Simon the Zealot was actually blind.

He was a Zealot to the core and a very good one, even though he was blind. He wanted revolution in the worst way. He despised Roman authority, and he hated Roman culture. And he hated Jews who had given in to Roman rule and Roman culture. He had been struggling since birth, I imagine, to overthrow the Romans. He organized secret meetings where they would plan strategic anti-Roman conspiracies: some propaganda here, some vandalism there. He had been to prison numerous times, but somehow always escaped crucifixion. He was always looking for converts to his cause and always, always looking for the One who could lead them against the Roman army. He spent a lot of time researching the scriptures to understand who the One would be and what he would do when he came.

When he first met Jesus he realized that this guy was someone different. Jesus had charisma, wisdom and he traveled about has though he had a plan. Simon figured that anyone with such a strong desire to be with the common folk in the towns and villages of Palestine must have some sort of grass roots political agenda similar to his own. So he kept listening. Jesus constantly gave the Pharisees a hard time and because Simon despised anyone who wielded unjust power, he loved to hang around Jesus just for these moments. And when he heard Jesus give his now famous sermon on the mount, Simon was sure that Jesus was the One who would lead them in a fight against Roman domination. He was sure that Jesus was the leader that would save the Jewish people. Simon was convinced, I imagine, because he had tried every other way that he knew to bring some freedom from the Romans.

You must be thinking about Simon’s blindness and why Jesus didn’t just heal him upon their meeting up. Honestly, it never came up. Simon never asked and Jesus never offered. It didn’t seem to matter to either of them. And it never bothered anyone else either. The desire of Simon’s heart was freedom from the Romans, and everything else was inconsequential. He never stopped planning, talking, rallying, and practicing his fighting. He was restless and focused.

Just about every afternoon the whole lot of us disciples would retire to our secret hideaway down by the river. It was a wonderful spot. Shaded with lots of trees and a good spot for fishing. We would all go down there during the hot afternoons and relax. Philip and Andrew would fish, experimenting with new techniques, with James looking on like a younger brother wanting to get in on the action but always being held at arms length. James’ brother John would be working on a sketch or a poem, and sitting next to him was always Alphy writing in his journal. His real name was James, but since we already had a James who refused to go by a nickname and who had a very short temper, as little brother types often do, we decided to call James son of Alphaeus: Alphy.

Judas sat under a tree smoking his pipe and staring down at the ground rubbing his hands through his beard. Timothy was always sitting with some of the women around him, boasting of things he’d never done, but taking credit for them never the less.

But no matter what was going on, Jesus would be sitting down at the river, dangling his feet in the current, leaning back on his arms with his head drawn back, baking in the sun.

During these times Simon would either be practicing his sword fighting with Bart or talking politics with Peter. When he practiced his sword fighting maneuvers it was like watching a moth dance with the flame of a candle. His blade swung in random figure eight swirls while he contorted his body up and down, to and fro, imaging himself able to defend an attack from any number of aggressors from any angle. A good defense against his tactics was just to stay out of his way until he grew tired. I once saw him fight an olive tree with futile results. He fell to the ground in exhaustion after several minutes of attack and the tree, which suffered only minor cuts, stood standing for the rest of our days in passing.

When he talked politics it was with the same intensity and ferociousness as his swordplay. He would argue a point with Peter until he collapsed of frustration and Peter fell over with laughter at Simons red face and heavy breathing.

Well, when we weren’t at the river, we were out following Jesus around. Jesus had a way of just going somewhere and when he got there things just happened, as if this had been his destination all along.

One day we were walking along the road and Jesus slowed down a bit as we neared the village gate. I dreaded village gates because this was where all the sick and the lame hung out begging for food or money. The only place worse was the temple gate. The people were smelly and dirty and talked funny. I know they are people, too, but I could never get comfortable around them the way Jesus was.

On this day I fixed my eye on a man sitting in the middle of the beggars. He was blind and he grabbed my attention, I suppose, because he was the only one just sitting there, not moaning or asking for something. He sat, feet dangling over the edge of the stone curb on the side of the road; hands cupped together holding a small wooden bowl. The bowl was empty, but the man was content, not even concerned or anxious that his bowl was empty. But he sat with an expectancy and attentiveness that caught my eye, and the eye of Jesus as well.

Timothy noticed him, too, and in typical Timothy fashion, he tried to use the opportunity to show off his wit and wisdom (or in my opinion, his lack thereof). Timothy stopped Jesus and asked him, “Teacher, who sinned, that this man is blind, himself or his parents?”

Well the idea back in that day was that any sort of suffering was the result of some sin that had been committed. So, we were all wondering what this guy had done that had resulted in his suffering of blindness. Maybe he was an adulterer, or a thief. Maybe he just wasn’t a good enough Jew or his parents had been too poor to offer a good enough sacrifice on occasion to reconcile themselves to God and as a result, God punished them with a blind son.

But Jesus, in typical Jesus fashion, replied as though he had expected the question since he had rolled out of bed that morning. “It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins. He was born blind so that God could be seen in him today. All of us must quickly recognize how God is calling us, because there is little time left before the night falls and all of this will come to an end. But while I am still here in the world, I am the light of the world.”

Timothy looked rebuffed and sank his shoulders and his head into his chest. He couldn’t stand being made to look a fool. And while Timothy shrank into the crowd that was forming, I noticed Simon’s attention fixed on Jesus. As if there was no crowd around him and no one between him and Jesus. All of his being was caught by Jesus’ words.

Simon was standing between me and the blind man sitting on the wall, so that I could barely see the man sitting there still listening to Jesus, still waiting contently with open hands holding his empty bowl. He, too, seemed to notice no one else around.

Jesus turned from the crowd and Timothy and turned to face the blind man. And then, he took the bowl from the blind man and squatted down on the ground. The man gave him the bowl willing and then clasped his hands together on his lap and waited. Jesus spit on the ground several times into the dirt, scooped up the mixture with the bowl and began to mix it, just as a doctor would.

I had seen doctors make spittle before. Once when my little brother was stung by a hornet on his neck, the doctor’s cool spittle kept the wound from swelling and throbbing and stopped my brother’s crying almost immediately. And now Jesus stepped towards the blind man with the bowl and dipped his fingers into it. He reached toward the man with the mud, and spread it over his right eye and then his left. Which, I have to tell, I am sort of guessing about because this whole time Simon is still blocking my view of the blind man and to me what I see is Jesus reaching out and touching Simon. Well, sort of touching through Simon.

Jesus packed the man’s eyes full of the spittle and then said, “Go and wash in the pool of Siloam.” And the blind man got up and made his way toward the well and down the steps to the where the water poured from the tunnel that brought the water from a spring in the Kidron valley into to a stone basin.

After he washed and came running back to the group. By now it was an hour later and Jesus had spent the time playing a game of marbles with the children while the rest of us helped a widow collect some firewood and stack it in her home. The blind man came running back to the group and he ran up to Jesus and grabbed his hands, clasping them between his own. “God bless you!” And before Jesus could reply the man was swept away by his family who hugged him and they danced off together.

The next afternoon we went down to the riverside for our usual siesta. Philip and Andrew were fishing, experimenting with new lure that they had made out of spittle and an earthworm, with James looking on like a younger brother wanting to get in on the action but always being held at arms length. James’ brother John was working on a sketch of Judas, who was smoking his pipe and stroking his beard, and sitting next to him as always Alphy writing in his journal.

And then down to the bank came Simon, the Zealot. He pulled out his sword, but instead of practicing, as he usually did, he stuck the tip into the ground and leaned the handle up against the trunk of a palm tree. He walked down to the bank of the river and sat right up on the edge with his feet crossed and his hands resting upwards in his lap. He sank his chin into his chest, as though were looking at his hands. Then, slowly, he dropped his legs in front of him into the cool, flowing river, until they sunk to the bottom, where he dug his toes into the mud and started to smile. Then he tilted his head toward the Sun, shining down on him. His eyes were wide open.