And the power of the Lord was present for him to heal the sick. Luke 5:17b (NIV)
I love Luke’s stories about Jesus the healer. Early in his public life, Jesus becomes known for his ability and willingness to mend broken bodies, send demons packing, heal lurid diseases. He also develops a knack for divine drama—giving the gift of wellbeing at a time, or to a person, or in a setting that raises questions and eyebrows, and occasionally fists.
In Luke chapter 5 the cast of players assembles for some divine drama, the miraculous equivalent of a perfect storm.
Jesus is in the house. And Luke makes it clear: the power of the Lord to heal the sick was present.
A crowd of notable church people (aka Pharisees and teachers of the law) sit close, the better to hear him. Outside, “some men” (they have no special identity) carry a paralyzed guy—relation, friend, who knows—to the gathering. But their plan to lay him before Jesus is thwarted by the church people who do not make way. This is a metaphor worth examination, but we will press on.
Here’s where the narrative grabs me by the heart. If a character in a story has no name, it’s easy to give them mine. Suddenly, I am the paralyzed person on the mat. I need to get close to Jesus, I need healing. I see the crowd sitting there, not moving, not getting up, not letting anyone else come in. I am left out. I do not belong.
My anxiety rises. But the persistence and problem-solving (hope) of those who carry me rises higher. Who needs the door when there’s a roof? The group carrying the mat find a way. Another rich turn in the story… But, again we forge on.
Voices inside pause. What is that sound? Heads tilt back. Grit falls. Someone coughs, another sneezes. Sunlight beams into the interior. The sudden brightness illuminates motes of dust, is blotted out by the mat, and then, like a spotlight, briefly blinds those closest to Jesus. The mat is lowered. The crowd makes space!
The paralyzed person, carried by friends and dropped through a roof, is seen.
And Jesus says to the person (you, me) Friend.
Let’s pause here. Take a deep breath. Hold it as you center yourself in the moment. Exhale. Take another breath as you allow the wellbeing that surrounds you to register. Exhale with gratitude. Now, with a clear sense that you are seen, and treasured, and that your daily bread is provided, consider the most basic human fear.
Not able to decide if it’s public speaking, a root canal, or death? Think of the ultimate punishment for those already enduring a punitive sentence: solitary confinement. The last, most precious thing we can take from someone is human interaction: to be seen, known, recognized as wholey themselves. We are created for connection and belonging, not isolation and invisibility.
If we’re honest, the dread of rejection, abandonment, and exclusion paralyzes us. When we excavate the cause or motivation for our most selfish choices (conscious or unconscious) we find the dread of disconnection, of unbelonging.
Certain that we are not enough just as we are, we contrive unhealthy strategies (that we dress up as justifiable, or socially acceptable). In efforts to make ourselves more acceptable, more secure, more likely to stay connected we construct fresh forms of confinement: competition and comparison, people pleasing, rules for inclusion and exclusion, perfectionism, or emotional extremism that renders us inflexible and calloused, or perennially fragile.
When sucked into the primal fear of unbelonging—being left out, excluded, disowned—we become sick in every sense of the word.
But wait.
Jesus is in the house. Right here. Right now. He looks at all those paralyzed by sickness—of the body and the soul—and says Friend. For me, the story could end right here.
But with Jesus there is more divine drama: Your sins are forgiven, he says.
The holy you-know-what hits the church-people fan. Their judge-y thoughts are so loud that Jesus hears them. Healing is fine, mostly. But forgiveness?! Forgiveness!! Only God forgives. Perfect storm.
Which is easier: to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Get up and walk’? Luke’s account makes it clear that Jesus does not confuse forgiveness with healing; he conflates the two. Healing is forgiveness. Forgiveness is healing. Extend one and you extend the other.
Read this way, the subtext for Jesus’ words is:
Friend, I see you. The gift of wellbeing is yours. Instead of being paralyzed by the fear of abandonment and disconnection (sin), instead of being pressed down by the burden of unbelonging, Get up! Walk. Jump. Dance.
Because you belong.
Rebecca Waring-Crane loves her life as artist, full-time graduate student at CSUSB, and daily companion of Ken Crane. She is grateful for rain, avocados, sound sleep, good books, curiosity, kindness, long walks, and the color turquoise.