Being There: Jesus Heals the Paralyzed Man at Capernaum

In Ignatian spirituality, we are encouraged to place ourselves in the midst of a gospel story in order to more fully encounter Jesus who teaches, heals, befriends, suffers and dies. In this occasional series, I’ll take a journey into that world and pray it helps you find your way there, too.

To begin, I turn to this marvelous story of healing in Mark 2. I believe I first encountered this story as a child, caught up by a Sunday School image of this man being lowered down from the roof so that Jesus can touch and heal him…

As you walk down the dusty road leading into Capernaum, you hear the rumble of voices before you even realize what is going on. A crowd is gathering, converging on the simple home of the itinerant teacher named Jesus. Some even call him a healer. Others say perhaps he is a prophet. A few have said, “Maybe he’s the Messiah we are hoping for.” But who would be foolish enough to believe that?

You push your way through the crowd to see for yourself, edging your way into the doorframe. The air smells of dried clay and cedar, and you lean back against the wood and feel it push into your back. You peer over the heads of those encircling the bearded man at the center of the small room. Quietly and yet with a natural confidence and seeming authority, he is explaining the law and the prophets. No one moves and no one talks. He has captured their attention and their imaginations. He laughs easily and frequently, his eyes dancing in the slant of light coming in through the small windows to his right.

Behind you, out on the road, you hear a small group of men approaching, urging others to move out of the way to allow them to bring to Jesus a paralyzed man they are carry on a mat.  “He can heal,” they say. “Please let us through.” But no one moves and very few even hear them, entranced as they are with the words of Jesus. You, too, return your gaze to Jesus, forgetting about the man on the mat. What could you do, after all, give up your space at the door? Jesus’ words penetrate you to your core, for they are words of love, forgiveness and the coming of a new kind of kingdom. What is it about his words that strike you so?

Suddenly, you sense something moving above you, the ceiling shifting and coming alive, straw and dirt falling from above and onto those standing in the room. Dirt gets into your eyes as you glance up, but you blink it back and duck your head. As the dirt settles silently to the floor, you look up again and see a large hole in the roof. Through the hole emerges the paralyzed man on the mat, suspended in mid-air and being lowered slowly and carefully with ropes to the ground in front of Jesus.

You watch Jesus, wondering how he will respond. How dare they, you think, destroy his roof and trespass into his house! Jesus looks down at the man and then looks up again, surveying the entire room. He scans the room and stops as he looks at you, his eyes piercing yours. Jesus beholding you, standing scared in the doorway. He smiles, a small recognition, perhaps, of your thoughts. But tears are in his eyes, not anger. He looks back down at the paralyzed man and raises his hands. He says, “Son, your sons are forgiven.”

There are no sounds in the room. You see the eyes of the elders and teachers glancing back and forth, silently asking each other, “who is this guy and how dare he forgive sins?” Jesus looks up again, smiling and seemingly knowing their hearts and their unspoken words. “Which is easier,” he asks, “to say ‘I forgive you’ or ‘get up and walk?’” Silence again. No one dares to speak or counter his argument.

“Very well,” he says, “take up your mat and go home.” The man stirs on his mat. First one leg moves and then the other. People gasp and move to get a better view. His torso rises from the floor and, slowly, he stands. He looks at Jesus and the around the room. Tears stream down his face. He walks. For the first time in many years he puts one foot in front of the other, able to move without assistance. He cannot speak, cannot possibly find the words. He kneels down and picks up his mat, able to care for himself for once, and begins to slowly walk toward the door. People reach out to touch him, as to assure themselves that what they have seen in real.

He enters the doorway and stumbles on the threshold and into your arms. You lift him gently back to his full height and he looks you in the eye and speaks. “This one,” he says, “is the One. Follow him. Do whatever he asks. This is God walking among us.”

Ask yourself in silence: From what do I need to be healed?