distance in front of me. The first couple steps came quickly with a loss of balance. I fell forward, hoping to catch the wall that led to the stairs. Crying out in fear, I almost hit my head on the stone wall but relieved to have made it. A small victory quickly led to the gift of pain from my insides that released its fury. I cried out as I could feel the warmth of blood beginning to drip down the side of my leg. No, I thought, not now. A whimper escaped my lips as I sat on my knees with the wall as support. There was still time if I could only make it to the street. 

With each labored breath, I gathered my strength to continue on. The window for meeting Jesus of Nazareth was growing short, shorter than the breaths that I took. It felt as if my efforts were in vain trying to reach the doorway to my house before it was too late. Once the crowd passed by, the chance to meet Jesus would become only a fleeting memory of a missed opportunity. I voiced a silent prayer to God to give me the strength to carry on. As I reached the door to my house to look through, I breathed a sigh of relief when I could see that the crowd had come much closer, but not yet passed me by. I walked a few steps towards the crowd, but my strength failed me, and I fell to my knees. Even if I had to approach Jesus as a beggar, it would not stop me. I began to crawl my way towards the outside of the crowd.

Each time that I could catch a glance of him through the crowd, I could see that His face was full of compassion, but stricken with weariness as a soldier in the heat of battle. There were no signs of anger as the crowds pressed around him. Love for the broken and hurting could be seen through His eyes, mirroring the actions He took for others. His caring for those around him was like a father to his children. His voice softened my soul and encouraged my heart. His words sunk deep to the core of my being like a rock falling to the bottom of the sea as they spoke of truth and compassion.

I did not notice until the brick in my heart hit the bottom of the ocean floor, breaking me into tears.

I crumbled in hurt and pain. Nowhere to turn, no place to go. Would a Rabbi such as He, ever care for me? Would He look at a lost soul with those same eyes of compassion? Just maybe, if I could only touch the edge of His cloak then I could feel some comfort in my agony. If I could only taste a drop of the living water, to take the smallest portion I could, then maybe it would be enough for me. I didn’t need much; I didn’t ask for much. He would not know that I am in pain or alive. What could I give to a man such as Him? He came for others, but not possibly for me.

I just wanted to reach and touch His cloak. It was all I hoped for.

If I could just crawl on my hands and knees. To approach with my face scraping the ground that others walked on. I have nothing to be proud of, nothing to keep me from being judged. The crowd parted as it approached me, flowing around me as if they represented the Red Sea itself. All I had to do was get close enough to Jesus, relying on hope and my small sliver of faith. I had to know if He was real, that His power could heal a broken soul such as I.

I reached out, blinded by the crowd, my desperation for healing the only thing that kept me focused. My fingers grazed the cloak, touching the edges of the thick cloth. I felt and sensed the power of life flow through my fingers like the rushing force of a mighty river.

A voice, filled with compassion and love, in that very moment said, “Your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

I dared not look up as His hand and warmth fell upon my head. Was this the Messiah that truly came to serve and heal those who were lost, like me? Tears filled my eyes as I lay prostrate with my head to the ground, daring not to look up or move as the crowd continued on its way, following Jesus as He continued on with His mission.

As the noise quieted around me, the realization began to set it. Faith had healed me and the pain was gone. Jesus brought me life anew that no others were able to do. Thankfulness and praise to God filled my heart where only pain had previously made its home. My old life was no more and a new life had just begun.