(Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash)
What were you going to do, run away?
Your friends were bound and determined
to carry you to the itinerant preacher;
Never mind the time they had to take off work
or the crowded traffic of Capernaum
or that there really wasn’t space for them.
No, they were going to get you to Him
if they had to carry you the whole way
drag you up onto a roof
and dismantle someone else’s house.
And then, there you were: all eyes
on you, the interruption.
But He didn’t leave you hanging,
an impersonal prop in an object lesson,
a convenient sermon illustration.
He didn’t ask if you believed,
if you wanted to be healed,
to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,
so help you God.
He looked at your friends with that
twinkling light of an acknowledging smile
rising in His dark eyes
and nodded, like He had heard their desperate prayers,
and labored breathing,
and swallowed curses as they wrestled
your unresponsive body to Him
like He knew their hearts.
Then He looked at you
and the world shattered, was reassembled,
like a broken bone or severed spinal cord
by a skillful surgeon who made each cell fit
by His words:
Child, your sins are forgiven.
You walked away from there
into a world made new.
|(Photo by Shalev Cohen on Unsplash)|
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