At the ninth hour of prayer Peter and John, or â€śJhonâ€ť as he renders it, ascended the stairs of the temple called Beautiful, encountered there a man halt from the womb.
The man, laid in the porch of the temple called Beautiful, desired alms of them about to enter, alms to anoint the unlevel walls and floors of the room that was his body, wasting away.
The entering pair â€śfastenedâ€ť (he says) their eyes on him, the one asking, and said â€śLook on us.â€ť And he did, he gave heed unto them, trusting to be their recipient
of something or other. â€śSilver and gold have I none, such as I have give I thee,â€ť spoke Peter, giving his right hand. In the name of Jesu he lifted the lame one onto his ruined feet.
The offered hand retracted, bearing a weight unused to being lifted, even as their fastened look urged the manâ€™s glance forward, as if tethered or, better, a bungee cord springing upward in lively retreat.
Immediately his anklebones received strength. The recipient was rising up, was soon risen. He â€śsprang, stode, and also walked,â€ť or so it goes in William Tyndaleâ€™s good glad version, robust
words like a jubilant tiding, fresh-faced for this story. Walking and leaping and lauding god, he accompanied the two in the temple, and held them, healed. We astonished crowded the gate,
passed through the elaborate entrance to the temple called Beautiful. We knew him, and therefore were all the more sorely amazed. We followed the praising trio deep into Solomonâ€™s hall.