The story in church was familiar, and yet there was a detail I had never hung on to. The invalid who laid by the Pool of Bethesda waited for the waters to be stirred by angels, as anyone who stepped in first was healed. Yet he was slower than most and had never managed to beat the crowd. Not once in thirty eight years. 

 

Thirty eight years! That was the extent of my entire career as a mother. No small chunk of time. I find it fascinating that when Jesus asked this man whether he wanted to be healed, he evaded the question. Rather than an emphatic "YES!" which is how I picture myself responding to the Messiah, he gave an excuse. 

 

“Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; but while I am coming, another steps down before me.” 

 

Here was Someone who had the power to heal him, asking if that was actually what he wanted. But the man's knee jerk reaction was to defend his inaction. 

 

The premise of the service involved our willingness to be uplifted. Sure in theory we want God to swoop in and buoy us up out of hardships. But do we comply? 

 

The minister provided a modern day illustration of what it means to resist being lifted up. A mother stood by her daughter and asked if she wanted to be picked up. Without speaking, she raised her arms and was soon heart to heart with her mom. The second time, the mother asked again, but her little girl flopped on the ground. Memories rushed back of times I tried to retrieve a child from a play date who didn't want to leave, or enforce a bedtime for a child who refused to walk upstairs. A child who does not want to be carried somehow triples in weight, and becomes as unruly as an octopus in your arms. 

 

On the heels of such remembrances, I pictured my own resistance to being cheered up. Once John sensed my sadness and brought me a mug of soup. Other times my little kids figured out that Mom was grumpy and put on my favorite music. When I stayed stuck in my negativity I was no different than the invalid by the pool. 

 

But Jesus was not deterred by the deflection of responsibility.

 

 “Rise, take up your bed and walk.”

 

Go ahead, and take your bed with you. You know, the one you made and had to lie on. But muster the strength to walk anyway.