The Paralytic Cured
S. Mark ii. 1–12
A difficulty will be removed if we realise the construction on which the more substantial houses in an Eastern town are not infrequently built. The ground-plan is that of a quadrangle. We enter at a door or gateway in the centre, and pass into a court which is open to the sky. Usually there is a verandah or colonnade on one or more sides of it: sometimes of one story only, more frequently of two. When the latter is the case, its covering rises almost as high as the housetop itself. This is generally flat, and is used as a common place of resort; in some streets there is a continued thoroughfare by it from end to end, with flights of steps at convenient places for public use.
On this occasion a group of persons — S. Mark, with his love of picturesque detail, gives the number as four — hearing that Jesus was speaking to the people in Simon’s house, attempted to bring to Him a poor sufferer who had been struck with paralysis. But when they came near, they saw to their disappointment that the. courtyard was thronged, and the very doorway choked with an eager crowd. They were not, however, easily baffled. They noticed the upturned faces of the multitude, and seeing the direction in which they were all looking, they gathered that Jesus was in the upper story of the verandah speaking to the people from the vantage-ground it gave Him. They made their way at once to the housetop by one of the public staircases, and soon found themselves only a few feet above the spot where Jesus was standing. The roof of the verandah 1 was torn open, and the litter on which their helpless patient lay was lowered through the opening and placed at His feet. And their end was gained. Nothing ever attracted the compassionate Saviour so surely as the sight of suffering. No matter what He was doing, that had the first claim on His attention. Again and again He allowed Himself to be interrupted, and broke off His speaking, without a sign of impatience, to heal the sick.
But there is something which strikes us with surprise in the words that He spoke — so unlike His usual utterances on similar occasions. “Thy sins be forgiven thee.” It reminds us of the inseparable connection between sin and suffering: “by sin came death,” and with death all its evil forerunners of pain and sorrow, sickness and disease. It would seem that the man was conscience-stricken. We are not told it in so many words, but what if that stroke of paralysis was the result of past excesses? What if the loss of vital energy in his limbs had been produced by a course of enfeebling indulgence? We can see his terror in the presence of the Great Searcher of men’s hearts, dreading disclosure, and yet longing to be healed. It is thus that in fear and trembling he may have poured out his soul in confession of his guilt. S. Matthew hints at least at something of the kind, for he puts into our Lord’s mouth such words of fatherly love and encouragement as a confession of this kind would naturally evoke, “Son, be of good cheer,” and then, “Thy sins be forgiven thee.”
And what followed? At once all the animosities of the Scribes and Pharisees were aroused. “Was not the forgiveness of sins one of the inalienable prerogatives of the Godhead? It is nothing less than blasphemy in Him to claim it.” Such were their unspoken thoughts; but He Whose Divine claims they denied, established them in the very midst of their denial. For did He not read the secrets of their heart, and hear their unuttered murmurings, which none but God could do?
“I know your thoughts,” He seems to say; “you accuse Me of pretending to extraordinary powers without any evidence that My claims are well founded. The veriest impostor, you say, may do that. No man has any right to speak so, unless he is prepared to verify his words by signs following. Who can possibly say whether the absolution you pronounce is ratified in heaven or not?”
And out of condescension to their secret murmurings Jesus attests His powers. He works a miracle which the eyes of all can see, in proof that He possesses that which they denied to Him, because it carried with it no evident confirmation. “That ye may know that the Son of Man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (He saith to the sick of the palsy,) Arise, and take up thy bed.”
He spake, and at once the man arose in presence of them all, and that “which before had been the sign of his sickness, became now the sign of his cure.”
Now what may we learn from the different characters of those with whom this miracle brings us into contact — the Jewish rulers and the sick man’s friends?
The Scribes could hardly as yet have witnessed much of Christ’s wonder-working, for they came chiefly from Jerusalem, and that was not the scene of many miracles. The fame of His doings had doubtless reached them; otherwise they would not have travelled so far as Capernaum to see and hear what He did, but it was not for such as they to be convinced by mere hearsay. Were they not the recognised guardians of the religion of the nation, the teachers who sat in Moses’ seat? They were in duty bound, then, to be jealous of all rival claims, and not to suffer their office to be invaded by unauthorised intruders. Any assumption of supernatural power, with no visible proof that the claimant possessed it, was sure to provoke disparaging sneers, and they did hardly more than what we should probably have done under similar circumstances. But this only applies to their conduct in the beginning. When once He had furnished them with the credentials of His mission, with the incontestable signs which they demanded, there was no longer any excuse for their incredulity.
But turning from the Scribes to the poor man’s friends, we read that “when Jesus saw their faith, He said to the sick of the palsy, Son, thy sins be forgiven thee.”
We have already hinted at the probable confession of the sick man himself, and though this would have been sufficient to excite the compassion of Jesus, we have no right to ignore what the Holy Spirit has recorded, viz., that it was the sight of their faith which drew from His lips the words of forgiveness. It is a fact full of mystery, but full also of consolation, that not a few of the gifts of healing and restoration — on the centurion’s servant — on Jairus’ child — on the blind man at Bethsaida — on the Syro-Phcenician’s daughter — were obtained through the faith and prayers, not so much of the sick and afflicted themselves, as of their relations and friends. Surely this dependence of man upon his fellow-creatures was intended to foreshadow the great mystery of Redemption through Another’s Blood. It may well have been placed on record by the Holy Spirit to teach us that whenever we try to bring others to the feet of Jesus to be healed of their soul’s sickness — be they friends or enemies — whenever we offer up “the prayer of faith,” which we are assured “shall save the sick,” we are associating ourselves in deeds of mercy and acts of intercession with the Great High Priest of the world — the One Mediator between God and man — the Man Christ Jesus, our Lord.
Note: There are fewer difficulties presented by this interpretation than by the others; but Trench, Miracles, 199, adopts the common theory. Thomson, The Land and the Book, 359, supposes that the roof was that over the lewan, composed of a layer of stiff mortar or clay upon some thickly-matted thorns. He imagines the house to have been only of one story. Edersheim, i. 502, confirms the writer in the view maintained above.
Note: The word is originally Latin, grabatiun. S. Mark, writing primarily for Roman readers, uses many Latin words — e.g. (nreKovX&Tup, ijecrroj’, Kwrvpluv, /ctjj/ctos, K.T.X.
Note: “Child, take courage,” is a more literal rendering, and expresses more than the Authorised Version the above idea.
Note: We learn from S. Luke v. 17 that some were present also from Galilee.
Note: The only recorded miracles in Jerusalem before this are the Cleansing of the Temple (if it may be called a miracle), and that at the Pool of Bethesda.
Note: Though the narrative speaks of “their” faith only, the perfect concurrence of the paralytic cannot be doubted.