Below is a sermon I preached this Sunday at Round Rock Church of Christ. Enjoy.
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Who do you think you are?
Mark 2:1-12
The house is packed on this morning, and I don’t mean just with people, that little house in Capernaum is brimming with expectation. The air is thick with excitement and it’s all because of a traveling preacher (wink, wink). Over in one corner there are two men murmuring: “How did you hear about his guy?” “Oh, I was in the synagogue where he drove an evil spirit out of some guy” “In the middle of his sermon?!” “Yeah, it was nuts!” Over across the room, a woman is telling those around her that Jesus had healed her just last week, “Yeah, it was the darndest thing, he just touched me and voila! no more cough!” “Did he say anything to you? “Nothing much, it all happened so fast, there were so many people over there being healed.” And a few feet from them there is a couple leaning against the windowsill, the husband whispers to his wife, “You see that guy over there? He was a leper a few days ago, all the guys at work were talking about him. I told Matthias hey, maybe Jesus could get you a date, now that would be a miracle!”
It is curiosity, it is mystery, it is a question that brings them to that little house in Capernaum. And the question on all of their minds is the question that has been bubbling under the surface of Mark from the very beginning of chapter one: “Who is this Jesus?” “Who does this traveling preacher think he is?”
Enter the four friends. Can you imagine how packed this house is that it is easier to get a paralyzed man on the roof than it is to just elbow your way through the door? I’ve always thought they should have just crowd surfed him in to Jesus. “Alright, here he comes!” But no, they go up on the roof, with their friend.
My great-grandfather on my dad’s side spent most of his life in a wheel chair, he was virtually paralyzed from severe rheumatoid arthritis. My Grand-daddy, at about my age, was taking care of his father and the family farm in a region still recovering from the depression. In fact, he was exempt from the World War II draft because of his family situation but he went on to serve in the navy anyways. I remember, some years ago, my parents giving my grand-daddy a book full of questions, designed to help someone write a memoir of their life. One of those questions was this: “Do you have any regrets?” and I will always remember his response. Below the question, in the uneven scrawl of an 80 something year old stroke victim he wrote these words: “It seems like I’ve always had to do things the hard way.”
I think our friends on the roof of that little house in Capernaum can relate. It seems like they always have to do things the hard way. So, after somehow getting the paralytic, mat and all, on top of the roof they begin to dig and pound and tear their way to Jesus. I imagine more than once doubt began to creep in, as they were first starting out and they could hardly tell if they had made a dent in the roof, the question rose up in the back of their minds: Who is this Jesus anyways? When they heard the angry voices below them as pieces of the roof fell down into the house, the question might have been there: “Who is this Jesus, anyways?” And when their friend, after all of their work and sweat was finally laying there on the ground at Jesus’ feet, and all they could do was wait I am certain the question was there, they could feel it in the pit of their stomach, “Who is this Jesus?”
And then there is a hush. There is a sacred moment in the midst of a crowded room. The silence before words, as this broken life is layed bare before the Christ. His eyes full of hope, expectation, wonder, and anxiety all at once. All are straining to hear what words he will say.
It’s the Christmas of 1993, I am 5 and I have the most brilliant idea of my entire young life. Here is my thinking: There is an old man in a red suit living somewhere in the north pole who, with the helping of eight flying reindeer, is capable of traveling the entire world in one night to deliver presents to every good boy or girl. Why waste his immense capabilities by asking for a tonka truck?! It’s practically an insult. So I decide to think outside the box, to go for the gold, to use all of Santa’s great potential. That Christmas, in a stroke of inspired Genius, I ask Santa for the ability to fly.
You can imagine how impressed my parents were by reasoning abilities. They asked me, is there anything else you want for Christmas? I was ready for that question: absolutely not, I said, I am asking for a lot already and I don’t want to ruin my chances by asking for too much. And so we went through all of the great Christmas rituals, they took me to see Santa (or Santa’s helper) at the mall. When it came my turn I strode confidently up and sat on his lap and when he asked me what I wanted, I said proudly, “I want to fly!” And he said, Here is a candy cane, Merry Christmas. I sent letters, I did everything my parents asked, there was no way I was going on the Naughty list this year. Most of all I was tight-lipped about anything else I might have wanted, I could not jeopardize my chances by losing focus.
And then came Christmas morning. I remember running out with my brother and looking everywhere for that greatest of gifts. Although, I really had no idea what it would look like? How do you package something like the ability to fly? Is there a magic cape in one of these boxes? Did he give a little bit of reindeer food? My parents, seeing my frantic search, hand me a small rectangular package. I tear it open and read the front cover: The Klutz Book of Magic. Inside there are pages and pages on coin tricks, card tricks, even an illusion where you make a dollar turn into a piece of silk, but nothing on flying. Then I read the inside cover, there is a note from Santa:
Dear David,
Merry Christmas! I got your letters about wanting to fly. Unfortunately, Comet ate the last of the magic acorns. I’m sorry I won’t be able to give the ability to fly this year but I hope you enjoy learning to do some other neat magic tricks.
Sincerely,
Kris Kringle
I have never forgiven Comet.
And in that little house in Capernaum, I am sure you could see the disappointment on the Paralytic’s face. He came in expecting to fly and instead he got a book of magic tricks. After all the work his friends did just to carry him to that house, not to mention hoisting him on the roof and tearing a hole to lower him through, Jesus words come as a slap in the face. “Son, your sins are forgiven.”
What?! What do you mean my sins are forgiven? What are you missing here? Besides, look at me! How much trouble could I have possibly gotten into!
But if he is upset he is not alone, the teachers of the law cringe as they hear Jesus utter those words, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” I remember my mom, when she was really mad at me would always ask: “Who do you think you are?!” It meant I had overstepped my bounds. And that is exactly what the scribes would like to know of Jesus: “Who do you think you are?!” You know good and well that we take care of sin at the temple, with a priest, where God is present and can cover over our sins. This is neither the time nor the place! You are out of line young man, above your pay grade, you’re in over your head. Who do you think you are?!
And as much as I’d like to dismiss the scribes as thick-headed religious nuts, they have a point. I just started school this last week and I have to be honest. I don’t know if I have ever been more ready for school to start as I was last Monday. It was a rough summer and you wanna know why? I had nothing to do. I taught at church on Sundays and Wednesdays and other than that, I had no responsibilities, nothing expected of me, and all of my friends were gone for the summer. On top of that my pregnant wife is getting up at six in the morning to work a twelve hour shift on the cancer floor to support us… I have never felt more useless. When you are alone like that, alone with your inadequacies with no way of being productive, it messes with your head. Those monkeys pile on your back because it’s just you, what you see is what you get. I tried to pray but couldn’t. So I read about prayer. And that just made things worse. Because all of those authors say the same thing, that to pray is to rest in God’s love, that’s it, nothing to accomplish, just know, fully, that God loves you, that he is not mad at you. And I couldn’t do it. If you are telling me that God thinks he can come in, know me intimately, and still love me, forgive me even, then he has another thing coming. Who does he think he is? He asks so much but requires so little. Surely this whole God thing can’t be that simple. Forgiveness is a hard sell and I think the scribes are just being honest. They have a point don’t they?
I remember sitting in a Starbucks with some friends during high school working on a project for school. Eventually we had finished our work but our coffee cups weren’t quite empty so we stayed a while a talked. Eventually the topic turned to religion and one girl, her name was Christina, asked me a question that I will never forget. Her mom had spent time in and out of mental institutions resulting from a mental breakdown she suffered when she and Christina’s father divorced. She would fluctuate from fits of violent rage to passionate weeping in front of Christina when she would visit. And it was in the midst of that anguish that one day, she committed suicide. And Christina’s question to me in Starbucks was this: Is my mom in hell for killing herself? And boiling beneath her eyes, you could see the question: If God can condemn my mother, after all her suffering, then who does he think he is? It’s a good question. It’s a tough question
And in that little house in Capernaum, Jesus gives an answer. He doesn’t hand them a resume, doesn’t offer a list of references, he doesn’t pull out his license to heal. No, he says, “This is so that you might know…” and he bends down and speaks to that silent man lying on the floor, “Get up, take your mat and go home.” Jesus announces that God is in the business of making all things new. He looks down upon that man, in all of his brokenness and speaks words of hope, of healing, of transformation. “Get up, take your mat and go home.” This is not just about the paralytic being able to walk again, as wonderful as that is, this is God stuff, this is who he is, this is so that you might know that God is alive in the world in the ministry of Jesus Christ… Get up, take your mat and go home. We find out who He is… in that little house in Capernaum.
My step – grandfather passed away a couple of summers ago. A violent alcoholic who came into my mother’s life after her biological father was placed in a mental institution. His presence was viral for their family dynamics and they became the definition of a dysfunctional family. So much so that my mom had to leave to get away from the situation. So she came to Texas to go to ACU and has been here ever since. When we heard about the brain aneurysm Papa had somehow survived, we booked a flight and visited him in a little hospital in Massachusetts. In that tiny room, I watched my mom rub his feet with lotion and roll him over to relieve the pain of his bed sores, I watched her care for this man who had been the source of so much pain to her family. On one of the last days of our stay he told us about a dream he had had. In this dream, he said, he saw Jesus come down out of heaven and say these words: “Son, your sins are forgiven.”
A few weeks later he passed away, with his family surrounding him. And although he never heard Christ say “Get up, take your mat and go home.” I am convinced he experienced the authority of Jesus to forgive, I am convinced he knew who Jesus was and is. And I can’t help but feel that being in that little hospital in Massachusetts was a whole like being in that little house in Capernaum. This is so that you might know…
What I’ve done this morning is to try to tell a story. And the great things about stories is that you can put yourself in the place of the characters.
Today, many of you might be the friends, who see the pain and the need of those you love and resolve to take them up, to bear their trouble, to lay them at the feet of Christ. And if it seems, at times, that you must always do things the hard way, know that there is no more important work than to bring those we love before Christ, and he will be faithful. Thank you for your hearts and may God fill you with peace.
Others of you might be a scribe, and I thank you for asking the tough questions, and I pray that in the midst of your questions you might see Jesus, in all of his authority. If you feel anger, if it is hard for you to listen to the voice of Christ, I want you to know that you belong here, you are one of us. I am convinced more than ever, that we need saints who ask tough questions.
And there may be a few paralytics here this morning. May you know that there are friends here willing to carry you, to do whatever it takes to get you to Jesus, to lay you down in this little church in Round Rock where you can hear the voice of Christ. All of this so that you might know…
