Isaac clasped his hands in a desperate manner and begged Philip, “Sir, my son can not move. Our healer has used his herbs. Instead of getting better, my son gets worse. We know you are students of the Nazarene. I beg you, heal my son.”

I was speechless although I wished to comfort the man. Philip arose, while Joseph apologized, and stood behind the kneeling men. I looked past my friend and down the dark road. Had it not been for their armor, I would not have seen the Romans approach. Two soldiers approached with cruel mocking faces.

Said one of them to the other, “We heard true. So, what have we here? Look. Disciples of Jesus. Come to heal the poor cripple have you?”

The presence of Roman soldiers was never good, but on that early evening, I could not still my heart. They smelled of Roman fires, and the menace that shone in their eyes made me tremble. Philip turned calmly to speak with them only to get the back of a Roman hand across his face. As my friend fell, Joseph kowtowed with his palms pressed, entreating.

“Sirs,” begged Joseph, “we do nothing wrong. My guests are tired from long travels. We only wish to.” Joseph did not get to finish. He was struck hard. The wife ran crying to her husband.

“Dog!” snarled the Roman. “Gods! How much longer must we bear this people?”

Philip tried to rise, but the Roman who struck him placed a heavy boot on his chest. “Still,” said that soldier, “we've never seen a healing. I need something of interest to speak of back home.”

Joseph's neighbors moved to the other side of the boy while Joseph's wife pulled him up and away from the glowering Romans. Me? I was paralyzed. I had always stayed far away from the Romans, and rightly so, but now, I had nowhere to hide. I stood exposed as both soldiers looked at me.

“You,” said the soldier pinning Philip. “Heal the boy.” He pulled his sword and pointed it at Philip's head. “Fail and your friend suffers.”

The other soldier laughed. “Well?” he said. “Be quick.”

I had never been so scared in all my life. Why had I not been under the Roman's boot and Philip asked to heal the boy? Surely, I would fail and Philip would die. I looked at Philip who meant to comfort me with a nod, but I was frozen in place, as paralyzed as the young boy on the ground. The situation grew immediately worse as Philip was drawn into the Roman's arms and his sword placed across my friend's throat. Philip filled my eyes; I was so fixed on my friend, I did not see the Roman approach me. Then he struck me. I fell to my knees and my face stung.

“Do I have all night?!” snarled the Roman. His voice was bitter and cruel as I looked up at him through tears.

Joseph and his wife cowered in the door of his house, and I felt as desperate as the father of the boy. I wanted to save Philip, but, could I? What if I failed? I tried to focus on the boy and not Philip, but I was slow. The Roman's boot was painful. I fell across the paralyzed boy.

“Now!” shouted the soldier over me. “Or can you? Pray to your god that my friend's hand does not slip.” The soldier crouched beside me and looked into my face as a cold sweat stung my eyes. “What's that?” mocked the Roman. “I can't hear it. Such a small prayer.”

I looked between the laughing Romans. I looked at my friend, frantic with fear, and saw his calm face. I saw his eyes look up, resolute. Trembling, I reached out to the limp boy before me. I placed my hands on his chest and lifted my face, clueless.

“My God,” I called out, surprised at the strength of my voice. “I serve your son. Life and death are in your hands. Teach me the faith of your son. I pray for this poor boy. I would see him raised to health. May all things be according to your will Holy God.” I cleared my mind and looked at the boy; I didn't even know his name.

A strange thing happened just then. I had no thought for my safety. I had no thought for the life of my friend. I only saw the boy. I saw him whole. I felt sure of it, like a veil lifted from my eyes allowing me to see at last.

“Boy,” I said. “In the name of Jesus the Christ, I say to you arise and be whole.”

What is the faith that heals? It is the same faith by which we walk. It is the faith by which we open our eyes to a new day. There is neither doubt nor hesitation. There is no waiting of hope, we simply do. We do, and it is done.

The soldier beside me stood. I did not look at him but kept my eyes on the boy. I only sensed him standing. Then I saw it; the boy's eyes focused. The fingers of his hand moved. He called out.

“Father?” said the boy uncertainly.

The father scrambled to his son, lifting him into his arms with joyous weeping. As I sat back, stunned at the boy's healing, I looked up. The soldier sheathed his sword and pushed Philip away. The soldiers turned back down the road from which they came. The one said, “Cheap Jewish magic.”

The other said, “Disappointing. The boy simply slept.”

There was such clarity in that moment. The neighbors and the boy were in a world of their own. They were so joyous, I could bear to be forgotten. Joseph and his wife ran to Philip. Children stared wide-eyed from the open door. There were stars in the sky that night. I remember the stars. The world around me sang a song of praise as Philip knelt in front of me and took my hands into his.

Philip looked into my eyes and smiled. “Nathanael,” he said nodding. “Yes.” The world spun away from me in song. The voices of others faded, only the voice of Philip remained. Nathanael. Yes. Only his smile lit my night, and his smile meant the world to me.