A Deeper Paralysis

I ‘ve always wondered why the concept of personal space vanishes once one steps into an elevator. As much as I love people, the idea of being wedged like a sardine in the midst of a school of humanoids dutifully stuffing themselves into a giant moving can strikes a tenor of claustrophobia at the core of my being. I love people; I just also enjoy breathing. So, when I read about the crowds cramming themselves into a tiny home in Capernaum to hear Jesus teach, something within me cringes. I wonder if I would have pushed past that fear to sit at the feet of the master. I am not sure I would.

I imagine that Peter would understand my claustrophobia, as I can only assume that he was a bit rankled at the crowds clamoring in and through and around his tiny home

And then, of course, there is Peter. It was near here that Peter was called away from his fishing nets and into the tutelage of this humble Rabbi. It was near here where Jesus healed the demon possessed in a synagogue and then retired to the home of Peter and his brother. When word went out that Jesus was “home”, it most likely refers to the home of Peter.

Peter. Impulsive, aggressive, passionate Peter. Peter was the first to recognize Jesus as the Son of God, and in the same breath rebuke Him for foretelling His incumbent death. Peter swore he would never turn His back on Jesus, only to then deny Him thrice. It was Peter who drew his sword in Gethsemane.

I imagine that Peter would understand my claustrophobia, as I can only assume that he was a bit rankled at the crowds clamoring in and through and around his tiny home. Then, in a particularly devious part of my imagination, I even wonder what Peter’s gut reaction was as pieces of dirt and dried mud began to fall into his hair, for now these people were even on his roof.

After all, this was the home of a fisherman, not a palace. The roof was made of thatch and mud, dried and caked, ably serving to keep out the rain. It was not designed for a climber; it was certainly not designed for diggers. Yet, here he stood, staring at a growing hole in the ceiling as four men tunneled into his home from above. Jesus was almost certainly doing his usual bit with the impetuous fisherman, pulling him back from his rash reactions. I can almost hear Him whisper, “Still yourself, Peter. I want you to see this.”

And then it happened. The four vandals had finally widened the hole enough to not just let in a man, but to let in a bed with a man on it. Slowly they lowered a paralytic, a friend whom they not only carried here from his home, but somehow managed to maneuver him onto the roof. As the crowds watched, the man descends.

Now, I am sure everyone was waiting to see just what Jesus would do. After all, these halls were not crowded because of Jesus’ rhetoric. He had been on a healing crusade all over Capernaum and Galilee, casting out demons, healing the sick, cleansing the lepers. This was a man who cared about making people whole, and had the power to do it. Word had spread. People had come. And now, they could see that power in action.

But then, Jesus did something unexpected.

A spine is not the only thing that can paralyze us.

Sure, we all might expect Him to look at the paralyzed man and see his infirmity, have mercy on him, and heal him. Certainly, this is the pattern Jesus displayed all over the countryside. Here, however, a physical healing seems to be almost an afterthought. Instead, he looks at the unmoving form of a still-living man and, with a smile, simply says, “Your sins are forgiven you.”

Really? Do you think for a moment that his four friends went through all the trouble of carrying this man all this way, heaving him up onto the roof, digging through the mud and thatch, and lowering him into the presence of this famed supernatural healer, so that they could carry him all the way back with a promise of forgiveness? And yet, I think Jesus was using this opportunity to drive home a deeper point:

A spine is not the only thing that can paralyze us.

Sometimes, the paralysis goes deeper. Sometimes, the depth of our grief makes incapable of normal functioning. Other times, it may be shame. Still again, we may find ourselves consumed with the body-numbing impact of guilt which locks us into a hidden coma, and we becoming walking corpses – we appear alive, but there is no true life in us. A spine is not the only thing that can paralyze us.

When Jesus spoke, He revealed a healing that went beyond what anyone in that room could have imagined. The paralysis that comes from those secret wounds, those hidden barbs which leave us bleeding internally, are only met with one cure: forgiveness. Jesus knew this. While everyone was watching for the glitter and the spectacle, Jesus was whispering life back into a hollow husk. This man would walk again, to be sure, but the true healing happened before he ever found his feet. It is this true healing, the breaking of those things which paralyze us, that He is still whispering to us today.

So take up your mat and walk.

Image Credit: Paul Bica

How have you experienced the deeper freedom that Jesus brings?