There was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now there is in Jerusalem at the Sheep Gate a pool called in Hebrew Bethesda, with five porticoes. In these lay a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been ill for a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be well?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me.” Jesus said to him, “Rise, take up your mat, and walk.” Immediately the man became well, took up his mat, and walked.
Now that day was a sabbath. So the Jews said to the man who was cured, “It is the sabbath, and it is not lawful for you to carry your mat.” He answered them, “The man who made me well told me, ‘Take up your mat and walk.'” They asked him, “Who is the man who told you, ‘Take it up and walk’?” The man who was healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had slipped away, since there was a crowd there. After this Jesus found him in the temple area and said to him, “Look, you are well; do not sin any more, so that nothing worse may happen to you.” The man went and told the Jews that Jesus was the one who had made him well. Therefore, the Jews began to persecute Jesus because he did this on a sabbath.
The Gospel of the Lord.
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I’m sure we’ve all been like this man who was healed by Jesus.
Notice he does nothing to receive this grace; for thirty-eight years, he was actively trying to heal himself by diving into the waters at Bethesda.
Much like the spring at Lourdes, Jews believed that the first person to reach those waters when stirred would be healed of their sickness. But Lady Luck was never this man’s friend.
Suddenly, Jesus shows up and does for him what he cannot do for himself.
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Many miracles in the Gospels end at that point – when a person is healed. Think of the man who had a legion of demons cast out of him. He wanted to follow the Lord, but Jesus told him to go home and love his family.
So, we never hear of him again.
This miracle, however, is different.
John tells us that, after the man was healed, Jesus finds him in the Temple area. I’m sure he used those fresh legs of his to walk – or likely run – to offer sacrifice in thanksgiving to God. How that scene must’ve consoled the heart of Christ!
We know that’s one thing that matters to Jesus: gratitude.
Like the man who could not help himself, often we find ourselves in places or positions that we cannot work our way out of. So, we pray for strength, healing, or an open door, and it’s granted.
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When has Jesus come to your aid or answered a prayer near and dear to your heart?
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Two simple words always console him:
Thank you.
May they fall from our lips and reach his heart today.
At that time Jesus left [Samaria] for Galilee. For Jesus himself testified that a prophet has no honor in his native place. When he came into Galilee, the Galileans welcomed him, since they had seen all he had done in Jerusalem at the feast; for they themselves had gone to the feast.
Then he returned to Cana in Galilee, where he had made the water wine. Now there was a royal official whose son was ill in Capernaum. When he heard that Jesus had arrived in Galilee from Judea, he went to him and asked him to come down and heal his son, who was near death. Jesus said to him, “Unless you people see signs and wonders, you will not believe.” The royal official said to him, “Sir, come down before my child dies.” Jesus said to him, “You may go; your son will live.” The man believed what Jesus said to him and left. While the man was on his way back, his slaves met him and told him that his boy would live. He asked them when he began to recover. They told him, “The fever left him yesterday, about one in the afternoon.” The father realized that just at that time Jesus had said to him, “Your son will live,” and he and his whole household came to believe. Now this was the second sign Jesus did when he came to Galilee from Judea.
The Gospel of the Lord.
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It’s been said the deepest pain a human can experience is the death of a child.
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In today’s Gospel, a desperate father approaches Jesus, begging him to heal his son. Adding to the anguish of the story, this man has traveled from Capernaum to Cana in search of the Lord, a wrenching 20-mile journey.
Imagine walking that distance, knowing your child is deathly ill at home.
Upon finding Jesus, this father begs him for a miracle. So, the Lord tells him plainly, “You may go; your son will live.” This father believes what is spoken and begins his journey home – a journey filled with faith and hope.
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That 20-mile return – some 40,000 steps – serves as a beautiful image of the Christian life.
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Our Christian journey begins at baptism, when we first encounter Christ. That divine encounter is meant to forever change our perspective on life, as Jesus assures us, “Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved.”
The rest of our days are meant to be like that father walking home. The anxiety and fear he once experienced looking for Christ have been replaced by the gifts of the Spirit.
We see the fruit of his encounter with Christ, as his son is not only brought back to life physically, but the entire household also comes to believe in the Lord.
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How is my own journey of faith going? Am I like that father anxiously searching for Christ? Or have I had an encounter with God that has forever changed my perspective?
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May the Lord stir up the waters of baptism within us, guiding our feet into the way of peace.
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Image credits: (1) The Christian Journey (2) Ars Technica (3) Reasoned Cases for Christ
Tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to listen to Jesus, but the Pharisees and scribes began to complain, saying, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So to them Jesus addressed this parable: “A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, ‘Father give me the share of your estate that should come to me.’ So the father divided the property between them. After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation. When he had freely spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he found himself in dire need. So he hired himself out to one of the local citizens who sent him to his farm to tend the swine. And he longed to eat his fill of the pods on which the swine fed, but nobody gave him any. Coming to his senses he thought, ‘How many of my father’s hired workers have more than enough food to eat, but here am I, dying from hunger. I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers.”’ So he got up and went back to his father. While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him. His son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son.’ But his father ordered his servants, ‘Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.’ Then the celebration began. Now the older son had been out in the field and, on his way back, as he neared the house, he heard the sound of music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what this might mean. The servant said to him, ‘Your brother has returned and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’ He became angry, and when he refused to enter the house, his father came out and pleaded with him. He said to his father in reply, ‘Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.’ He said to him, ‘My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.'”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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This is one of Jesus’ most famous parables. The danger of being overfamiliar with it is that it can become like salt that’s lost its taste, which begs the question: is it possible for us to see this story in a new way?
Consider it through the eyes of someone else.
Rembrandt’s Return of the Prodigal Son is one of the most stirring paintings in Christian art. It captures the moment the prodigal son returns home – filthy, broken, humbled, and now, grateful.
Perhaps Rembrandt can offer us a different perspective on this familiar story.
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In the painting, the prodigal son’s shaven head robs him of his individuality, making him an anonymous soul. Anyone who’s searched for unconditional love where it cannot be found has been in his shoes.
His mustard undergarments barely cover his emaciated body. The muddy soles of his feet reveal a long, humiliating journey home.
He’s lost everything. His sole possession is his sword – barely visible – the only remaining sign of his nobility and dignity.
The fact that he’s returned home with it secured to his waist reveals that, even in his darkest hour, this son remembered who he was, and whose he was. Home, he rests his weary head against his father’s beating heart.
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The father’s left hand is slightly larger than his right.
His left hand is strong and muscular, reminding his son of the power he also bears within himself, enabling him to overcome the sins of his past and move on with his life.
The father’s right hand is soft and tender, exuding compassion and understanding. It’s slight like the hand of a mother soothing a broken child, reminding us that God’s love is also maternal.
The father’s large red cloak envelops his son, whose face looks like a baby still forming in his mother’s womb, reminding us of the prodigal son’s youth; his conscience is still forming.
As God says through the prophet Isaiah, “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will never forget you.”
The father’s eyes are closed, giving the impression that he’s blind to his son’s past, his sins washed away in love.
Such is the case whenever we return from our wanderings; our Father sees not our past, but our future.
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Yet, I’ve found both personally and in ministry, that one of the great challenges in the spiritual life is to truly experience God’s forgiveness in our hearts. Although we hear the words, “I absolve you,” how often do we still carry our guilt beyond the confessional?
Past memories can feel like an invisible scarlet letter, which never really leaves. Only when we accept God’s unconditional love in our very core can we leave our past behind.
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Still, the hardest conversion to go through is that of the older brother, who never left, but may have wondered about life over the hills without actually wandering.
Unlike his rebellious younger brother, he’s driven by duty.
“All these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders,” he says to his father. “But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf?”
In his fury, the angry older brother cannot grasp the truth that love is not earned; it’s freely given. “My son,” his father says, “you are here with me always. Everything I have is yours.”
So, it is with us. God’s love for us is never earned; it’s freely given. Even when we wander beyond the hills, God leaves his lantern lit, hanging it in the window.
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The only “problem” with this story is that Christ leaves it unfinished.
We don’t know whether the son amended his life or ran off again. Did he become a father himself, tilling the same land, seeking to instill the wisdom he gained from his experience into his own children?
Was he reconciled with his older brother? Did his brother ever rid himself of his bitterness and judgment?
The fact that these questions remain unanswered leaves the story perpetually in the present.
So, which of these three characters do I identify with the most?
Am I the prodigal son who’s discovered the emptiness of life beyond the hills? Have I sought unconditional love where it cannot be found?
Am I the dutiful older brother? Do I feel like God’s love must be earned?
Am I the father, who loves freely, and longs for reconciliation?
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Rembrandt must’ve captured himself in this painting, perhaps at different stages of his life.
But this Lent, may we all strive to live like our Father, whose love is prodigal – freely given and without condition or limit.
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Image credits: (1) Rembrandt, Return of the Prodigal Son (2) Ibid. (3) Ibid.
