Miracles: Getting Out of the Way Sept. 28, 2019
John 5: 1-19
It’s great to see you all here this morning. Thanks for taking this time to give God space to do His work in you. I’m a firm believer that no one is here by accident, that God calls each of us into this holy space to meet us, and in so doing, to change our lives. And I’m praying God will do just that! ---We’re currently in the midst of a sermon series on some of the select miracle stories of the Bible, and we’ve been looking at these stories with an eye towards developing a faith that believes God can do anything. But there are times, however, that God waits to release the miracle until we release some things to God. If you have your Bibles…
A few years ago, I was watching a powerful scene unfold at our church camp. I don’t remember the preacher or the topic, but I remember the atmosphere. God’s Spirit was moving in particularly powerful way and young and old were making their way to the altar to spend some prayerful moments with God. As I was worshipping and praying, I noticed a young man get up and slowly walk down, so I got up and followed him. Earlier that day, this young man had pulled me aside and shared with me his story, a story filled with hurt and pain, mostly due to his litany of poor decisions and mistakes. As we wrapped up the conversation, he asked if I’d go down to the altar and pray with him, if, indeed he felt a tug to go. So when I saw him take those first steps, I followed. After a few quiet moments, I asked him how I could pray. He simply shook his head in frustration and said, “I just need God to do something different in my life.”
I have a feeling most of us can resonate with that young man’s plea. We all have something in our lives that we wish could be different- an illness that scares us, a struggling marriage hanging on by a thread, a worry that keeps us up at night, a decision we regret. And maybe that’s why you’re here today. You feel stuck and need a way out. You’ve heard the stories of God’s healing and power and hope that maybe you’ll be the next to experience it. And if that’s the case, you’re in good company. Jesus expects this. When he was questioned about hanging out with all the wrong people, Jesus said, “Listen, it’s not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.” I love the way Eugene Peterson phrases it in the Message: “Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? I’m here inviting outsiders, not insiders—an invitation to a changed life, changed inside and out.” We’ve been invited by Jesus to experience a changed life, to move beyond our sickness and our stuck-ness, and to plant our feet firmly on the path of victory. So if this is what Jesus wants to give, and if this is what we want, why don’t we see more miracles today?
Well, that’s not quite the question at the heart of today’s story, but it’s there, no doubt about it. The pool at Bethesda was purported to be a place of healing, a place where people would come to find hope and new life. Sort of like church. People would come from near and far to dip their toes in the water, hoping to find what they were looking for. Such was the story of the man in the Gospel of John, a man who is said to have been ill. Some 38 years before this moment, he came to the edge of this pool, looking to be made well again. But 38 years later, he was still waiting. And that’s a detail we’re meant to see.
Thirty-eight years is a long time to wait for a prayer to be answered, but it’s not necessarily out of the ordinary. Some of us have waited much, much longer for answers to come, and in some cases, some of us are still waiting, hoping that God will someday rewrite our stories. I’ve heard it said that God answers prayer in 3 ways: Yes, No and Not yet. It’s the “no” answer that usually troubles us, but we can take comfort in the fact that when God answers “no” to our prayer, His “no” is better than our “yes,” even if we can’t see it. Sometimes God just has better dreams and plans for us.
A decade before that church camp encounter with my young friend, I stood at the same altar with my family, surrounding my dad, who was fighting cancer. It was a beautiful and holy moment. We felt God’s Spirit moving that night, so we gathered around dad, we anointed him and laid hands on him and prayed profusely that God would kill the cancer and save him. But in the long run, God’s answer was “no.” In my heart of hearts, I know that the glory of heaven far outweighs the good in this world, and God’s eternal plan is better than our present experiences. God’s “no” to our prayers can be painful, but sometimes God just has different plan for us. And by faith, we can lean into promises and find rest for our weary souls. But in this Gospel story, Jesus lets us in on a secret: sometimes it’s not God standing in the way of the miracle; sometimes it’s us.
As Jesus looks at the man, he seems to know his story. We’re told that Jesus knew he had been there a long time, waiting. Maybe the man had a reputation that preceded him, sort of like the person you hope to avoid every time you go in to work. Every time you see that person, you hear the same story, the same reasons, the same problems, but you never see any evidence of progress. You never see anything different. And that’s what I think is happening as Jesus begins to walk toward the man and asks a question that feels as compassionate as dousing someone with ice water on a frigid day: Do you want to get well?
On the surface, Jesus’ question seems to smack of arrogance, like a know-it-all jerk who is out of line and can’t see the plight in front of him. Except this is Jesus we’re talking about, the one who came to set us free, the one who knows our stories and our hearts better than any of us. And what Jesus does best (even if it feels a bit like sandpaper) is to shine light in dark places, revealing those realities that keep us from experiencing God’s best. So with this question, Do you want to get well? Jesus invites the sick man to wrestle with his reality and to acknowledge some sobering truths. And chief among those truths was this: Somewhere along the way, he stopped trying to get into the pool; somewhere along the way he stopped moving forward; and somewhere along the way he let his dream die. “Those people, Jesus. It’s their fault I can’t get into the pool. Every time I try, someone cuts in line. Every time I even think about trying, there’s no one to help me. And that’s how he’d been living for 38 years, at the edge of the pool, but no further.
I don’t know why the man by the pool stopped counting on a miracle. Maybe after 38 years he just got tired, so tired of trying to get into the water that he could no longer picture a different way of life. Maybe he watched others go before him and somehow became convinced that he wasn’t good enough, that he wasn’t worthy enough, that God doesn’t do miracles for people like him. Or maybe he had just become too comfortable with life as it was and settling for what he knew was far less risky than jumping into the unknown. But whatever the case, and whatever was in the man’s heart, Jesus cut through all the reasons and simply tells him, “Take up your mat and walk.”
With this miracle, there are no profound prayers, no feats of great achievement, no moments that make you go “wow;” just a simple invitation to leave the old way and pursue the new. Take up your mat- and the 38 years of doubt, excuses, and sin that mat represents-and walk toward the new life that God is waiting to give. A few years ago, while I was watching A Charlie Brown Christmas, I noticed something I had never seen before. After giving his passionate retelling of the Christmas story, Linus – the character who is always holding on tightly to his blanket, drops the very item that has brought him so much security and comfort and walks off stage. It’s the only time I can remember seeing Linus without his blanket, and it happens as he remembers Jesus. He doesn’t need that blanket anymore. He doesn’t need that old life anymore. So he drops it and walks forward in hope.
We hold on to a lot of things, friends, that block the blessing of God in our lives. And if we want God to do something different in us, we need to have the courage to let go. We need to let go of the excuses and the grudges. We need to let go of doubt and unbelief and shame. We need to let go of resentment and resignation. We have to let go of poor choices and past decisions and old identities tainted by sin, fear, and pain. And when we let go, we have to accept Jesus’ invitation to walk in a new way. My invitation to you is simply this: Come and experience the healing and abundant hand of God. Jesus wants nothing less than to give you abundant life- life full of his victory, his joy and his peace. So let go of whatever it is that holds you back and “take up your mat” and walk. And along the way, you’ll find that God will give you the grace and confidence and means to live a different kind of life. Amen.
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