A Tower Fell—And Jesus Called for Repentance
"Ascending, ever ascending..." Simon muttered under his breath, his heart pounding as he watched the masons move with practiced grace, stone by stone. The tower of Siloam was to be a marvel, a testament to Jerusalem's prowess. And he was overseeing it all.
Today, as he stood at the base, a shiver coursed through his spine. The scaffold swayed with the workers' motions, and he swallowed hard, pushing down the uneasy feeling that had plagued him all morning. "Move faster," he called, his voice echoing against the stone. "We need to reach the pinnacle by sundown."
A sudden crack echoed through the air, louder than any sound the tower had ever made. Simon's eyes widened as the snap became a roar, and the scaffold began to tremor. Masons cried out, scrambling to find purchase as the tower swayed and fell, a horrific, inescapable tumble.
Simon's breath caught, his voice dying in his throat. He stood frozen, watching as the cloud of dust obscured the sun, and the words of other-workers crying out mixed with the rumbling of stone on stone. When the dust settled, Simon's heart turned to ice. Eighteen men, gone.
Simon was supposed to be on the tower, but he had stayed back, forbidden that day from climbing higher. Divine intervention? He didn't know. Prayer and purging on his knees wouldn't save him from the haunting, accusatory gazes of the families of the fallen, or the truth ringing harshly in his head: this had been his responsibility.
He couldn't eat; he couldn't sleep. Eight days went by, and Simon's mind was an unrelenting hell. He wanted to scream at the heavens, "Lord, these were good men. They deserve better. Why them?"
The ninth night, Simon found himself outside the city walls, wandering the dark streets aimlessly. Half carrying him was exhaustion, half some mysterious prompting. The Temple’s gates were closed to him, but in his desperation, he had headed down the dusty road towards the well of Bethesda. Rumors had reached him of a man who preached with authority, and who didn’t shy away from miracles.
As Simon walked, he soon spotted a crowd—always a sure sign of the man called Jesus. In a shaky voice, Jesus was explaining, "Do you think these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish."
People murmured, their eyes wide with fear. Simon couldn’t help but feel a desperate need slide into his heart. Repent? After eighteen lives ripped away, what does it mean to repent when the pain was still so raw?
People turned away, shaking, whispering to one another. Simon’s eyes seemed glued to the dusty ground. Something within him shifted. With a few hesitant steps, Simon moved closer to Jesus.
He fell to his knees, the dust tickling his nostrils. “Teach me,” was all he could say. His voice was raw and hoarse from his endless hours of praying the week prior.
Jesus quietly drew near and extended a hand. The crowd hushed. With one touch, Simon felt it—healing warmth flooding through him, pain fading. In the crushing guilt and fear's aftermath, a new hope, a fierce longing for something more, was born.
“Father, forgive them,” Simon whispered out loud. This was what repentance was—adoring Jesus and forgiving the judgment bound up in his own heart. A fresh start.
Simon stood, finally feeling the lightness he hadn't experienced in days. His eyes met Jesus'. A grin slowly appeared on Jesus’ face. “Tell others,” Jesus spoke gently.
Without a sound, Simon nodded, walking away with returning peace. He would share what he had been forgiven. He would let Jerusalem, and the coming generations, know.
Simon walked away with no history of past tragedies clouding his steps. Ahead of him, only the road was clear. The world opened to him in a new light.
A Tower Fell—And Jesus Called for Repentance
"Ascending, ever ascending..." Simon muttered under his breath, his heart pounding as he watched the masons move with practiced grace, stone by stone. The tower of Siloam was to be a marvel, a testament to Jerusalem's prowess. And he was overseeing it all.
Today, as he stood at the base, a shiver coursed through his spine. The scaffold swayed with the workers' motions, and he swallowed hard, pushing down the uneasy feeling that had plagued him all morning. "Move faster," he called, his voice echoing against the stone. "We need to reach the pinnacle by sundown."
A sudden crack echoed through the air, louder than any sound the tower had ever made. Simon's eyes widened as the snap became a roar, and the scaffold began to tremor. Masons cried out, scrambling to find purchase as the tower swayed and fell, a horrific, inescapable tumble.
Simon's breath caught, his voice dying in his throat. He stood frozen, watching as the cloud of dust obscured the sun, and the words of other-workers crying out mixed with the rumbling of stone on stone. When the dust settled, Simon's heart turned to ice. Eighteen men, gone.
Simon was supposed to be on the tower, but he had stayed back, forbidden that day from climbing higher. Divine intervention? He didn't know. Prayer and purging on his knees wouldn't save him from the haunting, accusatory gazes of the families of the fallen, or the truth ringing harshly in his head: this had been his responsibility.
He couldn't eat; he couldn't sleep. Eight days went by, and Simon's mind was an unrelenting hell. He wanted to scream at the heavens, "Lord, these were good men. They deserve better. Why them?"
The ninth night, Simon found himself outside the city walls, wandering the dark streets aimlessly. Half carrying him was exhaustion, half some mysterious prompting. The Temple’s gates were closed to him, but in his desperation, he had headed down the dusty road towards the well of Bethesda. Rumors had reached him of a man who preached with authority, and who didn’t shy away from miracles.
As Simon walked, he soon spotted a crowd—always a sure sign of the man called Jesus. In a shaky voice, Jesus was explaining, "Do you think these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish."
People murmured, their eyes wide with fear. Simon couldn’t help but feel a desperate need slide into his heart. Repent? After eighteen lives ripped away, what does it mean to repent when the pain was still so raw?
People turned away, shaking, whispering to one another. Simon’s eyes seemed glued to the dusty ground. Something within him shifted. With a few hesitant steps, Simon moved closer to Jesus.
He fell to his knees, the dust tickling his nostrils. “Teach me,” was all he could say. His voice was raw and hoarse from his endless hours of praying the week prior.
Jesus quietly drew near and extended a hand. The crowd hushed. With one touch, Simon felt it—healing warmth flooding through him, pain fading. In the crushing guilt and fear's aftermath, a new hope, a fierce longing for something more, was born.
“Father, forgive them,” Simon whispered out loud. This was what repentance was—adoring Jesus and forgiving the judgment bound up in his own heart. A fresh start.
Simon stood, finally feeling the lightness he hadn't experienced in days. His eyes met Jesus'. A grin slowly appeared on Jesus’ face. “Tell others,” Jesus spoke gently.
Without a sound, Simon nodded, walking away with returning peace. He would share what he had been forgiven. He would let Jerusalem, and the coming generations, know.
Simon walked away with no history of past tragedies clouding his steps. Ahead of him, only the road was clear. The world opened to him in a new light.
