Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Every inch of the place was packed. Street. Sidewalk. Yard. House. There was barely room for a lone man to squeeze through the crowd in the street and absolutely no hope of actually entering. Doorways were blocked. Window seats were filled. The carefully swept dirt floor of the house couldn’t be seen for the mass of people filling the room. Perching on every available surface. Squeezing into every empty space. Crammed so tightly between those four walls the air could hardly circulate among them. It was no better outside. The entire town must have taken a day from their duties to be there. Hordes of hopefuls hovered around the doors. Groups gathered outside open windows. The line for entry wrapped well around the block. It was impossible to miss. And they were late arriving.

They hadn’t meant to be. It wasn’t lackadaisical mediocrity that had them gingerly approaching the house after everyone else had arrived. They had intended to be there early. Had appeared at their paralyzed friend’s house hours ago, hoping to implement their mobility plan and make him first in line to see Jesus. They had sorely underestimated their task. The logistics of carrying a man on a mat without dropping him and causing further damage were more complex than first believed. And they had never had to do it before. They visited his home regularly. The doctor made house calls. His wife bore the brunt of his care. He never left home. Didn’t need to until today. Today was their day. His day. The one day they had to get their friend to Jesus for healing. It wasn’t a matter of each one grabbing a corner and making a mad dash for Jesus. They would have been on time if it was. Early, even. Instead, they had to contrive a conveyance. Build a way to safely haul the dead weight of a fully grown man through busy streets and an impenetrable crowd. It took longer than they hoped. 

When they finally had their conveyance built, their friend loaded, and carefully made the walk to where Jesus was preaching, the place was overflowing with people. Some were just curious onlookers. Some were intentional seekers. Some, like them, were only there for a miracle. No one was pushing and shoving. No spontaneous wrestling matches erupted. No one disruptive verbal altercations split the air. Most people seemed content to wait their turn. Most people. The four friends holding the corners of the paralyzed man’s mat weren’t. They hadn’t spent hours of work planning and building and carrying to simply wait around to see if Jesus ended up having time for them. They meant to see Him. Now. But there was no way to get in. The doors were blocked. The windows barricaded. Their friend would never fit down the narrow chimney. But he needed to see Jesus, and they were determined to get him there. 

 Building construction must have been their stock-in-trade. Or building deconstruction. Either one. It didn’t take a lot of brain-cramping to come up with a brilliant plan. A plan allowing them to literally lay their friend at Jesus’ feet. All it required was a door in the ceiling. They could do that. They’d been planning and building and overcoming obstacles all day. What was one little roof? Climbing up to the top of the house, they began to deconstruct the dwelling. Meticulously. One section at a time. Gently removing the roofing tiles, they neatly stacked them to the side, taking up only what was necessary. They needed just enough space to lower one mat holding one man. They weren’t trying to go down there themselves. They weren’t looking for personal accolades. They just needed to get their friend down there. Desperately. They needed to get him to Jesus. 

One wonders how long it took the people below to notice something was going on above. It seems they would surely have heard the footfalls crossing the roof tiles. The falling dust raised by the deconstruction would likely have tickled a sneeze out of more than one nose. Light beaming into the dim interior of the house through the growing hole in the roof would certainly have forced their eyes to readjust. If nothing else, the mat complete with paralyzed man slowly being lowered to rest in front of them would surely have made them lose track of what Jesus was saying. Yet it doesn’t seem to do so. There is no record of people complaining at having to make space for a man on a mat. They simply parted, allowing the four friends above to rest their needy friend at Jesus’ feet for healing. Both body and soul. 

In a turn of events no one expected, Jesus doesn’t immediately heal the man’s obvious physical condition. Not because He lacks compassion. Not because He doesn’t care. Jesus looks at that man and sees his needs. All of them. The acute and then the chronic. Jesus heals his heart first. Forgives his sin. Cares for the eternal that is so much more important than the physical. And then He stops to have a conversation with the intractable teachers of the law. The guys who were there, not for salvation or healing or knowledge, but to find fault and carry tales. Men who had already judged Him a menace and were taking up space attempting to prove it. Men who clearly didn’t have the same type of friends as the man lying on the mat. 

The four expectant faces watching from the sides of the newly formed skylight fell in disappointment. They had been hoping for something more. Something physical. Something that would change their friend’s circumstances. Exchanging a round of irritated glances, they nearly acted on the impulse to jump down and put those interrupting men in a headlock. Couldn’t they see the guy on the floor clearly needing more time with Jesus? Just as they were scrambling to their feet to intervene, Jesus handled the situation for them. Looking at their spiritually whole but physically broken friend, He commanded, “Get up. Take your mat. Go home.” And he did. (Matthew 9:1-8; Mark 2:1-12; Luke 5:17-26)

At the end of accounts like this, it is nearly impossible not to wish for more information. What did those four men peering through the roof do when their friend grabbed his gear and headed for home? Did they speak their gratitude to Jesus through the roof? Did they holler their congratulations to their friend as he walked away? Did they shimmy down the house to shake his hand and check out his newly working legs? Or did they simply smile to themselves and quietly set about reconstructing the roof, resting their hearts in the knowledge their labor had not been in vain? Their friend who, that very morning, had been overwhelmed by his physical condition and allowing his spiritual one to slip, had been rescued by a meeting with Jesus. With the exception of fixing the roof, their work was done.

We should all be so blessed as to keep company with friends like these. Friends who see our needs and, even when we can’t drag ourselves there, carry us to Jesus. Friends that pull us back from the brink of an ill-fated decision with honest words of loving wisdom. Friends that pray and praise, encourage and support us through the darkest times of our lives. Friends who embody Jesus and bring us before Him day and night. Why? Because at some point in each of our lives, we become paralyzed by a sin, a situation, a circumstance beyond our control and we can’t manage to find our way anywhere. Our courage wanes. Our hope fails. Our threadbare faith gives way. We are tempted to spend the rest of our lives on our mat with our faces turned toward the wall. Good friends won’t let us do that. Good friends, friends like these four men recorded in the Gospels, will lift us, carry us, and lay us at the feet of Jesus. Right where we need to be. (Proverbs 27:5-6; I Corinthians 15:33; Proverbs 27:17; I Thessalonians 5:14)

Friends, the company you keep matters. Your circle of friends is immensely important. The people with whom you surround yourself are integral to how you live your life. Ultimately, they impact your eternity. At a time of year when we are encouraged to deeply feel the rage and disbelief at Pilate cowardly washing his hands and eschewing just judgment, at Judas selling a life that wasn’t his to sell, at the crowd’s defections, at the ignorant words of the unrepentant thief, I have to ask, what would be different if they’d kept different company? What if Pilate surrounded himself with men who encouraged him to rule with unwavering justice? What if Judas hadn’t fallen in with the Pharisees? What if the crowd had listened more to the firsthand accounts of James and John and Mary Magdalene? What if the criminal on the cross beside Jesus had kept better company beforehand? What if they’d all had friends that would bring them to Jesus no matter the cost? How would the account read then? (Proverbs 13:20; James 4:4; Matthew 26,27; II Corinthians 6:14) 

It doesn’t. I know. I get it. Jesus had to suffer horrible things at the hands of evil men. He had to die a brutal death on a rough-hewn cross. It was God’s plan. His will. So we could be saved from our sins. So we could be rescued from ourselves. So we could have eternal life. So we could keep company with God the Father. No bloody animal sacrifices for sins. No priest to do our praying for us. No temple veil to separate us. We can keep company with God the Father because Jesus fell out of company with those who refused to believe in Him and gave Himself up to death on the cross. For you. For me. For everyone. May we live there. May we be ever aware that Jesus laid down His life for the people with whom He wanted to keep company. His friends. His people. Us. May it make us better friends. The kind of friends that, when we see our fellow followers struggling, striving, barely surviving, we come alongside encouragement, help, hope and strength. Friends that never give up. Friends that don’t simply suggest one should go see Jesus, but the kind of friends that see each other’s needs, lift one another up, carry us there and lay us at His feet. In His presence. In the company of God. (Luke 23:42-47; Romans 4:25; Hebrews 4:16; John 15:12-15; I Thessalonians 5:11; James 4:8; Matthew 11:28; Romans 5:8,10)