“After Jesus healed the son of the official
in Capernaum, there was a festival of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.
Now in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is a pool, called in Hebrew
Beth-zatha, which has five porticoes. In these lay many invalids-- blind, lame,
and paralyzed [waiting for the stirring
of the water; for an angel of the Lord went down at certain seasons into the
pool, and stirred up the water; whoever stepped in first after the stirring of
the water was made well from whatever disease that person had]. One man was
there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there
and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, ‘Do you want to be
made well?’ The sick man answered him, ‘Sir, I have no one to put me into the
pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, someone else
steps down ahead of me.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Stand up, take your mat and walk.’
At once the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk. Now
that day was a sabbath.’ John 5:1-9
Every
once in a while we have a choice for our scripture readings on a given Sunday.
Usually the choice is with the Old Testament reading, or maybe the psalm. A
choice of gospel, as we had today, is unusual. Earlier this week Julie asked me
which to include in the leaflet and I picked the miracle story. It seemed more
interesting somehow than Jesus’ farewell message to his friends. As the week
has unfolded I’ve realize how significant that choice was. The story of the man
healed at the pool of Beth-Zada has a lot to tell us.
The
text doesn’t give us the diagnosis of his ailment, but seems to be a kind of
paralysis, since he couldn’t get into the pool. There’s also missing portion of
the gospel story as we heard it, which appears in some manuscripts: it
says that an angel of the Lord is the one who stirs up the waters and gives
them healing powers. That was omitted in our reading because not all early sources
include it. And because it is a little fantastic. The place, though, was real.
Archeologists found it in the 1960s. With five porticoes, to the northeast of
the Temple. The idea of the pool—whether the water is stirred by an angel or
some other source, perhaps a natural spring—is that only the first person who
entered it after the waters were enlivened received the healing powers and was
cured. Others had to wait until the next time.
Remember, this is in Jerusalem, just outside the Temple. And today’s event happens during
a festival. You can imagine all sorts of pilgrims in search of healing (similar
to Lourdes or Walsingham), likely a rush to get in first. And because this man
was paralyzed and didn’t seem to have assistance, he always missed out—for as many
as 38 years. One wonders whether he had family or friends who maybe could have
helped him. Or maybe he lost them, spending all his time at the pool.
We
might even wonder if he really wanted to be healed. In fact, Jesus asks him
just that question: “Do you want to be healed?” The man doesn’t answer
directly, but instead focuses on his inability to jump into the pool in time. The
gospels rarely offer any psychological insights into the figures we meet. But
we might conclude that he was stuck, paralyzed--physically, emotionally,
spiritually. Why else spend so much time there at the pool? 38 years is a lot of
life to lose, waiting for a miracle that might never come.
Like the man in the gospel story, sometimes we, too, get stuck. Even paralyzed. If not physically, then certainly
emotionally, spiritually, mentally. Sometimes we cannot even imagine
a different future for ourselves—whatever the problem is, a difficult job, a
difficult relationship, a worry about our health, addictions, dark places and
dark thoughts that hold us in their grip. We’d like to be healed or freed, but can’t
figure out how to make it happen. Maybe, like the man in the gospel story, we
feel that we don’t have anyone who can help us, or we are afraid to ask, or in
some cases, we’ve become so turned in on ourselves that we’ve let the
relationships that can give us life fall away.
Each
of us has a different experience and reality, but the effect can be much the
same. And like the man in the gospel story, we too are met by Christ, who asks
us, as well, if we want to be healed. Do we truly want new life? Or, is it
easier if we stay stuck, paralyzed, afraid?
It’s
interesting that when Jesus tells the man in the story that he should stand up
and walk, the Greek word used can mean, simply, “stand up,” but it can also
mean “resurrect.” I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Because I think Jesus is
really telling this man, who had been so lost, so stuck, and so broken for so
long, that he should be resurrected. He should live. He should be alive. The
physical healing is important in the story. But far more, I think, is the
spiritual healing—healing that leads to wholeness and new life. A life not
spent waiting for a miracle by a pool, but instead lived in and with God, and
hopefully in and with others.
Friday
afternoon I learned of the unexpected death of our friend and parishioner Cathy
Conboy when her husband Mark called. The news came as a shock to me, and to
everyone I talked with on Friday. We’ve had
more than our share of deaths of wonderful parishioners over the past 11 years,
many of them proverbial pillars of the church, but something about Cathy’s
seems different to me. She was younger, still active in her many ministries,
looking forward to her daughter Alice’s high school graduation next week.
Cathy
is someone who, like the man in the gospel, suffered with a sometimes debilitating
physical condition. She lived with lupus for many years, and a long list of
accompanying complications. Life wasn’t easy for Cathy. Sometimes it was very
hard. It is not what she would have envisioned or chosen for herself—or for her
family. And yet, unlike the man in this morning’s gospel story, Cathy did not
put her life on hold while waiting for a miracle of physical healing. Instead,
she chose to live. She chose to stand up and walk, when she could--to resurrect
herself--drawing strength and courage from her family, her friends, and from
her faith. Even in the darkest days, she showed us how to live and how to love.
She showed us that physical limitations need not hold us back. She understood, probably better than those blessed with more robust
health, that life has to be lived. Every day that we are alive is a day worth
living.
It is
astounding to think of all the ways that Cathy was engaged here at church, even
as she struggled with her health: organizing our acolytes and serving on the
worship committee for several years; serving on the mission commission—selling
plants and flowers to support refugees and organizing a massive yard sale to
support the people of war-torn Syria. She helped deliver carloads of backpacks
and school supplies to Housing Families, and brought boxes of donated winter coats
and joined a tour at Lazarus House in Lawrence. Cathy hosted coffee hours and often engaged in adult education sessions. She took watercolor classes
and was active in a book group with her many friends. All the while she was
raising her daughters, instilling in them faith and confidence, giving them the
best foundation for life she could. When I visited her at Mass General two
weeks before she died, she nearly glowed with joy when talking Mary and Alice.
She was proud of their accomplishments, but even more for the people they are.
Cathy
knew too well that life can be shorter than we’d like sometimes. And so we need to
stand up and walk—not waiting for a miracle to happen to us and for us—but
instead, grabbing hold of the full, wonderful, resurrection life that God
offers each of us, even now, even when our bodies or spirits may not be as healthy or as strong as we would want.
“Do
you want to be made well?” Jesus asked the man in the gospel. And he asks the same
of us. The man in the gospel story didn’t really answer. But we can. Like our
friend Cathy we can choose to be well, even in our limitations. We can choose
resurrection. We can choose to pick up our mats, stand up and walk, into the
future, into the life, that God has prepared for us.
To
God be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell PhD
