Taking up mat and cross: a narrative sermon on John 5:1-13

Yesterday I watched him,
as I have watched him for a long time.

Old now,
and dragging himself more slowly than ever across the cobbles.

Each night, past my gate, out of the city,
clutching whatever meagre coins he's managed to beg,
out to spend the night huddled against the city wall.

Outside with all the other undesirables –
the dung collectors and stinking tanners and sailors
and cursed money lenders and all the rest
who would never be missed if they didn't make it through the night.

And back again each morning he comes,
dragging himself back to beg and wait beside that pool.

As if he had a chance anyhow.

The way he moves, crab-like and crippled,
scrabbling to keep up with the snails,
he has never had a chance of making it into that pool
ahead of anyone.

Not that I've ever paid him much attention mind.

One doesn't pay much attention to the likes of him.

Not until yesterday, that is.

For some reason he caught my eye as he struggled past.

I remember thinking,
"Won't be long now. He can't keep this up for much longer."

I mean, how long can a man with no family, no kin,
not even a distant relative to fulfil even the most basic of family obligations, how long can a man like that expect to survive?

It's been a strange sort of miracle that he's lived as long as he has.

Many don't.
Most don't and they at least start out healthy.

But back to yesterday.

Yesterday he looked no different than he ever had.

Nothing to look forward to.

Nothing to suggest that there would ever be more

in this beggar's life than dust and dirt and a begging mat.

But, not long after, in comes Jesus.

Walking to the Temple for the Sabbath, no doubt.

Him and that crowd he drags around after him.

Funny mob - half seem to worship the ground he walks on,

and the other half seem to be just waiting to catch him out.

And yesterday was no different.

No different that is until Jesus stopped
and stood watching the mob who had gathered at the water's edge.

I wonder what he was thinking?

Perhaps, like me, he wondered that anyone could be so mad
as to expect the angel of the Lord to bother

stirring up water for the likes of them.

But then Jesus steps forward.

He goes to the old man. Just him, quite deliberate like.

He goes to him and speaks.

And the old man looks at this Jesus and says something in reply.

The first real conversation I've ever seen him have with anyone.

And I was dumbstruck.

Why would anyone on the way to the Temple,

why would any good, self-respecting Jew have anything to do

with any of these unclean, ungodly wretches?

But there was Jesus talking to that filthy old man.

And he gets up.

The old man I mean.

The old man gets up, stands up on his own two feet!

He stands up like you and me.

Like you and me he stands there.

Mind you he looked pretty startled.

I guess you would if you'd spent all those years on your backside, dragging yourself around

and then you're on your feet and walking.

And he bends down and picks up his mat.

And then the trouble starts.

It's amazing!

A man is healed and what do those religious freaks

want to make of it?

They want to haggle with him over carrying his mat

on the Sabbath!

All those years and they've never noticed him,

never bothered to condescend to do more

than occasionally toss him a coin they no longer need.

All those years with never family or friend

and there he is surrounded by the Judeans arguing over

whether he can carry his mat.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it?

How is he going to get on now?

Begging has been his entire life.

Now he has to find a new place for himself in Jerusalem.

I don't mean a new place to live, like.

I mean he will have to do that.

If he wants to be respectable now

he'd better find himself a new spot to put his head at night.

But what I really mean is

he will have to find a new place among the people.

Whose group will he join?

Whose household will he attach himself to?

No one lives without others.

Now that he is physically healed he must do more.

He must find himself a place with others.

He must find someone who will give him their patronage.

If he doesn't, what will happen?

He'll be back here, begging beside the pool.

Back with all the other sinners, and worse off than ever before.

But who will take him in?

Who will give him a place at their table?

There is so much more to life than being physically well.

God alone knows how hard even that much is.

But there is more than healing.

There has to be wholeness.

Life without relationships is nothing.

And somehow that old man must find someone to relate to.

Why am I thinking about this?

Why am I bothering?

To be honest, I am bothered.

Ever since I saw Jesus stop and reach out to him,

I can't get him out of my mind.

I don't even know his name.

All of these years and I don't even know his name.

I once heard Jesus speak you know.

Heard him teaching.

It was funny stuff he was saying.

He was debating the law with someone.

And they asked him, "Who is my neighbour?"

And Jesus told a story about a man who no one would help.

No one, that is except, a Samaritan.

A Samaritan, of all people!

And somehow Jesus made it make sense

that we should care for all sorts of people,

perhaps even people like this old man with no family or friends.

Last night we talked about this at home.

And Esther said that we could use someone

to help us with our garden and fetching water from the well

and selling the occasional basket at the market.

So today, when that old man comes walking in, walking!

When he comes walking in I think that I will speak with him.

After all these years I will speak with him.