Poolside

John 5:1-9
Seventh Sunday of Easter

I’m not a fan of censorship.  I think our nation’s founders were wise ensure free speech (right along side of freedom of religion, by the way) and I bristle at times when it seems that the right of free speech is being pushed against.  Words are important to me and we need to be able to use them effectively, even when they might not be something someone wants to hear.  But I also think we should be nice to each other.  Maine recently made it illegal to use imagery of a Native American as a mascot and I’m not sure how I feel about that.  On the one hand, that sounds like it’s limiting free speech; on the other, why—in this day and age—would anyone still be using imagery of Native Americans as mascots.  They’ve asked us not to; shouldn’t that be enough?  If my name is Brian and you insist on calling me Frank, I’m going to ask you to stop calling me that.  It’s not censorship, per se; it’s human kindness.  Words are important in the ways we express ourselves, but they are also important when it comes to caring for each other as well.  

All that to say: there is a word I would love to eliminate from the English language; call it censorship if you will.  It’s a word that’s right there in our Scripture reading today.  I would love to never again hear the word “invalid.”  What an awful word!  You know it’s just in the pronunciation, right?  If you pronounce it one way, it’s a noun that means someone who is disabled.  If you pronounce it another way, it’s an adjective that describes something that isn’t valid.  What an awful word.  

It’s so awful because there’s something subtly true about it; something in our culture, and probably a lot of other cultures, that we say about those who are on the fringes.  There are those we consider in-valid.  But not so with Jesus.  With Jesus, valid has nothing to do with it.  With Jesus, you take up your mat and you walk.  

According to the legend, the Bethzatha Pool was supposed to have healing powers whenever its waters were troubled and agitated, presumably by an angel, a heavenly messenger. So we can understand why, as the story says, there were many “invalids” lying around down by the poolside. They were waiting for a chance to get into the pool when the waters got stirred. You had to get wet to get well.

Well, the story zeroes in on one of those castoffs of society—a crippled man who had been lying down by the poolside for 38 years. And here's what the text says. Listen to it again. 

“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 sick 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.”

He never got wet. He did get well. Jesus healed him.

Now who is this person down by the poolside? Who is this 38-year, crippled castoff of society? Most of the time, we hear this story, read the story—I’ll admit, preach on this story—and we celebrate him and romanticize him as a combination of genuine faith in Jesus and the intestinal fortitude to pull himself up by his own bootstraps. After all, didn't he believe Jesus and so was healed? Didn't he obey Jesus when he got up, picked up his mat, and walked around? This is the kind of person who really deserves to be healed. You see, he played by the rules of both faith and practice—down by the poolside.

Is that really what this story says? So who is this castoff? Well, there's not one word about his faith in this text. Not one hint that he believed in Jesus or anything else except the magic water in the pool. And, if we read just a little further, we find out that he wasn't even grateful for being healed. In fact, when the religious authorities see him walking around carrying his mat (like you’re not supposed to do on the Sabbath), they ask him, "Who healed you?" and he says he doesn't even know. When they inform him that healing and mat-carrying is illegal on the Sabbath, he snitches on Jesus as the one who healed him and told him to carry his mat. "Jesus broke the Sabbath laws, not me!" This is the one Jesus healed.

Who is he? He's a real bum, that's who he is! He had no gratitude, no faith, no humility, no guts. He didn't deserve to be healed. He didn't deserve anything. This is the one Jesus healed. This is the one, the one who had been on the welfare rolls for 38 years. Who is he? He's one of those people right here in the United States that Michael Katz calls "the undeserving poor." The undeserving poor. And Katz puts it this way in his book From the War on Poverty to the War on Welfare. These are Katz' words:

For the most part, Americans talk about the poor as them. Poor people usually remain outsiders, strangers to be pitied or despised, helped or punished, ignored or studied, but rarely full citizens...on the same terms as the rest of us.... They are "Those people...."

Now those are the people lying around, down by the poolside. Those people are the ones Jesus healed.

I don’t know how you feel about “those people,” but they show up at church sometimes; during the week.  I have an envelope of twenties that the church budgets for me.  It means I can show kindness without being too kind… or even too interested.  There are those who would take advantage of a pastor who was doling out twenties.  

I think I met one of “those people” the other day; only, she didn’t ask for money.  I was putting my things in my car, getting ready to head home, and a woman and her five-year-old daughter walked up.  She asked if we had a clothing closet, which of course we don’t.  

You probably noticed how the weather recently turned from summer to winter, and back to summer again.  When it was winter, this woman realized that her daughter needed a sweatshirt.  So off they went, walking from “Pine River Something” to “Pine River Something,” looking for a sweatshirt that would fit this kid.  Now, I didn’t have a sweatshirt, but I did have ideas, time, and a car with a car-seat, perfectly suited for a five-year-old; so off we went.  By the way, if you meet one of “those people” and they’re looking for a clothing exchange: Pine River Shares is the organization you’re looking for.  Unfortunately, they are currently moving into the old Primary School, so their clothing closet is not up and running.  But while we’re driving around town and finding this out, I heard some of her story.  How, she used to have so much stuff: cars, a place of her own to live, apparent security; and it didn’t make her happy.  I imagine roaming around town trying to find a sweatshirt for her little girl didn’t make her very happy either.  Somewhere along the way, she stopped being for me one of “those people.”  As we drove around this town, at some point, she started sounding a lot like me—with a few subtle changes.  

Interesting, isn't it, that the pool in this story from the Gospel of John is right in the shadow of the temple, right in the shadow of the church.  There are hurting people in this community—our community.  People living in the shadow of this very church, that we might treat as “those people.”  Following our Savior’s example, may we meet them where they are; may we look them in the eye; and may we bring our Savior’s healing in whatever ways he calls us.