Today's story was about the friends who desperately wanted to get their friend who was paralyzed in to see Jesus. Crowds of people flooded the place where Jesus was staying; the line was so long that it bled out into the streets. I picture Disney World without a fast pass. I somehow survived Mickey's Kingdom in the early 2000s without colorful bands. I had to wait in a line for 2 hours like everyone else and try not to throw up as I realized I was about to be plunged into darkness and spun around in fake space.
But anyway, the friends concocted a pretty crazy plan to help their friend. They climbed up on the roof, created a human-sized hole and lowered their friend down on a mat. Many of us have heard this story so many times that it's become an oh, whatever. Big deal.
I'm sitting here watching Reba on Lifetime, muted. I can't stand her voice but somehow the silent scenes are comforting in the background. If my roof suddenly gave way and a man started coming down in front of my TV, there would be some dog-whistle-pitched screams up in here. This wasn't an oh, whatever. This was actually a big deal. And Jesus treated it as so.
He doesn't say, "Dude, this was a new stick and clay roof" or "Why didn't you wait your turn?"
He says, "Son, your sins are forgiven."
The scribes get all up in arms about this and start throwing the B-word around (blasphemy- what were you thinking about?)
Jesus realized they were in a tizzy and asked, "Why do my words trouble you so? Think about this: is it easier to tell this paralyzed man, "Your sins are forgiven," or to tell him, "Get up, pick up your mat, and walk? [...]"
As we know, the story goes on and the man eventually takes up his mat and walks away. But the above section is what I want to focus on really quick.
There is so much noise going on right now. Sometimes I feel like the way to Jesus is too crowded for me. Instead of people, it's clouded with social media posts, boycotts and hateful language. Sometimes I feel like I have to climb up on a roof, tear it open and ninja it down there to find him and to be with him.
And when I finally lower myself and lower my burdens and lower my questions, I hear three words resounding in my head.
Is. it. easier.
Is it easier to treat people with human dignity or to tell them, "Get up and leave, you sicken us."
Is it easier to take a stand against causes that break the very heart of God or to take a stand against a retail chain?
Is it easier to desperately seek policy that will honor the Christian calling or to be complacent with a candidate who manipulatively sticks the title next to his name?
Is it easier to pray for our brothers and sisters who experience actual persecution or to share a post that boasts of our own apparent oppression?
The right choice isn't always the easiest choice. It's not always what we're most comfortable doing. Like in the story, it's not always the phrase or the attitude that people want or expect from you.
But it's the choice that points to Jesus and his message in the quickest, most efficient way possible. Jesus said, "Your sins are forgiven" first because he wanted the man (and the people) to know who He was and what He was capable of.
We need to make sure that we lower ourselves, lower our opinions, lower our anger, lower our fear down so far into the house that we reach Jesus.
When we jump off the pedestal of self-righteousness and self exaltation, Jesus can finally speak to the people we bring before him.
