I sit by the roadside in Jericho begging. A crowd goes by and I ask, “What’s happening?”

They tell me, “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by.”

Without thinking, I shout, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Those who are in front sternly order me to be quiet. Pinpricks of shame erupt like a rash all over my body. Desperation squeezes my soul. I shout even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Jesus stops still. He orders his disciples to bring me to him.

Firm hands grasp my arms, and I am taken away from the shushing crowd.

I know it’s Jesus when I hear, “What do you want me to do for you?”

Still gripped on either side, not by the disciples now, but by hope on my left and fear on my right, I reply, “Lord, I want to be heard.”

“Receive your voice; your faith has saved you.” He steps closer and waits.

Immediately I regain my voice. I tell him how painful it is to be misunderstood, judged and dismissed. When my only words are tears, he holds me and weeps too.

Then he steps back. My throat throbs as I prepare for his parting and my returning to a beggar’s life.

But Jesus doesn’t say goodbye. He takes my hand and introduces me to his friends.

I follow him, glorifying God. And all the people praise God.