The Egyptian

Menes was flabbergasted at the number of people assembled. They were moving towards the temple of the Jews. At the center of the crowd was the Teacher. His name was Yeshua and he was from a village near Galilee named Nazareth. Menes hadn’t even heard of the village until recently, only after the arrival of the news about this Teacher. 

“Crowd is good business,” the shopkeeper said with a crooked smile. Menes had remained at the shop for some beverages. 

“That’s why I remain in Jerusalem. Your city is a vibrant one, friend,” Menes commented. His heart fluttered for one reason only but couldn’t place his finger on the reason immediately. 

Menes decided to spend some time alone and walked to the marketplace, pretending to look at the pottery. As his mind cleared, he came up with the only reason that disturbed him. It was the presence of the teacher, Yeshua.

The Teacher was convinced that God was a reality and even spoke of God with authority as if he knew first-hand about the existence of God. He even said that God was his father. Menes could not understand the language of the young teacher. It was too much of a popular philosophy for him. From the land he came from, he had learned about many gods, upon whom he had little faith left. The common people in the city were eagerly devouring the message of the Teacher. However, for the Jews in powerful positions the Teacher was egregiously wrong, for them it was blasphemy. 

“I am sorry. I need to close my shop now,” the owner of the pottery shop said. “I need to see that Yeshua. I have to hear about God. They say he knows a lot about God and speaks with authority, unlike the priest in the temple.”

“There are no gods if gods are good. If gods exist beyond even a small point of doubt, then they must be cruel,” Menes burst out. 

For a moment, the owner of the pottery shop stared at Menes. He reluctantly turned to go but paused in midway. “Why do you say that?” he asked. 

“Because if gods existed, they wouldn’t have permitted my only son to be murdered by these Romans. Even though I never lived an unjust life, such punishment I received. Who else is responsible other than the gods who play with our destinies?” As Menes spoke, his lips shivered with passion, although he couldn’t realize why he was speaking to this vendor, a total stranger. 

Just as the shop was closing Menes said, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” 

The owner of the pottery shop paused again. Then the shop was closed and he came out, patted Menes on the back as if to console him. “Come with me,” he said to Menes, standing there clueless as to where he should go next. The vendor caught his hand and pulled him gently. It felt like paternal pressure. The shopkeeper was an older person, and only now Menes noticed his features. His eyes were shiny and his hair was grey, instilling in Menes a sense of respect for the age of the person. 

He walked with the man as he had a code according to which he always respected elder people. Soon they reached the precincts of the temple. 

Someone was running towards them. His arms were up, raised towards the sky, and in his words, he glorified God. 

“This can’t be…,” the elder person said.

“What is it?” Menes asked. 

“Do you see the one?” 

“No, it seems, the Teacher is in the crowd. I cannot see him now,” retorted Menes. 

“It’s not that one I am speaking about. Look at the one who is running towards us.”

“What about him?”

“I had known him since he was young, blind by birth. The invalid begged at the steps of the temple. I have known him. Yes… how could he run like that? And his eyes… there is some change in them. Don’t you see?” the old man stopped where he was and waited to get a good look at the blind beggar who ran wild. 

Within a few moments, moving through an astonished crowd, the beggar reached nearer. 

“I told you…. Something changed about his eyes.”

“It’s Yeshua… Yeshua healed the beggar…,” someone muttered beside them. 

Menes stared at the beggar, who was in great joy, tears running in streams. For a moment, Menes wanted to meet the man named Yeshua and hear him speak about God, the Father. 

“Ha! I was very eager to see what Yeshua would teach us in this city. But this…. This…! This is any magician’s trick. I heard about a great magician from Egypt who even made a calf disappear with his magic spell. His name is Menes. Even the magician Menes could heal this beggar’s eyes using his spells. I am so disappointed,” the old man said, disillusioned. 

“No, you are wrong,” Menes stated. 

“What do you mean?” the older person asked. 

“If this beggar had been born blind as you said, the magician Menes couldn’t heal him. This Yeshua is a miracle worker, then.”

“What do you know about Menes the Magician? Learn about things before you make a comment,” the old man said in a serious tone. 

“Yes, I know about Menes the Magician. I am Menes the Magician,” he said. 

The older person froze where he was, as his senses were lost to the revelation. A miracle! Menes walked towards the temple leaving the astonished shop owner behind.

Near the temple, the crowd was still big enough but as he went nearer, he heard a voice, the words of the Teacher. “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.”

Menes received the words in his heart. On that evening, on a caravan that took the route to Egypt, one of the travelers was Menes the Magician. When he reached his home, he saw his wife, who was a bundle of hopelessness, living in the burden of the loss of her only child and the abandonment that her husband had gifted her. 

“Now I know…,” Menes spoke out as he hugged her tightly. She stared at his action disbelievingly. Such a public expression of affection was the first instance from her husband. 

“I am sorry,” he said. “I am sorry that I abandoned you. I was angry with myself, but mostly, I was furious at myself for letting such a heinous act happen such as the one the Roman soldiers did to our son. But my journey to Jerusalem taught me that we are not the sole proprietors of our present. When life steals from us our capacity to act on our own, and thrusts upon us the yoke of fate, we must not hate ourselves for our incapacity. No, we must not blame ourselves for what we couldn’t do or what happened to us. Instead, we must wait in patience and endure in silent prayer the occasion God has put in our lives to express his grace and glory.”

“I cannot understand a word you told me,” the wife said scoffingly. She was relieved to see her husband back at home. 

“You just keep this in your mind that I will never abandon you again. May the Good Lord give us another child. Or else, we will live in peace with ourselves as well as with God,” Menes said. 

“Which God are you talking about? Is it Anubis?” the wife was curious. 

“We don’t have gods. We have only one Creator. That’s the next thing you need to keep in mind. This is another matter that I realized during my stay in Jerusalem. I don’t know if you can understand me.”

“Yes, I do. You are a magician and now you blaspheme against our gods,” the wife said and released herself from his grasp. When she went inside the house, agitated at her husband’s strange words, Menes thought about the encounter with the Teacher at the temple in Jerusalem, several days earlier. Someone had asked the teacher, whose fault it was that the beggar was born blind. 

Menes considered the coincidence. It was the same question he had asked himself and his gods: whose fault it was that he had lost his son at a very young age. He knew that two miracles had happened on that day. The beggar was healed, everyone saw that. But there was something else too. He had seen why he was given the tragedy in life. It was so because they could learn to endure it and become stronger in spirit. He was an atheist, from the moment his son had died at the hands of the bloodthirsty Roman soldiers who had attacked his village. But at the moment the Teacher had spoken, his faith in God had resurrected in a new way. For Menes, this was the second miracle of the day. 

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