Sermons

Sixth Sunday of Easter
Sunday 16 May 2004 at 8am and 10am
Simon Cowling

 

Readings Acts 16. 9-15; John 5. 1-9

"It's been practically twenty years. I'm an old man now - nearly eighty and my memory's a bit hazy. But that day I'll never forget. How could I? It was the day God gave me back my life. It was festival time in Jerusalem: busy, busy, busy. The whole city was buzzing, a hundred thousand pilgrims coming in from all over Judea and Samaria, even from as far north as Galilee. The population of the city - it more than doubled: all the inns were fully booked and those who were too late, or who couldn't afford a room, camped out on the Mount of Olives just across the valley from the Temple Mount. You could hear them singing late into the night: psalms, hymns, spiritual songs - all that stuff. What does it say in the Bible? "I face your holy Temple, bow down, and praise your name". One of the psalms I think. I didn't have much to praise God for though. Thirty-eight years I'd been hanging around by that pool; thirty-eight years. Some called it Bethzatha, others called it Bethesda. I didn't care what it was called. All I knew was that I'd been barely scratching a living since I was twenty-two, begging from visitors as they came through the Sheep Gate. The pilgrims were the best. They always had plenty of money, enough to pay for a few days' stay and to buy their animals for sacrifice; and they were always in a good mood - at least they were when they arrived in the big city. Things changed a bit later on when they found out how much it was going to cost them to buy an animal to sacrifice….

Anyway all the while I was tapping pilgrims for money I'd also be keeping an eye on the water in the pool so that I could be first to get in when it got stirred up. But I'd never managed it in thirty-eight years. Had no-one to help me you see. I'd crawl as fast as I could but every time someone was there before me. It didn't always work anyway. I'd seen some people cured, but I think others just pretended. I carried on hoping though, hoping to be first in the pool, hoping that I'd be the lucky one. Hope was the only thing I had. Until I met Him.

It was a Saturday. Even though it was festival time there weren't that many people walking around because of the Sabbath. He was with a whole group, Galileans mostly. You can always spot a Galilean. Northerners. They all speak with funny accents and a lot of them smell of fish. They don't seem that bothered about Sabbath rules either. Still you won't hear me say a word against them. Not now. This group He had was quite normal really. Mostly men but a few women as well. Arguing a bit, laughing a bit. One or two of them seemed a bit thick, a bit slow on the uptake. But they all obviously loved Him. He had this air of authority - nothing you could put your finger on particularly. He actually looked quite ordinary. When I saw Him coming towards me I thought He might be good for a few denarii, enough to keep me going for a couple of days. But it wasn't money He gave me…

He seemed to know I'd been ill for years. Something about the way He looked at me. It wasn't pity - I knew that look well enough after so long by that wretched pool with all the other cripples and invalids, inviting stares from passers-by. No, it was more what you'd call compassion. He knew what I was feeling. In fact when he looked at me it was like he'd known me for ever. And then He went and ruined it by asking me if I wanted to get well! I ask you! Talk about an obvious question. But I still had my mind on those denarii so I was polite, called Him 'Sir', told Him about not being able to get in the pool first because I had no help. I'd got my story off pat after so long and was quite good at getting the sympathy vote. But then He looked at me again - it was almost as though he hadn't been listening - and He said "Get up. Pick up your mat. Walk." Anyone else and the air would have been blue, but like I said before, He had this air of authority. So I did get up. I did pick up my mat. And I did walk. Just my luck to bump straight into some religious fanatics who told me I had no business to be carrying my mat around on the Sabbath! After thirty-eight years I'd have been willing to carry a sacrificial ox from Jerusalem to Jericho! Anyway I told the fanatics about Him, told them that I was carrying my mat because He'd told me to. It wasn't that I wanted to get Him into trouble, I just didn't need the hassle and I thought He'd be able to handle it better than me. Turns out I was right about that, though not in the way I expected….

It was all a long time ago. Like I said, nearly twenty years. They killed him not long after. The religious fanatics were afraid of Him and the Romans were afraid of the religious fanatics. That did for Him in the end. But I keep hearing stories about Him being alive again; people all over the place talking about Him, even non-Jews; saying He'd healed people, given them back their lives - just like He did with me.. It doesn't surprise me. That look He gave me: it still makes me shiver. Like I said, it was as though He'd known me since the day I was born. Since before I was born, even. Yes - like He'd known me forever.

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