While reading through Mark 2:1-12, an interesting scene struck me — one I’ve probably read hundreds of times during my 22 years as a Christian, yet never really stopped to ponder. Scripture works like that. You can read the same passage over and over again and still discover new nuggets of life-changing truth. So let me set the scene for you a bit.
Jesus sits inside a crowded house, preaching the gospel, healing the sick, and giving demons a firm boot to the backside. You know, the kind of stuff the all-powerful, almighty Son of God does. Along came four men carrying one of their buddies, who was paralyzed, to see Jesus, hoping He could heal him. However, the crowd is so thick that they’d have a better chance of sneaking into a Taylor Swift concert than getting face time with the King of Kings.
But these are true friends. They have watched their buddy suffer horribly from paralysis. He likely lived as a destitute beggar or relied totally on family, unable to work and provide for himself and his household, if he even had one. Not to mention that people didn’t treat those with disabilities kindly in the ancient Near East. He endured a lonely, dark existence. The paralyzed man’s friends wanted to see him well again, and they knew Jesus was his only hope. Nothing was going to deter them from getting this guy in front of the Lord.
Instead of giving up and accepting that maybe the poor man wasn’t meant to be healed, they leapt into action. They climbed up on the roof of the house, tore it open, and lowered their friend down inside, practically hand-delivering him like UPS right to Jesus. When the Lord saw the faith of the man and his friends, He said, “Son, your sins are forgiven.”
That, of course, didn’t sit well with the uppity fundamentalist Pharisees who still refused to see that God in human flesh sat in the room with them. They raised a stink about Jesus forgiving sins, insisting that only God can absolve others of their sins. Jesus put them in their place and knocked their spiritual haughtiness down a peg by asking which would be easier: forgiving someone of his sins or healing a paralytic? He then told the paralytic to take up his bed and walk. And wouldn’t you know? That’s just what he did.
Anyway, as I sat this morning meditating on this passage, a few different things struck me. Christ intervened in the paralytic’s life because of his faith — not mere intellectual assent, mind you, but real, living faith that made itself known through action. A faith that rips through obstacles to get to Jesus.
Many of the Church Fathers viewed this act as symbolic of spiritual determination. One of the greats, St. John Chrysostom, marveled at the boldness of the paralytic and his friends, writing that they “unroofed the house and let down the bed,” demonstrating a faith that refused to let circumstance hinder it.
St. Augustine observed that before Christ healed the man’s body, He healed his soul. The man’s physical paralysis symbolizes the deeper paralysis of the soul: sin. More than the roof needed removal.
So what can we apply from all this to our own lives here and now? If we want to draw closer to Jesus, something must come off the roof of our lives. Things keep us from drawing near to the Lord, and we must willingly cut them from our lives. Not only that, but we must replace those obstacles with practices that pull us toward Jesus: prayer, fasting, attending Mass, reading and studying Sacred Scripture and theological works, serving the community, and helping the poor.
Like the vast majority of you reading this, I am sadly addicted to my smartphone. I have wasted an embarrassing amount of time doom-scrolling on social media. If someone totaled it up and presented it publicly, you’d be appalled at how much of my precious life I’ve squandered on that time suck.
But don’t get too cocky. You’re probably not too far behind me.
That’s one piece of roof we need to toss off our lives. Step away from the phone—schedule it if you must—and use those precious minutes or even hours to pray morning and evening prayer, pray the rosary, read the Bible, or serve your family. Heck, go for broke and do all of it.
When’s the last time you went to confession? Been a while? What’s keeping you away? Pride? If you feel scared or ashamed to speak privately and anonymously to your priest about the sins you’ve committed—so much so that you disobey the Lord’s command to confess—that’s pride. Too much self-esteem and too little both harm you. Whatever keeps you from confession—that’s a roof that needs tearing off your life.
When you remove the things that block you from drawing near to Jesus, He does what only He can do. He forgives. He heals. He commands us, “Rise, take up your bed and go home.” Grace restores what sin paralyzed.
The world tells us to seek comfort in sex, entertainment, work — anything other than God. It urges you to lay more tiles on the roof, creating greater separation between you and Christ. The Gospel calls us to holy desperation. Tear off the roof. Cut away the things suffocating your soul. Pursue Him with reckless abandon.
