May 13, 2007
This morning we take a break from post-resurrection appearances and promises of the coming of the Holy Spirit for a healing story. Now as we know, these healing stories are not uncommon in the gospels. One of the things we can be sure of about Jesus is that he was a healer. We could can talk over how we define what that means, but there’s not much to dispute about healing being one of Jesus’ gifts, and one of the things that marked him as particularly touched by God.
I don’t know about you, but I have a somewhat. . . complicated relationship with the healing stories. It’s not that I don’t like them; mostly I do. It’s not that I don’t think they happened as described in the gospels; mostly I think they did. I guess where I get hung up a bit is on whether, and under what circumstances, if any, these kinds of healings would happen now, rather than when Jesus of Nazareth walked the earth. Maybe I’m just suspicious of those “faith-healing” ministries, which are invariably evangelical or fundamentalist, and theologically in a very different place than I am. So I hear these stories of how Jesus healed various people with various ailments, and I like what they tell me about Jesus. I like how they can make us think . . . but that’s where I run out of clarity.
So, the gospel. This morning we hear a fairly short, fairly typical healing story, from the gospel of John. It’s pretty much straightforward: The setting is a pool by one of the gates of the city of Jerusalem. The players are what the gospel calls ‘invalids’ – those who were lame, or paralyzed; those who, because of their physical status, were outside of the life of the community in some way. One person, we’re told, had been ill for thirty eight-years. The plot of this particular story is simple, as most of them tend to be. In this one, Jesus is in Jerusalem, and for whatever reason, he is there at that particular pool. As he looks at the gathered people, Jesus knew that this man had been there for a long time. We’re not told how Jesus knew this, just that he did. Jesus knew, as he surveyed those with physical limitations, that this one particular person needed something. All of those who were there at that pool presumably wanted healing of some kind; that’s why they were there, in theory at least. There was a legend, or tradition, about that pool, which was that an angel of the Lord would sometimes stir up the water in the pool. The understanding was that the first one into the water after it was stirred up would be cured of their ailment. So people who were considered invalids for whatever reason would gather by this pool and others like it, in hopes of healing.
So Jesus saw this one man whom he somehow knew had been there a long time, lying near this pool. And Jesus speaks to him, asks him a question: ‘Do you want to be made well?’ Now there’s an interesting question. Is healing what this person really wants, Jesus wants to know. Is healing something he’s committed to? Or is he just here because it’s a place to be, a place where he feels comfortable, a place where not much is expected of him? The response this man makes to Jesus is very interesting. He says, ‘Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up.’ Okay, that may make some sense. He’s paralyzed, can’t walk, would find it hard to get himself into the pool, and for whatever reason, he has no one to help him. That’s the first part of his reply to Jesus’ question. The second part is that, even if he can make it, he can’t keep up with the others around him: ‘While I am making my way, someone else steps down ahead of me,’ is what he says. Here’s what I find so interesting about this response: he never answers Jesus’ question. Do you want to be made well? Sounds like a yes or no question to me. Yes, I want to be made well. No, I can live with my situation the way it is. I suppose there could be another answer, the ‘I’m not sure, I don’t know,’ that kind of thing. But the man doesn’t answer the question. He offers excuses to why he has been there for thirty-eight years. He has no one to put him in the pool; he’s not quick enough so others get there before him. Maybe his answer is yes, he wants to be made well. But he doesn’t say that, and what he does say leads me to think that at best his answer is, ‘Yes, but.’ Yes I do want to be made well, but I can’t be. Yes I do want healing, but it isn’t going to happen. Yes I do want to stand up and walk, but thirty-eight years later here I still am. One biblical commentator suggests that the thirty-eight years implies that this man’s situation is hopeless. That is, he may or may not have been in this condition for that long, but we are to know that nothing has worked, and nothing is going to. In that case it would also make sense that he responds to Jesus’ question the way that he does. Perhaps he wants to be made well, but he doesn’t believe he can be. We can’t know for sure, of course. What we know is that he doesn’t really give Jesus an answer, instead offering something between an explanation and an excuse. Very interesting.
His answer is especially when we contrast it with the healing story of another person whom Jesus encounters, a man by the name of Bartimaeus. Bartimaeus, who is blind, wants an audience with Jesus, and one day while Jesus is passing by where he is sitting, Bartimaeus gets this audience. Primarily by being loud. When he does get to stand before Jesus, Jesus asks him a question: what do you want me to do for you? Not unlike this question in this story, do you want to be made well? But unlike the man in today’s story, Bartimaeus is clear and unequivocal in his response: I want to see again, he tells Jesus. He stands before Jesus and says clearly what he wants, what he needs from Jesus, unlike the one in today’s story. There’s no “yes, but. . .” from Baritmaeus. He knows what he wants, he’s asked, he tells, all very clearly. But here’s the thing: despite the differences in their responses to Jesus, still, both of them are healed. Bartimaues receives his sight. The unnamed man in today’s story is told by Jesus to take up his mat and walk, and he is made well. Even without his complete commitment, he is healed by Jesus. Just like Bartimaeus is in the story from Mark’s gospel.
I’m still thinking about what this might mean. And I don’t know that I’ve come up with much yet. Clearly, we have some role in our own healing. In many of the gospel stories, Jesus tells those who come to him to be healed, ‘your faith has made you well.’ But only in some stories, not in all of them. In the Baritmaeus story, he stands before Jesus and states what we hopes, wants from Jesus, and receives his sight; in today’s gospel, the man isn’t as clear that healing is what he wants – yet he too is healed. It’s fascinating, really. Think about it: this man does not know who Jesus is. He doesn’t reach out to Jesus; Jesus reaches out to him. He doesn’t ask anything of Jesus, he never asks for healing: Jesus offers it. He doesn’t respond in faith – no ‘your faith has made you well’ in this story. As I reflect on it, I keep coming back to this: Jesus sees this person, sees a need, and acts on it. And maybe that’s the point of this story.
Jesus knows what it is we want, what it is we need. Jesus can even know when we can’t articulate those needs. And sometimes, we can be given something, some kind of healing, because Jesus knows that we are ready for things to be different. Maybe the man in today’s gospel story really was ready for his life to be different. Maybe thirty-eight years of being so physically challenged had taken away his hope, and he no longer thought healing was possible. Maybe Jesus knew that, and offered him what he wanted deep down but could no longer commit to. Jesus knew what he needed, and offered it to him. And Jesus does the same for us: starts by asking us this question, do you want to be made well? Maybe what matters for our reflection this morning is how we answer this question. How it is you and I may say ‘yes, but. . . ‘ to Jesus instead of yes.
I think we say ‘yes, but. . .’ to Jesus whenever we stop thinking that our healing is possible. Not curing, but healing: the offer of God’s love to bring us into wholeness, that’s the healing that Jesus offers. When we think our own pain or sickness of whatever type is somehow beyond God’s reach, we say ‘yes, but. . .’ to Jesus. Whenever we aren’t willing to engage Jesus, I think we might be saying ‘yes, but. . .’ to Jesus. Think about it: the man never asks for healing, but he does engage Jesus when Jesus approaches him. He does accept what Jesus is offering. Are there ways that you or I may not even be willing to engage Jesus? That’s what we may need to think about. I think we may say ‘yes, but. . .’ to Jesus when we are unwilling to approach God with an open heart, with a willingness to be changed, or healed. As one of the books we were reading in the adult confirmation class put it, ‘whenever I’m at the grocery store and all of the people look ugly, I know I need to open my heart again.’ What are the times and circumstances and ways that our hearts are closed and need to be opened?
These are some of the questions I think this story raises, questions that we are invited to engage and reflect upon, as we think about what it means to be healed, and what Jesus offers us. What we need to remember, this Eastertide and always, is that the healing gifts of Jesus Christ are always there. If we can’t ask for it, Jesus will even approach us. We just have to be willing to engage, and open our hearts to the one who is always openhearted to us.
Amen.