The Paralytic

It wasn’t my idea. My brother in law, Reuben, first suggested it. He meant well, I knew that, but I knew how his mind was working. It wasn’t easy for them, having a paralytic in the family. I couldn’t work or help out in any way. I was just a drain on the family purse, a useless mouth to feed. And then there were the whispers, all those who were sure they knew the reason that God had allowed me to suffer this way. What hidden family shame had brought this about? I’d learnt to pretend that none of that mattered to me, to brush it off, yet inside I couldn’t help asking the same thing. Why does God despise me so much to make me this way? So I was happy to hide away in the shadows, away from the judging eyes of others even if I couldn’t hide from my own self doubt.

I was full of dread, then, when Reuben said he could take me to see Jesus. I had heard the rumours of course; not even I could avoid talk of the miracles they said he was doing. The blind seeing, lepers healed, madmen made sane, incredible stuff. Reuben said they could take me, he and his friends, and maybe Jesus could make me walk. The last thing I wanted was to be paraded in front of the crowd but the thing about being a paralytic is that you don’t really get much say. They just picked up the mat I was lying on and set off carrying me through the town.

It must have been quite a sight, but I needn’t have worried. There was hardly anyone around, at first anyway, and those that were did not bother with me. They, like us, were all heading one way. When we started to get close to the place where Jesus was, the crowds became packed. Progress was difficult. Reuben and his friends pushed and shoved and elbowed their way forward, and I just sat there, a useless lump.

As we arrived at the house, it was clear we had no chance of getting in to see the man. There were just too many people, they had no hope of even getting me through the front door. I have to admit I was quite relieved at that point. Seeing these masses, crushing in, I really didn’t fancy all these eyes on me, placed in front of him as a challenge to his supposed powers. And how would I feel at his failure, even more rejected and despised than before. So I told them to give it up, but they had not struggled this far through these teeming throngs to give up so easily.

Elijah, Reuben’s brother, suggested going up onto the roof. I thought he was crazy, but the other agreed. We must have looked ridiculous; how many times did I nearly come off the mat as they manhandled it up the steps on the side of the building? Some people from the crowd began to laugh at our comical efforts, but somehow they managed it.

They set me down on the flat roof and I just looked up at them with a “what now?” expression on my face. That was when they started to dig. I couldn’t believe how determined they were. I was just glad I wasn’t in the room below. Angry shouts came up as chunks on ceiling began falling onto the packed crowd below.

Leaning over I could peer through the growing hole and saw the people shifting away from the middle of the room where the debris was falling. Suddenly my mat was lifted up and they began to lower me through the gap, slowly, awkwardly, with the odd curse and complaint in the process. For a moment I was left dangling, as they held me at full stretch, then they just let go and I thumped down onto the floor, landing painfully on some of the fallen rubble.

At first I could see nothing. In the contrast between the bright sunlight and this shaded room, my eyes took a few moments to adapt. The crowd had retreated, leaving me, lying in the centre, lit up by the sunlight pouring in through the new hole in the ceiling. And standing right in front of me was Jesus. There was no doubt it was him. Everyone was looking at me, but his gaze was different from theirs. His eyes were not quizzical or pitying, but like a host welcoming a guest. And there was the broadest grin on his face, like the whole spectacle had amused him greatly. I should have felt awkward being stared at by so many people, but I didn’t. It seemed like it was just me and him. But it was his words that stunned me.

“Son,” he said, “your sins are forgiven.”

Just that, a statement of fact, simple and with no shadow of doubt, and it spoke to the deepest part of my heart. It told me that God did not despise me or reject me, but that I was made right with him. And I realised that in that one sentence he had given me everything I was searching for. I didn’t care about walking. I didn’t care about spending the rest of my life sitting on this mat. I was just so full of joy that all my fears were wrong. I mattered to God. That was all I needed. Reuben might feel disappointed, but I was not. I tried to say thank you, but my mouth was so dry it came out as just a hoarse whisper.

The muttering to my left broke me out of this precious moment. I noticed a group of priests, looking shocked and affronted. I couldn’t work out why, but clearly Jesus knew. He turned to look at them, not cowed by their religious superiority, but confident, the grin still on his face.

“What’s your problem?” he said to them. “Oh I forgot, it is impossible for a man to forgive sins; only God can do that. Just like only God could make this man get up and walk.” Slowly he shook his head, like a father disappointed at his child’s behaviour. “Ok,” he continued, “just so you know.” And he turned back to me.

“Go on,” he said kindly, reaching out his hand to me. “Get up and walk home.” I don’t remember thinking about it. I had never stood before, but I don’t recall thinking about how to do it. I just took his hand and stood up. It seemed like the most natural thing to do, but a gasp went round the whole room. He steadied me with a gentle hand on my arm. “Don’t forget your mat,” he chuckled. Then he turned back to the teachers and declared fiercely, “Now you know the authority with which I speak!”

At that a huge cheer went up. People were shouting and praising God. They pushed back in, patting me on the back, sweeping me out of the room. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay with Jesus, but the crowd carried me out into the sunshine on my slightly unsteady legs.

The Samaritan Woman

I noticed him straight away. As the well came into sight, round the curve of the path, he was there, alone, sitting on the stone wall.

It was another baking hot day. I hated the daily chore of collecting water from the well; the dusty trudge out, the effort of hauling the overflowing bucket up from the depths and the struggle, carrying the full stone pot back to the village. And all on my own at the hottest part of the day, a stupid time for such a hard task, but so much better than suffering those knowing looks from the other women. I hated it all, but like so much, like my life, that was just how things were, just what had to be endured.

Close up I could see he looked weary. His clothes, hair and feet were dusty, the marks of a traveller who'd been on the road all day, maybe longer. I lifted the bucket and threw it down the hole. After a moment there was a splash from deep below. I began to pull the heavy load back up. The rough rope was harsh against my hands. Sweat soaked my brow.

As expected he didn't offer to help. This was women's work and, anyway, decent men don't talk to strange women, to any women really. So it surprised me when he spoke, just as I pulled the overflowing bucket over the lip of the well and set it down on the baked earth.

“Will you give me a drink of water?” he asked. His accent gave him away immediately, a northerner from Galilee; and so a Jew, talking to me a Samaritan women, too many taboos broken in one sentence. I'm not naïve. I have lived life. A man, so obviously breaking the rules, probably has more rule breaking in mind. I supposed I should have been shocked, rejected this advance, but I was certainly no angel and life was drab enough. So I dipped a toe in the water, so to speak.

“Sir, how come you are asking me, a Samaritan woman, whom you Jews look down on so intently, for a drink?” My tone was knowing, showing him I understood the subtext, understood what he was after. So his reply caught me completely off guard.

“If you knew who I am you would ask me for the water of life.”

To be honest I was slightly annoyed. He had just watched me drag the bucket up from the well without raising a finger to help and now he was saying he could give me water.

“Water from where?” I replied. “This well is the only source of water around here, dug by Jacob our ancestor. You haven't even got a bucket? What are you going to do, magic some up?”

He pointed at my bucket. “That water will only quench your thirst for a while,” he said, “then you'll need more. But the water I can give will satisfy the thirst that you have deep down inside of you, satisfy it now and forever, like a fountain.”

Something about what he said made me uneasy, so I tried to laugh it off. “Yeah, right, I'll have some of that if it means I wouldn't have to come out here every day. That would make my life so much better!”

“It is not about making your life better,” he answered. “It is about starting a new life. Go, get your husband.”

The lie came so easily, because it wasn't really a lie. If he knew I was living with someone, married or not, it would probably scare him off, and there was something inside me that did not want this conversation to end. “I'm not married,” I said.

He paused, looking at me intently, eye to eye. Yet the looking was not unnerving but warm, open, accepting. As he spoke again his eyes seemed to sparkle, but the words he said stunned me. “So true. You're sleeping with a man you are not married to and it is not what you really want. You know it will fail, just like those five other relationships you've had.” It felt like I had been punched; not because of the tone of his words. There was nothing harsh or judgemental in the way he said it, just matter of fact. But how could he know?

I try to hide my shame at my past, my failed relationships, even from myself, but just at that moment it gushed up, like blood from an open wound. I was floundering, completely off guard. I mumbled out some stuff about religious differences between Jews and Samaritans to try to change the subject. But he wasn't having it.

“None of that is important,” he answered kindly. “You don't find God in temples. The time is coming when people will see the truth, that you can know God and worship him in your spirit, in your heart, in every moment of your life.” And, at that moment, I knew there was nothing I wanted more in the world.

“I know that God will send a special one to teach us all of this. I can't wait to hear it,” I replied with longing in my voice.

“You don't need to wait,” he answered easily. “I am here.”

I had no doubt he spoke the truth, but just then we were disturbed by a crowd of people arriving at the well. They called out to the man as they drew close, clearly his friends, but I was not ready to give him up to them yet.

“Don't go anywhere,” I told him firmly, “I will be back. I have to get some people. I'll be back as soon as I can.” He smiled warmly and nodded, as I leapt to my feet. I noticed the strange looks his friends gave me as I ran past them in the direction of the village, but I didn't care one bit.