Day 29 - Wednesday, March 17
Title: “SON, YOUR SINS ARE FORGIVEN”
Scripture: Mark 2:2-12
And many were gathered together, so that there was no longer room, not even near the door; and He was speaking the word to them. And they came, bringing to Him a paralytic, carried by four men. Being unable to get to Him because of the crowd, they removed the roof above Him; and when they had dug an opening, they let down the pallet on which the paralytic was lying. And Jesus seeing their faith said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” But some of the scribes were sitting there and reasoning in their hearts, “Why does this man speak that way? He is blaspheming; who can forgive sins but God alone?” Immediately Jesus, aware in His spirit that they were reasoning that way within themselves, said to them, “Why are you reasoning about these things in your hearts?  Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven’; or to say, ‘Get up, and pick up your pallet and walk’? But so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins”—He said to the paralytic, “I say to you, get up, pick up your pallet and go home.” And he got up and immediately picked up the pallet and went out in the sight of everyone, so that they were all amazed and were glorifying God, saying, “We have never seen anything like this.”

Poetry: 
Verses upon the Burning of our House,
July 10th, 1666
by Anne Bradstreet

Here Follows Some Verses Upon the Burning of Our
house, July 10th, 1666. Copied Out of a Loose Paper.

In silent night when rest I took,
For sorrow near I did not look,
I wakened was with thund’ring noise
And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
That fearful sound of “fire” and “fire,”
Let no man know is my Desire.
I, starting up, the light did spy,
And to my God my heart did cry
To straighten me in my Distress
And not to leave me succourless.
Then, coming out, behold a space
The flame consume my dwelling place.
And when I could no longer look,
I blest His name that gave and took,
That laid my goods now in the dust.
Yea, so it was, and so ‘twas just.
It was his own, it was not mine,
Far be it that I should repine;
He might of all justly bereft
But yet sufficient for us left.
When by the ruins oft I past
My sorrowing eyes aside did cast
And here and there the places spy
Where oft I sate and long did lie.
Here stood that trunk, and there that chest,
There lay that store I counted best.
My pleasant things in ashes lie
And them behold no more shall I.
Under thy roof no guest shall sit,
Nor at thy Table eat a bit.
No pleasant talk shall ‘ere be told
Nor things recounted done of old.
No Candle e'er shall shine in Thee,
Nor bridegroom‘s voice e'er heard shall be.
In silence ever shalt thou lie,
Adieu, Adieu, all’s vanity.
Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide,
And did thy wealth on earth abide?
Didst fix thy hope on mould'ring dust?
The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
Raise up thy thoughts above the sky
That dunghill mists away may fly.
Thou hast a house on high erect
Frameed by that mighty Architect,
With glory richly furnished,
Stands permanent though this be fled.
It‘s purchased and paid for too
By Him who hath enough to do.
A price so vast as is unknown,
Yet by His gift is made thine own;
There‘s wealth enough, I need no more,
Farewell, my pelf, farewell, my store.
The world no longer let me love,
My hope and treasure lies above.

WHAT CAN YOU SEE?

Perhaps their eyes grew downcast as they drew near the house. Word had spread like fire that Jesus was back in town, back again with those words that rang with authority like no one else’s, words that not just proclaimed God’s kingdom but demonstrated it in acts of healing and rescue. So the sight of the house bursting at its seams with crowds might have dismayed them. But love for their helpless friend and their faith that all he needed was to get inside to Jesus opened their eyes. They saw something that those jostling to get inside didn’t: that the way in was the way down.

Frank Murphy’s Lowering of the Paralytic fills the frame with reminders of the wreckage they made of the roof: the tools they used to shatter, cut, and dig, the broken tiles laid out to show what wholeness there once was. Their friend lies curled in total dependence below while they strain to lower him safely, and there’s an alarming precariousness about it all. The twisted ropes are pulling in all the wrong directions, at sharp diagonals that threaten to pull the men through the hole after their friend. The way down is not smooth and not without risk, but they have faith that the way down is the path to life. Yet very few in the house seem concerned by the plight of the paralytic. They gesticulate and exclaim at the means, but it’s Jesus alone who really sees.

The crowd inside sees the descent in weakness, the wreckage, but Jesus sees straight to the heart: He sees their faith and their need, even more clearly than they do. They brought their friend for healing, and he received more than he looked for because he looked by faith in full consciousness of his brokenness: “Son, your sins are forgiven.”

Jesus sees, too, the hearts of the scribes watching with narrowed eyes, those supposedly whole and in the know “reasoning in their hearts.” It’s easy for us to see that Jesus has mercy on the paralytic in all his manifest helplessness, but He also offers mercy to the scribes whose helplessness lies hidden. He condescends to their spiritual blindness and reasons along with them. “Which is easier to say…” sounds like such a scribe-like conundrum to resolve! And He does resolve it—though not quite as they expect—by bridging the difference between word and work so that the paralytic who came down in weakness rises up whole, soul and body, by the divinely authoritative word of the Son of Man. In mercy, Jesus commands the visibly healed body to testify to the healed soul seen only by God. We cannot on our own see that sins are forgiven, but Jesus makes it visible. He helps us see what He sees.

If we can start to see that this inside-out miracle is for the scribes and the crowd as much as it is for the paralytic, then we too are on our way down to meet Jesus. Like Anne Bradstreet surveying the ruins of her house and struggling to see anything more than a reiterated “no," our eyes are so often fixed on outsides, temporary dwellings, and all their “pleasant things." But both Bradstreet and Mark invite us to see with Jesus’ eyes our truest need so that we can glory in how it has been divinely furnished. For Jesus too, made his way down into weakness and bodily subjection. And Jesus too was raised as a testimony to the God who saves us soul and body and who says to those who come in faith to the Son of Man, “My child, your sins are forgiven. Rise and go home.”

Prayer:
Lord, what strength we have
May we spend utterly to entrust ourselves to you
In all our helpless and brokenness.
Deliver us from the blindness of the scribes
That by faith we might see our need
And so hear Your saving Word.
Amen

Diane Vincent
Associate Professor of Medieval Literature
Torrey Honors College
Biola University

For more information about the artwork, music, and poetry selected for this day, we have provided resources under the “About” tab located next to the “Devotional” tab.