Sunday, January 14th: "Carry Each Other"
First United Presbyterian Church
“Carry Each Other”
Rev. Amy Morgan
January 14, 2024
Mark 2:1-12
Now when Jesus returned to Capernaum after some days, it was reported that he was at home. And so many gathered around that there was no longer room for them, not even in front of the door, and he was speaking the word to them. Then some women and men came, bringing to him a paralyzed person, carried by four of them. And when they were not able to bring the person to Jesus because of the crowd, they uncovered the chamber above Jesus and, after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralyzed person lay. Now when Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralyzed person, “Child, your sins are forgiven.” Now some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, “Who is this speaking! It is blasphemy! Who is able to forgive sins but God alone?” And at once Jesus knew in his spirit that they were discussing these questions among themselves and he said to them, “Why do you question in your hearts? What is easier, to say to the paralyzed person, ‘your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and take your mat and walk’? Yet so that you may know that the Son of Humanity has authority on earth to forgive sins” - Jesus said to the paralyzed person: “To you I say, stand up, take your mat and go to your home.” And the person stood up, and immediately took the mat and went out before all of them so that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying, “Nothing like this have we ever seen!”
This is a story with many characters and many perspectives. Most of the time, we only focus on the experience of the person who is paralyzed or perhaps the friends who are determined to bring that person to Jesus for healing. In the context of Mark’s gospel, the point he wants to make is Jesus’s power and authority to heal in both body and spirit.
But this morning, I’m going to invite us to experience the perspectives of several characters in this story. Because I think there is a little piece of each of them inside all of us. Maybe one will speak into your life more powerfully today than another. But your neighbor in the pew may feel more connected to a different character.
So I invite all of you to journey with me imaginatively into the Gospel of Mark. If it helps to close your eyes or lower your gaze, feel free to do so. This won’t be quite as slow and sparse as my contemplative meditations, so if you’d rather just listen to this like a sermon, feel free to do whatever is comfortable for you.
First, I’m going to invite us into the experience of Jesus.
Imagine you’ve come home after traveling for days, meeting new people, helping them as much as you can. And you come home, crash on your bed, and fall into a deep sleep.
But not for long. Shortly after you arrive, there’s a knock on the door. A woman is there with arthritis. She’s still explaining her aches and pains to you when there’s another knock. This time, there’s half a dozen people with various ailments, who show themselves in and all start talking at once. The next group doesn’t even bother knocking. The religious authorities have gotten wind of some excitement around an itinerant healer, and they’ve come to scope things out. People continue flooding in, and it feels like as soon as you help one, ten more arrive. People are climbing in through the windows because the door is blocked. When people try to push through the crowd, there are altercations that get ugly as people argue over who deserves to be healed and who’s need is greatest.
Suddenly, you feel something fall on your head, little bits of dust and gravel. You brush off your hair and look up just in time to see someone being lowered through the ceiling. The chamber above you, where you should be sleeping peacefully, has been demolished. A group of people has dug through the floor, and a person is being lowered down in front of you on a mat.
You are tired, hot, overwhelmed, and now maybe even a little frustrated. But then you look down at the person laying at your feet. The first thing you notice is not the condition of their body, but the look on their face. They are sorry and ashamed, like they have no right to be here and wish they were anywhere else. But then you see the arms and legs, shriveled and useless. You know this person belongs here, maybe more than anyone else. But before they can be healed in body, they need to know that they are worthy of healing and wholeness and abundant life.
And so you say, “Child, your sins are forgiven.” The look of joy and relief on the person’s face is priceless. Nothing about their paralyzed body has changed, but their life has already been transformed.
But the scribes are not having it. They think it’s blasphemy. If healing is blasphemy, you think, then so be it. Healing is what you came here to do, in body and spirit. So you tell the person on the floor, “Pick up your mat and walk.”
With a look of confidence and gratitude on their face, the person begins to slowly move fingers and toes, arms and legs. They turn onto their side, lift themselves up on their hands and knees, and finally stand. They look at you and up at their friends peeking down through the hole in the ceiling, then reach down and pick up their mat, and the crowd parts in silent astonishment as the person who was paralyzed walks out of your house.
The crowd then erupts in amazement, and you turn to the next person in line, with renewed energy and passion, asking, “What do you want me to do for you?”
I invite you to wonder…
What role does spiritual wholeness play in physical wholeness?
How can we, as individuals and as a church, be agents of healing in both body and spirit?
Now, I invite you into the experience of the scribes, the religious authorities.
Imagine that you have been struggling for years to help the people of this backwater town where you live. You are one of only a very few people who can read and write. You study the scriptures and try to teach the people how to live righteously. But they don’t get it most of the time. They are just trying to get by, make enough money to live and pay their taxes. They go through the motions of what you instruct them to do, but there’s no heart in it. The resources of your synagogue are shrinking as people move away to more prosperous cities or give less because they are making less and paying more taxes. Most days, you wonder if what you’re doing makes any difference at all. The people in this town are still sick and hungry, oppressed and hopeless, no matter what you try to tell them about God’s promises and commandments.
But then a local boy returns to town. You thought he’d moved away, like so many of the younger generation. But there are rumors about him. He’s been going around the countryside, healing people and teaching in the synagogues. You’re skeptical about the whole story. After all, if he was some kind of rabbi, he would have been trained here, and you’d know about it.
When this boy returns home, people start flocking to his house. No one comes to you to ask advice. Is this man good or evil? By what power is he healing? By what authority is he teaching? People should be concerned about these things. But they aren’t. He has something to offer that you don’t.
You decide to go and see for yourself. You squeeze into the house that is already getting crowded and sit down in front of the spectacle with your arms folded and mind already made up about this charlatan. When a person is lowered in through the ceiling, you really begin to think you’ve seen it all. You know this person. Ever since that terrible accident, they have been helpless. It's hard for you even to look at this distorted body. The sin they must have committed to deserve this punishment was certainly very serious. You instinctively draw back as though sinfulness and brokenness are contagious.
The hometown healer looks down at the person in front of him. He doesn’t touch him or chant any incantations, but instead he says, “Child, your sins are forgiven.”
Your blood begins to boil immediately. Incensed, you think, “Who does this guy think he is?! It is blasphemous to pretend to be like God! Only God is able to forgive sins!” And then, like a mind-reader, the healer turns to you and your fellow scribes and asks, “Why do you question in your hearts? What is easier, to say, ‘your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and take your mat and walk’?” Then he calls himself by the ancient title of the one Daniel prophesied would come to reign over all people and nations forever. And then he tells the paralyzed person to get up and walk, and that’s just what they do.
The crowd goes wild, and the fervor around this man explodes. You are terrified. This is surely not a power from God. All the people will get riled up around this man, just like crowds have chased after so many false Messiahs before him. And it never ends well. Executions. Massacres. And always more taxes. You push your way out of the house, convinced that this man must be stopped.
I invite you to wonder…
When has your cynicism become a barrier to healing and hope?
When have you felt afraid or suspicious of something new and different, even if it seems good or helpful?
Finally, I invite you into the experience of the paralyzed person.
You can still remember what it felt like to be whole. To run and jump. To feed and dress yourself and toilet yourself. After the accident, people in town divided into two camps. There were those who believed you must have brought this on yourself through some great sin. Those people avoided you like the plague, including the religious authorities and even your own family. Then there were those who stuck by your side. Some of your friends knew what it felt like to be rejected. They were a group of outcasts and misfits. People with conditions and situations that labeled them unclean or unacceptable. They took you in and cared for you – for years.
And when they heard a healer was coming to town, they ran to you and said they would take you to him. But you told them no. You didn’t want to get your hopes up. But you also had heard about the crowd that was flocking to the healer’s house. You didn’t want to be seen by all those people. You knew how they would look at you. Besides, maybe the healing only worked for certain things – like gout and blindness – but not something like this. Not something that is certainly, somehow, something you deserve.
But your friends insist. It takes them a while, but they finally convince you to let them bring you to the healer. They lift you up from the four corners of your mat and carry you to the house where he lives. But you’re too late. The house is packed, the doors and windows blocked by a crowd of people pushing to get in. There’s no way your friends are going to get you through that throng and close enough to the healer. You tell them to give up and go home.
But they won’t hear of it. You’re appalled as they climb onto the roof and into the second-story window. You wait on the ground, wondering what they’re up to. Then they bring ropes and haul you up and into the house. You tell them to stop, this is crazy. And then you see they’ve destroyed the floor of the bedchamber. You’re horrified, and terrified, especially once they start lowering you through the floor. You close your eyes, not wanting to see the crowd staring up at you, not wanting to face the anger of the healer whose house has been destroyed.
The crowd grows silent, and you slowly open your eyes and look up at the healer, wishing you could just disappear and melt into the floor. You wait for him to yell at you, demand someone get you away from him. Instead, he looks at you with a love and compassion you have never seen in your whole life. And he says, “Child, your sins are forgiven.” And you realize that is all you’ve ever needed to know. Life has been hard since the accident, practically and physically challenging. But the worst thing has been the guilt and shame you have carried all this time. And now it’s gone. When he tells you to pick up your mat and walk, you don’t question for a moment if it’s possible. As feeling begins to trickle into your fingers and toes, you know it is the power of love flowing through you, and that your body is naturally adjusting to the state of your soul. You pick up your mat and walk past the gaping mouths of the crowds and religious authorities who have pronounced judgement on you for years. Your friends climb down from the roof, hugging you and celebrating. You thank them for supporting you and bringing you to the healer. And you tell them you will all come back tomorrow to fix the floor they destroyed.
I invite you to wonder…
What in your life makes you feel unworthy of love and healing?
Who are the people in your life who will love and care for you no matter what?
This story invites us to explore different perspectives that raise different questions. As you open your eyes, if you’ve had them closed, I’m just going to review the questions we’ve raised today:
What role does spiritual wholeness play in physical wholeness?
How can we, as individuals and as a church, be agents of healing in both body and spirit?
When has your cynicism become a barrier to healing and hope?
When have you felt afraid or suspicious of something new and different, even if it seems good or helpful?
What in your life makes you feel unworthy of love and healing?
Who are the people in your life who will love and care for you no matter what?
May these questions continue to arise for us in the days ahead, inviting us into deeper relationship with God and one another. Amen.
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