More Than a Miracle: Why Ancient Healing Was Actually a Radical Act of Justice

Then he came again to Cana in Galilee, where he had changed the water into wine. Now there was a royal official whose son lay ill in Capernaum. When he heard that Jesus had come from Judea to Galilee, he went and begged him to come down and heal his son, for he was at the point of death. Then Jesus said to him, “Unless you see signs and wonders you will not believe.” The official said to him, “Sir, come down before my little boy dies.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your son will live.” The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and started on his way. As he was going down, his slaves met him and told him that his child was alive. So he asked them the hour when he began to recover, and they said to him, “Yesterday at one in the afternoon the fever left him.” The father realized that this was the hour when Jesus had said to him, “Your son will live.” So he himself believed, along with his whole household. Now this was the second sign that Jesus did after coming from Judea to Galilee.

After this there was a festival of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.

Now in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is a pool, called in Hebrew Beth-zatha, which has five porticoes. In these lay many ill, blind, lame, and paralyzed people. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be made well?” The ill man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am making my way someone else steps down ahead of me.” Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take your mat and walk.” At once the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk.

Now that day was a Sabbath. So the Jews said to the man who had been cured, “It is the Sabbath; it is not lawful for you to carry your mat.” But he answered them, “The man who made me well said to me, ‘Take up your mat and walk.’ ” They asked him, “Who is the man who said to you, ‘Take it up and walk’?” Now the man who had been healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had disappeared in the crowd that was there. Later Jesus found him in the temple and said to him, “See, you have been made well! Do not sin any more, so that nothing worse happens to you.” The man went away and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had made him well. Therefore the Jews started persecuting Jesus, because he was doing such things on the Sabbath. But Jesus answered them, “My Father is still working, and I also am working.” For this reason the Jews were seeking all the more to kill him, because he was not only breaking the Sabbath but was also calling God his own Father, thereby making himself equal to God. 

--John 4:46-54, 5:1-18 (NRSVUE

The Hook: Why We Misunderstand "Healing"

When we encounter ancient stories of miraculous healings, we often treat them as religious magic tricks—supernatural glitches in the matrix of biology. We marvel at the "wonder" but often miss the "why." By focusing solely on the physical restoration, we overlook the profound social disruption these acts caused. To understand the weight of these moments, we have to look past the medicine and see the man. 

For a laborer in first-century Galilee, a healed hand wasn't just a medical success; it was the difference between a family eating or starving. In this world, illness and disability were not merely health concerns—they were social and economic death sentences. To be labeled "unclean" or "afflicted" was to be barred from communal life, cast out from the marketplace, and severed from the temple. Jesus’ healings were not just about fixing broken bodies; they were radical social interventions that dismantled systemic barriers and restored human dignity to those whom society had already buried.

Point 1: Healing as an Economic Stimulus Package

In the ancient world, physical restoration translated directly into the restoration of a person's right to survive. Because disability led to being "unclean" and marginalized, it trapped individuals and their families in a brutal cycle of financial insecurity. They were effectively barred from contributing to the economy or providing for themselves.

When we view these miracles as acts of restorative justice, the economic impact becomes clear. By restoring a person’s health, Jesus provided them with the ability to work for their own financial security. But it went deeper than the immediate breadwinner; the source context reminds us that healing offered children the "opportunity to learn," restoring their intellectual and educational health. This is the ultimate "aha!" moment: a miracle wasn't just a private blessing; it was a tool for economic equity. By breaking the generational cycle of poverty, these healings transformed marginalized dependents into full, contributing members of the social fabric.

Point 2: The "Equality of Mercy" (Even for the Undeserving)

Divine justice, as Jesus practiced it, was a strike against the social hierarchies we use to gatekeep compassion. This is most provocative when we contrast two specific recipients: the Royal Official’s son and the man by the pool of Bethzatha (or Bethesda). The Royal Official was a high-ranking individual, possibly a Gentile, who traveled a great distance and pleaded with desperate sincerity. He was the "good" applicant—the one we feel deserves help.

In sharp contrast, the man at the pool of Bethzatha had spent thirty-eight years in a state of passive resignation. When asked if he wanted to be well, he offered only excuses rather than faith. He hadn’t "earned" his moment. Yet, Jesus healed both. This equality of mercy suggests that justice isn't just for the high-status or the "worthy" victims; it is for the one who has given up, too. Note that the Official’s healing sparked faith in his "entire household," showing that these acts weren't just individual fixes—they were catalysts for communal connection.

"The boundaries we believe exist between people are no barriers for God."

Point 3: People Over Protocol (The Sabbath Conflict)

In Jerusalem, these acts of restoration triggered a firestorm of opposition. The religious authorities weren't just upset about a technicality; they were protecting their control of the social order. For them, "justice" meant the strict, legalistic adherence to the Sabbath—a law intended to set the community apart but which had become a tool for rigid protocol.

Jesus, however, viewed human wellness as a divine mandate that never rests. When he healed on the Sabbath and told the man to carry his mat, he was making a claim that threatened the very foundation of their authority: "My Father is still working." He prioritized the restoration of human wellness over human interpretations of religious law. This wasn't a violation of the Law; it was the fulfillment of it, asserting that systemic rules should never be used to perpetuate human suffering.

Point 4: Ending the Culture of Shame and Blame

At the time, the common "just" explanation for suffering was the justice of retribution. People believed that illness was a punishment for sin—either the victim's or their parents'. This created a "just world" fallacy that allowed the powerful to ignore the poor by blaming them for their own misery.

Jesus effectively dismantled this toxic culture of shame. While the authorities used theology to marginalize the sick, Jesus rejected the link between sin and suffering. He performed healings without requiring a confession or a proof of sinlessness. By replacing retribution with unconditional grace, he removed the moral stigma attached to disability. He wasn't just healing a body; he was deconstructing a social system that used shame to keep the vulnerable in their place.

Point 5: Healing Beyond the "Established Systems"

The Pool of Bethzatha was the epitome of a failed system. For thirty-eight years, it functioned as a competitive, first-come, first-served healthcare model. For the most marginalized, the reality was bleak: "It will never be your turn to immerse." If you were too slow or had no one to help you, the system was designed to leave you behind.

Jesus' "miraculous healthcare" was radical because he ignored the pool. He didn't fix the man's place in the line; he bypassed the failing institution entirely. This is a piercing critique of any social system that remains rigid and exclusionary. Today, we still see people marginalized by physical or mental conditions, waiting for a "turn" that never comes in systems that value speed or status over human dignity. Jesus’ act suggests that when a system is broken, justice involves bypassing that system to restore the person directly.

Summary: A New Vision for Social Wellness

These ancient stories are more than historical artifacts; they are a bold call to effect change in our own social systems. They challenge us to see wellness not as an individual medical status, but as a communal responsibility. These healings aimed for a "total wellness"—social, emotional, and economic—reintegrating the isolated back into the heart of the community where they belong.

If we truly believe that healing is about restoring dignity and belonging rather than just fixing bodies, we must look at our own world with fresh eyes. We are called to bridge the gaps where people are still barred from communal life. After all, if the systems are still failing the most vulnerable, we have to ask ourselves: who in our own communities is still waiting for their turn at the pool?

From Generation to Generation: We See God in Each Other

In those days Mary arose and went with haste into the hill country, to a town in Judah, and she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.”

And Mary remained with her about three months and returned to her home.

Now the time came for Elizabeth to give birth, and she bore a son. And her neighbors and relatives heard that the Lord had shown great mercy to her, and they rejoiced with her. --Luke 1:39-45, 56-58 (CEB)

Holy is God’s name, who shows mercy to everyone, from one generation to the next, for those who honor God. Amen.

Last week I mentioned my extended family on my dad’s side, who, when he died, wrapped their arms around my mother and our family - this extended family of mine. Which is huge!

Every three years we have a family reunion. Over time our numbers, big to begin with, have continued to grow. Generation after generation. Now numbering some 7 generations - maybe you have a family like this, too? These generations who come together every three years to celebrate our ancestors, our history, our sense of humor, our physical attribute (which for my family is a pretty extraordinary nose), and all of the things that make us a family. But, more than anything, we come together because we belong together. We are family. We have been through thick and thin together. Through incredibly hard times and incredibly wonderful times together. They are my family. They know me. They know pretty much everything about me. And I know about them, too. If I show up and something is wrong, they know it. Because we belong together.

Mary and Elizabeth are family like this. They’re blood relatives. Cousins. Just like all of my cousins. But, they’re more than that. They are even more connected because both of them are pregnant by the Holy Spirit. And, at the moment they meet, while our text is not clear that Elizabeth knows that Mary is also pregnant, their babies know. The next generation they are carrying knows that they are kin. That they all belong. Together. 

Certainly, Elizabeth must have sensed Mary’s complex emotions - the fear and the joy and who knows whatever else she must have been feeling. Certainly Mary must have sensed Elizabeth’s joy and awe at the fact that, at her age, she was not only carrying a child, but a prophet who would announce the long-awaited Christ. This is what belonging does. It helps us know one another. Deeply. So that in good times and in bad times, we carry one another’s burdens, celebrate one another’s joys, accompany one another along the way.

Mary and Elizabeth do this. My family and I do this. But here? In this place? Do we belong? Are we committed to this community of faith? 

You and I - all of us -belong to one other. We are made to be together in Christian community. It is a privilege to be in this community. The body of Christ is a reality created by God in Christ in which we are privileged to participate. This is what Dietrich Bonhoeffer speaks to in his essay, Life Together - the privilege that is the fellowship of faith. 

Bonhoeffer is under no illusion about the difficulty and challenge of living with others in the faith. Yet, he writes, that to share the “physical presence of other Christians” is a “gracious anticipation of the last things.” A foretaste of that community to come. Luther wrote that to be in community with other Christians was “grace upon grace” - the “roses and lilies” of the Christian life, so much of which is spent in the midst of a world that seeks to destroy us. 

If we would only recognize this.

You and I have been chosen to be a part of this community. Not by me. Not by any one else in this community. But by God and God alone. Might it be possible that you are here precisely because this is where God wants you to be?

When we choose to be apart from this community, when we go for a time without truly belonging, not being here, we begin to manufacture an identity from that alienation, from being apart. Perhaps we are busy with other priorities. Perhaps, we move away because we are hurt. Or betrayed. Or feel rejected in some way, unable to trust others. Only trusting ourselves. 

But, as theologian Cole Arthur Riley writes, “a life lived with trust only in the self is exhausting. It is not freedom. It is a yoke that falls helplessly and incessantly upon us.” 

We tell ourselves that no one can or will ever understand us or our complexities. We brag about the fact that we’re a “loner” or “independent.” It’s how we numb those wounds we feel. By elevating ourselves above the community, looking down upon it as frivolous. Or needy. Or less enlightened. Or unimportant. When, in truth, we are simply denying our own need - our need to belong.

Life together is messy. That is a fact. And Bonhoeffer cautions how we are respond when this life together gets messy. And difficult. 

It’s easy, when we’re frustrated by one another, to speak about another “covertly,” as he puts it. To scrutinize another, to judge another, to condemn another, to put another in their place, so that one gains a sense of superiority. This, he writes, “does violence to the other.” 

Instead, he says, we should pray for them. Because, no matter how much trouble they may cause, it becomes impossible to condemn or hate another sibling in Christ for whom we pray. 

‘If only,” he continues, “If only one lets go the exasperation that ‘God did not make this person as I would have made them’ and realizes that God gives us people not to dominate and control, but as a way to find divine love” - only if one lets go of this expectation, “can one find the other person an occasion of joy rather than a nuisance and affliction. The difficult part is to accept that God has not created every person in my image,” he writes. But rather, that “every person has been created in God’s image.” 

In this place. In this community we are known. Our names are known. People know us and know the ugly parts of us. And, yet, we are called to stay. Each one of us. To stay. To see God in one another. When we realize this, when we begin to see the divine in others, we are changed. We begin to see our siblings through the lens of the cross. And recognize that it is we who have failed to serve them.

In this place, our way of being together is a way of being with God. Every relationship, every interaction with one another is mediated by Christ. Bonhoeffer writes, “Human love constructs its own image of the other person, of what he is and what he should become. Spiritual love recognizes the true image of the other person which he has received from Jesus Christ; the image that Jesus Christ embodies and stamps upon all people.” 

This is how we meet God in community. Through each other.

This was Mary’s experience. As she came to Elizabeth, scared and confused as I’m sure she was. Fearful of what the future might bring, Elizabeth could have rejected her. Could have turned her away. And could have done so legitimately and under the law. 

Instead, Elizabeth saw in her the divine - as did her unborn child - leading her to affirm Mary’s blessedness. Which led to Mary’s song. Our first Advent hymn. The most passionate, the wildest, the most revolutionary Advent hymn ever sung. A song about the revolutionary power of God, to break down the structures that divide us, the barriers that separate us, the walls in our hearts that keep us apart, so that we may belong to God. And to one another. From generation to generation.

May we seek to be like Elizabeth. May we see God in this place. May we see God in each other. Amen.

Preached December 18, 2022, at Grace & Glory, Prospect, with Third, Louisville.

Advent 4

Reading: Luke 1:39-45; 56-58; Luke 1:46-55

Close to Home: Home by Another Way

Throughout this Advent and Christmas season, we’ve been reflecting on this idea of “home.” Home may mean something different for each one of us. It may be a relationship. It may be the family and the heritage of a family that we call home. It may be a physical place. For some of us, home may be a painful place or a hard memory and we may have had to find home in other places or with other people. For each one of us, home means something different. For each one of us, home is where we claim it.

Yet, as we heard on Christmas Eve and, then, last Sunday, home is about belonging. Home is about our heart - where God has claimed us. And where God invites us in to find belonging. To find home.

Today, we are celebrating Epiphany. The story of Epiphany marks a beginning and an end. As they leave their home, the Wise Men embark upon a pilgrimage, following a star, seeking a glimpse of the divine in the Christ child. 

We read from Matthew, chapter 2.

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
    are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
    who is to shepherd my people Israel.’”

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Have you ever been on a journey that was delayed? Or that took a little detour? I, like so many others over the past week or so, had my travel impacted. For the first time in awhile, I decided to fly rather than drive. I like driving because, there’s something about it that makes me feel like I have a little control. When I fly, I feel sometimes like I’m at the mercy of a lot of things: the weather, the airline, the airplane and, especially, over these past couple of years, COVID. So, instead of a direct flight back from Minneapolis on Friday. I detoured to yesterday and through Atlanta. 

This idea of a detour is similar to what happened to the Magi. As they set out from the East, these astronomers journeyed to the Bethlehem manger for a glimpse of the divine. Following a star. And while, in following that star, they may have taken an unusual journey, a different path, they still had had it to guide them along the way - on their journey to see the Christ child so that, our text tells us, they could simply worship him.

Along the way, though, they stopped in Jerusalem. Why Jerusalem? Perhaps it's because, as many think, this is where they expected to find the divine child. In the seat of power. Where one would have expected to find a child-king. But, they didn’t find him there. And so they continued to follow that star until they did find him. Until they met him in the lowliest of places, surrounded by the lowliest of creatures. It was there. In the manger in Bethlehem, where they met Jesus.

This journey to Bethlehem and the worship of these Magi is most often our focal point on Epiphany. This, along with, our understanding of the reworking and expansion of the covenant God first proclaimed with Abraham. That through him, all people would be blessed. We claim Epiphany because this is when God opened up God’s promises to the Gentiles. To all nations. And, yes, this is an important part of the story.

But, I wonder how often we pay attention to the end of the story. The very last sentence of the story. Being warned in a dream, the Magi choose a different direction to journey back home. It was a subversive choice on their part to disobey Herod. If caught, they could have been severely punished, even put to death. Yet, they listen to God speaking to them through their dreams. And they choose a path away from the deception, the manipulation, from the harm of Herod and his empire.

We are at the beginning of a new year. Once again, we are seeking COVID cases spike. Once again, we are worshipping back online. These past two years have simply been exhausting. We’ve lost so much. Individually and collectively. We’ve just lost so much. 

I’m drawn, particularly today, to Paul’s words in his letter to the church in Ephesus. Imprisoned. Likely beaten and more, he, too, had experienced an unexpected detour in his plans. He, too, had experienced much loss. Yet, he, too, like the Wise Men also witnessed the divine. He, too, had experienced the revelation of God - the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things. That, though this divine child, the true nature of God - the wisdom of God - might be made known to all. A God of grace and mercy. A God of love. A God who has claimed us, to whom we belong. Who has come into our hearts and made a home. 

May we, like Paul, trust in this divine plan. May we, like the wise men, be open to those unexpected detours home, to going home by another way. May we, like the stars in the sky, know that God is with us. May we, in this new year, take courage. God, who made all of this and who holds all of this, holds you in God’s very hands. Do not be afraid.

Preached online January 2, 2022, with Grace & Glory, Prospect, and Third, Louisville.
Christmas 2
Readings: Matthew 2:1-12; Ephesians 3:1-2