In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, One God. Amen.

 

Christ is risen! Indeed He is risen!

 

Beloved in Christ,

 

After the great and holy Sunday of Pascha, the “Feast of feasts and Season of seasons,” the Church does not leave the empty tomb behind. She keeps us standing in the light of the Resurrection. She keeps us listening to its echo. She keeps showing us what it means that Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death.

 

On the Sunday after Pascha, we stood with the Apostle Thomas, and doubt was transformed into confession: “My Lord and my God.”

 

Then, on the Sunday of the Myrrh-bearing Women, we stood with those faithful women who came to the tomb carrying myrrh. They came as mourners, but they became witnesses. They came to anoint a dead body, but they received the good news of the Resurrection.

 

And now, on this fourth Sunday of Pascha, the Church brings us to the Pool of Bethesda. We are still walking in the light of the Resurrection. We are still singing, “Christ is risen from the dead.” But today the Church shows us another kind of tomb: not a tomb of stone, but the living tomb of a man who has been paralyzed for thirty-eight years.

 

This man is alive, but his life has become like death. He is near the place of healing, but he cannot reach it. He is surrounded by people, but he has no one. He is beside the waters of mercy, but mercy seems always to pass him by.

 

The pool was called Bethesda, which means “House of Mercy.” And yet, at this House of Mercy, mercy seemed to come only to the fastest, only to the strongest, only to the one who could enter the water first. But what about the weak? What about the lonely? What about the one who cannot compete? What about the one who has no one to carry him?

 

This is the pain of the paralytic. He is close to healing, but still unable to receive it. He is close to mercy, but still untouched by it. He is close to the water, but still dry in his soul.

And then Jesus comes.

 

The Lord sees him. That is already the beginning of his healing. Others may have passed by him. Others may have known him only as “the sick man,” “the paralytic,” “the one who is always there.” But Jesus sees him as a person. Jesus sees his suffering. Jesus sees his waiting. Jesus sees the wound beneath the wound.

 

St. Cyril of Alexandria says that Christ shows “the extreme goodness” of His mercy, because “He doth not wait for entreaties from the sick, but forecometh their request by His Loving Kindness” (St. Cyril of Alexandria commentary).

 

Before the paralytic can reach the water, Christ reaches him. Before the man can ask, Christ has already come near.

 

And the Lord asks him: “Do you want to be made well?”

 

At first, this question sounds strange. Of course he wants to be made well. Why else would he be there? But Christ never asks an empty question. When the Lord asks a question, He opens the heart. He awakens the will. He invites the person not only to receive a miracle, but to enter into a new life.

 

“Do you want to be made well?”

 

My beloved, this question is not only for the paralytic. It is for each one of us today.

 

Do you want to be healed? Do you want to be free? Do you want to rise? Do you want to leave behind the old bed of sin, fear, anger, resentment, despair, and spiritual paralysis?

 

Sometimes we say, “Yes, Lord, I want to be healed,” but we still hold tightly to the things that keep us sick. We want peace, but we do not want to forgive. We want prayer, but we do not want silence. We want holiness, but we do not want repentance. We want resurrection, but we do not want the Cross. We want Christ to comfort us, but we do not always want Christ to change us.

 

So the question remains: “Do you want to be made well?”

 

The paralytic answers: “Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; but while I am coming, another steps down before me.”

 

“I have no man.”

 

What a heartbreaking sentence. No one to help me. No one to carry me. No one to notice me. No one to bring me to the water.

 

But without realizing it, he is speaking to the very One who became Man for his salvation. He says, “I have no man,” while standing before him is the Son of God who became the Son of Man. The One who took flesh from the Most Holy Theotokos and ever Virgin Mary. The One who entered our weakness. The One who came down, not merely into a pool of water, but into our fallen world, into our suffering, into our death, in order to raise us up.

 

The paralytic thought he needed someone to put him into the pool. But what he truly needed was standing before him. He thought healing came from the water. But the Creator of the water was speaking to him. He thought mercy came only when the water was stirred. But the Fountain of mercy had come to him personally.

 

St. John Chrysostom says of the grace now given in Christ: “Then infirmity was an obstacle to the one wishing to be healed, but now everyone has the power to approach. Now it is not possible to say, ‘while I am coming, another steps down before me’. Even if the whole world comes, the grace is never depleted but is given freely to all.”

 

This is the Gospel. God comes down to us. We do not climb up to heaven by our own strength. Heaven comes down to earth in Christ. We do not enter life because we are strong. We enter life because Christ is merciful.

Then Jesus says to him: “Rise, take up your bed, and walk.”

These three commands are full of Paschal power.

“Rise.” This is the word of resurrection. The man had been lying down for thirty-eight years, but Christ commands him to stand.

“Take up your bed.” The bed had carried him for years. Now he must carry the bed. What once was the sign of his weakness becomes the sign of his healing. His past is not erased, but it is transformed. His suffering becomes a testimony to the mercy of God.

“Walk.” Do not remain in the same place. Do not stay beside the pool as though nothing has happened. Walk into a new life. Walk into thanksgiving. Walk into repentance. Walk into communion with God.

St. Cyril says that this command is “God-befitting,” because Christ does not pray over the man as one of the prophets might have done, but “as the Lord of Powers He commandeth with authority that it be so” (St. Cyril of Alexandria commentary). The voice of Christ does not merely encourage. It creates life. It gives strength. It raises the fallen.

And immediately, the man is made well. He takes up his bed and walks.

This is why today’s Gospel belongs to the season of Pascha. It is a resurrection story. A man rises from his living tomb. He passes from paralysis to movement, from loneliness to encounter, from waiting to grace, from despair to life.

But the Gospel also gives us a warning. After the healing, some do not rejoice. They do not say, “Glory to God, this man has been healed after thirty-eight years.” Instead, they say, “It is the Sabbath; it is not lawful for you to carry your bed.”

Their eyes are open to the bed, but closed to the miracle. They see the rule, but they do not see the person. They defend the Sabbath, but they fail to recognize the Lord of the Sabbath.

St. Cyril says that they did not wonder at the power of the Healer, but reproached the man who had just been delivered from a long disease, “as though the honour due to the Sabbath were paid by having to be ill” (St. Cyril of Alexandria commentary).

My beloved, this is a danger for all religious people. We can know the language of faith and still miss the mercy of God. We can defend tradition outwardly and still lack love inwardly. We can be correct in words and cold in heart. But Christ shows us the true meaning of the Law: the salvation of the human person.

Later, Jesus finds the man in the Temple and says to him, “See, you have been made well. Sin no more, lest a worse thing come upon you.”

The Lord does not say this to frighten him, but to save him completely. Physical healing is a great gift, but it is not the final goal. Christ wants the whole person: body, soul, heart, mind, and will. He does not only want us to walk with our feet. He wants us to walk in holiness.

So today, beloved in Christ, let us bring our own paralysis before the Lord.

Some are paralyzed by fear. Some by grief. Some by anger. Some by pride. Some by memories from the past. Some by discouragement, saying, “I have no one.” Some by spiritual tiredness, saying, “I have waited too long, and nothing has changed.”

But the risen Christ comes today to each one of us. He does not shame the man. He does not push him away. He asks, “Do you want to be made well?”

If the answer is yes, then we must listen to His voice.

Rise. Do not remain lying down in despair.

Take up your bed. Do not let your past control you anymore.

Walk. Begin again. Pray again. Repent again. Forgive again. Come to the chalice again. Trust again.

The Pool of Bethesda healed one person from time to time. But Christ, the true Fountain of mercy, gives life to all who come to Him. The paralytic waited thirty-eight years for mercy. But today, mercy stands before us in the risen Lord.

May the risen Lord Jesus Christ, the true House of Mercy, the Fountain of Living Water, and the Physician of our souls and bodies, raise us from every paralysis, heal every wound, and lead us into the joy of His Kingdom.

Christ is risen! Truly He is risen!

Amen.