Sermon for the Sunday of the paralytic

Christ is risen! Christos anesti! (Χριστὸς ἀνέστη!)

Imagine the scene at the Pool of Bethesda. Five porches crowded with the sick, the blind, the lame, and the paralysed. The air is thick with desperation. Among this multitude lies a man who has been waiting for thirty-eight years — watching the water stir, only to see others step in before him; hoping, failing, and remaining on his mat.

When Christ steps into this scene, we must pause and ask ourselves a difficult question: are we not all, in some way, paralysed?

Perhaps our paralysis is not physical, but spiritual. In our age of comfort, it is dangerously easy to weave cocoons out of the very things that surround us. When life feels overwhelming, or when the struggle for spiritual growth feels too heavy, we retreat into what soothes us — noise, distraction, fleeting pleasures. These comforts promise rest, but they slowly lull the soul to sleep. We become less watchful, less discerning, less able to recognise the movement of God. And so we remain on our modern mats — not in pain, perhaps, but in quiet stagnation.

It is into this condition that Christ comes. He approaches the man and asks a question that pierces the heart: “Do you want to be healed?”

Why would He ask such a thing? Because even suffering — and especially a familiar way of life — can become an identity. For thirty-eight years, that porch was the man’s entire world. In a strange way, his pallett had become his home — a place of predictability, where he was sustained by others and sheltered from the demands of a new life.

To say “yes” to Christ meant stepping into the unknown. It meant leaving behind the only life he understood, and accepting responsibility, struggle, and change. And Christ asks us no less. Each day He stands before the habits that confine us and asks: “Do you want to be healed?”

Notice how the man answers. He does not say “yes.” He says, “Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool.”His deepest wound is not only paralysis, but isolation. In a place full of suffering, he is alone.

Is this not also a condition of the modern world were we all live in isolation? We live in a world of abundance, yet many hearts cry out the same words: “I have no one.” No one to notice, no one to carry, no one to care.

It is here that we must confront our own calling as the Body of Christ. When the vulnerable cry out, "I have no one," we are challenged to respond. It is our sacred responsibility within the Church to look after the needy, the poor, and the forgotten, just as Christ did. We cannot remain comfortable while our neighbours languish in despair; we are called to step into the suffering of our communities, offering our hands and our hearts to those who are isolated.
Yet, in this Gospel story, we are reminded of the ultimate source of all comfort. And here is the quiet miracle: Christ does not send someone else. He Himself becomes the answer. To every soul that feels unseen and abandoned, the Lord says: You are not alone. You have Me. The pool was never the source of healing. He is and always will be.

And so Christ speaks with authority:  “Rise, take up your pallet and walk.”

He commands the man to carry the very thing that once held him captive. This is not only a healing, but a restoration. To be made well is not simply to function again, but to be restored to the life for which we were created — to stand, to walk, to live in communion with God.

The mat remains, but its meaning is changed. What was once a sign of weakness becomes a witness to grace.

So it is with us. When Christ heals us, He does not erase our past, but transforms it. The things that once bound us become signs of His mercy and power in our lives.

Today, the Risen Christ walks through the porches of our own lives and asks each of us: “Do you want to be healed?”

Let us have the courage to answer. Let us rise from the habits that keep us still, turn from the distractions that dull our hearts, and take up the path set before us. And let us walk — not alone, but with Christ Himself, who restores us, strengthens us, and remains with us always in eternity

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!
Christos anesti! Alithos anesti! (Χριστὸς ἀνέστη! Ἀληθῶς ἀνέστη!)