What was that made
whole man from the pool of Bethesda doing in the temple when Jesus found
him? If the disciples were filming an episode of Where Are They Now? that sounds like a great place to be found.
Very spiritual. Maybe he wanted to get
right with God. Maybe he was going to offer
up some praise. Maybe he was just looking for a friend who could be happy
for him, instead of envious of his wiggly new legs. It’s entirely possible – John
doesn’t make note of what he was doing in the temple. But I have my suspicions,
because of what Jesus said to him when he saw him. Look at yourself – you are
well. Stop sinning, so something worse doesn’t happen to you.
One thing about Jesus – he didn’t run around randomly
telling people to stop sinning. I can
only think of one other time – after he had stepped in between an adulterous
woman and a pile of flying rocks. After sending all her accusers away convicted, he said to her, I do not accuse you. Go and sin no more.
No judgement. No lecture. He saw right into her heart and said, Don’t go back to your boyfriend.
Jesus was not into making threats either, and so I wonder
why, after the healing – later, in the temple – Jesus felt the need to say to
the man from Bethesda, Stop sinning, or
else. It doesn’t really sound like something Jesus would say.
Sometimes Jesus makes you whole, but you kind of wish he
hadn’t. Jesus didn’t really prepare you for all that it was going to mean. You
weren’t exactly emotionally ready
when he came along and asked you if you wanted to be made whole. You mean, like, now? – Yes. I mean, like, right now.
You can be a little upset that he asked you to choose.
Truthfully, if you’d had your druthers, you’d rather
have had a little bit of time to adjust mentally. Get a few things out of your
system. Take a little time to open yourself up to the idea of wholeness again. Get
re-oriented with the world of the walking. You weren’t ready to hear, You can’t do that. You just wanted your heart to work – you weren’t even thinking
about religion. You were not equipped
to meet this new possibility that, in the world of the walking, your little
miracle might be completely beside the point – that there might suddenly be expectations.
But this wasn’t an intervention and Jesus wasn’t offering
rehab. Yes or no. Choose.
Take up my pallet and
walk? Where am I supposed to go? – I’m not telling you where to go. I don’t care where you go. Walk wherever you want to walk. But do not stay here, and
do not reserve your spot. Go today. Right now. Pick up that smelly old mat and
move, man. You’ve got legs – use them.
I know what institutionalized
looks like – when the captive doesn’t know what to do with freedom. I know what
it sounds like – what the words are that keep them from being well. It isn’t my fault. That man who healed me, he told me to do it.
Jesus really hadn’t said, Pick up your mat and carry it around all day. He had only said, Take your spot by the pool with you when you
go. But the man was still holding onto that ratty old pallet when religion
came along. That symbol of his sickness and his poverty in spirit – it should
have been anathema to him, but it wasn’t. He wasn’t holding onto it because
Jesus had told him to – he was holding onto it because he still planned to use
it. And so I think he was in God’s house doing the most predictable thing in
the world – the only thing he knew how to do. He stopped carrying his mat on
the Sabbath. He put down his pallet, rolled it out smooth and sat himself down
on it. He curled his well legs up under himself, he stretched his well hands
out in front of himself, and he started pretending
unwell.
I don’t think the man got
it. I think that maybe when Jesus came right up to him in the temple and
called him on it, he started to get a little mad inside. Mad at Jesus.
Seriously, what is
your issue with me? Who even asked you? I never said ‘yes’ to any of this. I
was doing just fine before you came along with your ‘Do you want to be well’ shtick.
I look well to you, do I? Really,
Jesus? You and I must have seriously different ideas of what ‘well’ looks like.
Because let me just point out to you that currently I’ve got no job, no home,
no possessions, my legs are all pins and needles and my back is killing me, I
haven’t stood toe to toe or looked anyone in the eyes in almost forty years, I have
no idea what I’m supposed to be doing or who I’m supposed to listen to –
everyone is interrogating me and telling me what to do – I can’t even go back
to my old friends because somebody else has my spot, and now I’ve got nothing
but guilt and shame and trouble, thanks to you. Wiggly legs, and nowhere to run.
And there is something that I would
like to say to you, Jesus. I am
considering the very real possibility that you set this whole thing up. This
was never about me at all. You just
wanted to use me to make a point. Well, you sure made it. So thanks, Jesus.
Thanks a lot.
Maybe not. But what did the man do after Jesus found him –
after he had learned the name of the one who had healed him, and exactly who
Jesus was? He didn’t ask to be a disciple. He didn’t jump and leap for joy and
cause a big scene. He didn’t pour tears all over Jesus feet. He didn’t do as
the man born blind did four chapters later – get thrown out of the synagogue
because he would not, could not deny the only Truth he was absolutely sure of,
that I once was blind but now I see, and
Jesus is the one who healed me.
He did not go forth
and tell about Jesus – he went away
and he told on Jesus.
This I know about Jesus – he can remove obstacles. He can
come right up to you and whisper into your ear, and bring healing to you when
you aren’t even sure that you want it. He draws close to the poor in spirit. But he cannot make you choose to be whole – even after he has
already made you so. He cannot make you want
to be well.
I don’t know what Jesus had in mind when he said, So that nothing worse may befall you –
but I listen carefully to his story of The
Unforgiving Servant, and how that man’s stone of debt came rolling back
onto him. And I imagine that healed man from the pool of Bethesda walking around with
a cold, unresponsive, not-my-fault, passive, paralyzed heart.
1 comment:
I feel like Blogger needs to have a 'like' button so I can 'like' your comment, lol. Thanks, Susan.
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