They were good friends, the men who laid me daily at the temple gate called Beautiful to garner alms from such as spared, among their psalms, a passing nod and a coin. Those other two who passed that day— how could my good friends know what they saw at a glance: that I, who came out of my mother's womb a lame and beggared wraith of a man had never come from there at all? Could my friends shear my past away, who only knew what I (and they) had long heard taught: a terrible fierce God and a fleeting man? Yet we all felt it—the unsurprise, the calm tremendous love, the eyes that gathered in such truth as I had always known, inside, must be but never had seen in a man.
Log in to read this article
Not a subscriber to JSH-Online? Subscribe today and receive online access to The Christian Science Journal, Sentinel, and Herald including digital editions of the print periodicals, Web original articles, blogs, and podcasts, over 30,000 minutes of Sentinel Radio and audio chats, searchable archive going back to 1883! Learn More.