Lenten Reflection – Day 14 of the Great Lent
Mshariyo Sunday – The Sunday of the Paralytic: St. Mark 2:1-12
“When Jesus saw their faith, He said to the paralytic, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven you.'” (2:5)
Two weeks. Fourteen days. Half of the first month of the Great Lent is behind us. We entered the wilderness on Day 1. We have been stripped, examined, challenged, and taught. We watched Christ touch the leper on Garbo Sunday. Yesterday we heard Him speak with an authority that silenced the demonic and shook the synagogue.
Today is the third Sunday of the Great Lent. In the Indian Orthodox tradition, this is Mshariyo Sunday. The Sunday of the Paralytic. The Sunday that asks two questions the fast has been building toward.
The first question: when you cannot walk to Christ yourself, who carries you?
The second question: what does Christ heal first?
Both answers will surprise us.
The House in Capernaum (vv. 1-4)
“And again He entered Capernaum after some days, and it was heard that He was in the house. Immediately many gathered together, so that there was no longer room to receive them, not even near the door. And He preached the word to them.” (2:1–2)
Jesus is back in Capernaum. Word spreads. The house fills. Then the doorway fills. Then the street fills. Mark paints the picture with his usual economy. No room. Not even near the door. The crowd is so thick that no one else can get in.
Inside, Jesus is preaching. Outside, somewhere in the crowd or beyond it, four men are carrying a paralyzed friend on a mat. They have come because they believe Jesus can heal him. But they cannot get through the door.
This is a moment most people would give up. The crowd is too dense. The door is blocked. The house is full. They tried. It did not work. Maybe another day. Maybe another healer. Maybe this was not meant to be.
They do not give up.
“And when they could not come near Him because of the crowd, they uncovered the roof where He was. So when they had broken through, they let down the bed on which the paralytic was lying.” (2:4)
They go up. They climb onto the roof. In first-century Palestine, the roof of a typical house was flat, made of wooden beams covered with branches, mud, and plaster. It was strong enough to walk on. Not strong enough to resist four determined men with a sick friend.
They dig through the roof. They break through the branches and the mud. They make a hole large enough to lower a man on a mat. Dust and debris fall into the room below. The crowd looks up. Jesus looks up. A paralyzed man is let down through the hole in the ceiling on a stretcher. Four pairs of hands hold the ropes that lower him.
This is not polite religion. This is not waiting your turn. This is not respecting the queue. This is desperate, creative, boundary-breaking faith that will not take no for an answer.
St. John Chrysostom, in his Homily 29 on Matthew (on the parallel passage in Matthew 9:1–8), focuses on the faith of the four friends. He says the paralytic was blessed twice. Once by having friends who believed. Once by being healed. Chrysostom argues that the man on the mat could not have reached Jesus on his own. He was paralyzed. He could not walk. He could not push through the crowd. He could not climb the roof. Everything that happened to him happened because other people carried him. Their arms. Their legs. Their determination. Their faith. Chrysostom draws the conclusion that troubles the individualistic mind. Sometimes, our salvation depends on the faith of the people around us.1
The Faith Jesus Saw (v. 5a)
“When Jesus saw their faith…”
Stop here. Read it again. “Their faith.” Not “his faith.” Not the faith of the paralytic. The faith of the four friends. The faith of the people who carried him.
Mark is specific. Jesus looked up through the hole in the roof and He saw faith. Not the faith of the man on the mat. The man on the mat may have had great faith. He may have had no faith at all. Mark does not tell us. What Mark tells us is that Jesus saw the faith of the friends who tore open the roof. And He responded to it.
This changes everything we think about faith.
We tend to think of faith as a private, individual matter. My faith. My prayer. My relationship with God. And yes, there is a personal dimension to faith that no one else can live for us. But this passage says something else. It says that the faith of the community can carry the individual who cannot carry himself. It says that our friends’ faith can bring us into the presence of Christ when our own legs will not work.
The Oriental Orthodox tradition has always understood this. The liturgy is not a private devotion. It is a communal act. When the congregation prays, they pray for one another. When the priest says “Lord, have mercy,” he says it for the whole body. When the incense rises, it carries the prayers of everyone in the room, not just the most spiritual person present. The Church is a body. And in a body, the strong members carry the weak ones.
St. Basil the Great, in his Longer Rules (written for his monastic communities), teaches that the Christian life was never designed to be lived alone. God made us for community. Even our prayers are most powerful when they are shared. Basil argues that the person who insists on walking the spiritual path entirely alone has misunderstood the Gospel. Christ did not call individuals. He called a community. Twelve disciples. Not one. The paralytic was healed not because he was a spiritual hero but because he had friends who refused to leave him lying on his mat.2
On this Mshariyo Sunday, two weeks into the fast, this is a word many of us need to hear. Because some of us are paralyzed. Not physically. Spiritually. We have lost the ability to move toward God on our own. The fast feels heavy. The prayers feel empty. The sins we confessed on Day 1 are still present on Day 14. We are lying on our mats and we cannot get up.
The Gospel says: we do not have to get up alone. Let our brothers and sisters carry us. Let the community hold the ropes. Let someone else’s faith bring us into the room where Christ is.
Son, Your Sins Are Forgiven (v. 5b)
“…He said to the paralytic, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven you.'”
The man came for healing. His friends brought him for healing. Everyone in that room, including the four men on the roof with dust on their hands, expected healing.
Jesus forgives his sins.
Not first “rise and walk” and then “your sins are forgiven.” The other way around. First forgiveness. Then healing. The order is deliberate. Christ is making a statement about priorities. About what the deepest human problem actually is.
The paralytic could not walk. That was his visible problem. The problem everyone could see. The problem that motivated his friends. The problem the crowd expected Jesus to fix.
But Jesus looked at the man and saw something deeper. A burden heavier than paralyzed legs. The weight of sin. The invisible paralysis that no physician can treat and no amount of physical therapy can cure. The thing that separates a person from God. And He dealt with that first.
“Son.” Not “sinner.” Not “you who are unclean.” Son. The first word out of Christ’s mouth is a word of belonging. Before the forgiveness. Before the healing. Before anything else. You belong to Me. You are Mine. Then: your sins are forgiven.
On Garbo Sunday, Day 7, we watched Christ touch the leper. Today He does something even more startling. He forgives sin. The leper needed cleansing. The paralytic needed forgiveness. And Christ gives each man what he most deeply needs, not what the crowd expects Him to give.
St. Cyril of Alexandria, in his Commentary on the Gospel of Luke (on the parallel passage in Luke 5:17–26), teaches that Christ forgave the paralytic’s sins first because sin is a deeper paralysis than any physical condition. The body may be bound. But if the soul is free, the person is free. The body may be whole. But if the soul is bound by sin, the person is still paralyzed. Cyril argues that the whole scene is arranged to teach one lesson: the Son of God came into the world primarily not to heal bodies but to forgive sins. The physical healing is real and good. But it is secondary. It is the sign. Forgiveness is the thing signified.3
This is difficult for modern ears. We live in a world that prioritizes the physical. Health. Comfort. Longevity. Mobility. We would have wanted Jesus to heal the man’s legs first and deal with the spiritual matters later. We would have said: the man is suffering, fix the obvious problem.
Jesus says: the obvious problem is not the deepest problem. The deepest problem is the one you cannot see. And I am going to deal with that one first.
The Great Lent understands this order. The fast addresses the body. But it addresses the body in order to reach the soul. We do not fast because food is the problem. We fast because the soul needs attention and the body’s constant demands have been drowning it out. When the body is quieted, the soul can speak. And what the soul most needs is not healing but forgiveness.
The Scribes’ Silent Objection (vv. 6–7)
“And some of the scribes were sitting there and reasoning in their hearts, ‘Why does this Man speak blasphemies like this? Who can forgive sins but God alone?'” (2:6–7)
The scribes do not speak out loud. They reason in their hearts. Silently. Privately. But Jesus knows. Mark does not explain how. He simply says Jesus perceived it in His spirit.
The scribes’ objection is theologically correct. Who can forgive sins but God alone? That is accurate. Only God can forgive sins. The scribes know their theology. They draw the right conclusion from the right premise. If only God can forgive sins, and this man is forgiving sins, then this man is either God or a blasphemer. There is no third option.
They choose blasphemer. They cannot bring themselves to the other conclusion. Because the other conclusion would require them to fall on their faces before a carpenter from Nazareth. And their pride will not allow it.
Yesterday, on Day 13, we saw the unclean spirit in the synagogue who had perfect theology and zero surrender. “I know who You are, the Holy One of God.” Today we see the scribes who have perfect logic and zero faith. The demon knew who Christ was and trembled. The scribes see the evidence and refuse to believe.
The two responses to Christ are always the same. Surrender or resistance. There is no neutral ground. The evidence is there. The authority is displayed. The sins are being forgiven right in front of their eyes. And they sit in their seats and call it blasphemy.
St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his Commentary on the Diatessaron, observes that Christ exposed the scribes’ thoughts deliberately. They were judging Him in the secrecy of their hearts. He pulled their secret judgments into the open. Ephrem says this is what the word of God always does. It does not leave the hidden things hidden. Yesterday in the synagogue, it forced the unclean spirit to cry out. Today in the house, it forces the hidden thoughts of the scribes to the surface. The word of Christ is a revealer. It shows us what is inside. And what is inside the scribes is not faith. It is the quiet, respectable, theologically literate refusal to believe.4
Which Is Easier? (vv. 8–11)
“But immediately, when Jesus perceived in His spirit that they reasoned thus within themselves, He said to them, ‘Why do you reason about these things in your hearts? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, “Your sins are forgiven you,” or to say, “Arise, take up your bed and walk”? But that you may know that the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins’…” (2:8–10)
Jesus asks a brilliant question. Which is easier to say? “Your sins are forgiven” or “Rise and walk”?
Think about it. In one sense, “your sins are forgiven” is easier to say because no one can verify it. We cannot see forgiveness. We cannot measure it. We cannot test whether it has actually happened. A fraud could say “your sins are forgiven” and no one could prove he was lying.
But “rise and walk” is immediately verifiable. Either the man gets up or he does not. Either the legs work or they do not. There is no hiding. No pretending. The proof is public.
So Jesus does both. He says the harder-to-verify thing first (your sins are forgiven) and then proves His authority to say it by doing the easier-to-verify thing (rise and walk). The healing of the body becomes the evidence for the healing of the soul. The visible miracle validates the invisible one.
“That you may know that the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins.”
This is the point of the whole story. Not the healing. The authority to forgive. The healing is the proof. The forgiveness is the purpose. Christ heals the paralytic’s legs so that the scribes, the crowd, and everyone who will ever read this story will know: this Man has the authority to forgive sins on earth. Right here. Right now. Not in some distant future. Not after a long process. On the spot. At the word.
St. Athanasius the Great, in On the Incarnation, teaches that the miracles of Christ are not displays of power for their own sake. They are signs. Each one points to something deeper. The healing of the blind points to Christ’s power to open the eyes of the spiritually blind. The raising of the dead points to His power to raise the spiritually dead. And the healing of the paralytic points to His power to forgive sins and restore the soul’s ability to move toward God. Every physical miracle is a window into the spiritual reality of what Christ came to do.5
Rise, Take Up Your Bed, and Go (vv. 11–12)
“‘I say to you, arise, take up your bed, and go to your house.’ Immediately he arose, took up the bed, and went out in the presence of them all, so that all were amazed and glorified God, saying, ‘We never saw anything like this!'” (2:11–12)
Three commands. Arise. Take up your bed. Go home.
Arise. Get up. We are no longer defined by our condition. We are not a paralytic anymore. We are a people who has been forgiven and healed. Stand up and be what we are meant to be.
Take up your bed. Pick up the thing that carried us. The mat we lay on. The thing that defined our illness. Take it with us. Not because we will need it again. But because it is now a testimony. The thing that held us is now the thing we hold. The thing that defined our weakness is now the proof of our healing.
Go home. Return to our ordinary life. The miracle does not happen in the house where Jesus is and stay there. It goes with us. Into our kitchen. Into our workplace. Into our family. Into the ordinary everyday that follows the extraordinary Sunday. The healing is not for the crowd’s entertainment. It is for our life.
“Immediately he arose.” No delay. No gradual recovery. No physiotherapy. The word of Christ accomplished in an instant what years of paralysis had made impossible. The same man who was carried in by four friends walks out on his own two legs, carrying the mat that used to carry him.
“All were amazed and glorified God, saying, ‘We never saw anything like this!'”
The whole room responds. Not with theological debate. Not with careful analysis. With amazement. And with worship. They glorified God. Because when God acts with authority, the only appropriate response is not to explain it but to worship.
What Mshariyo Sunday Means for the Fast
We are at the midpoint of the second week. The fast is settling into a rhythm. For some of us, the rhythm is good. Steady. Sustainable. For others, the rhythm has become a rut. The prayers are words without fire. The fasting is routine without meaning. The repentance that felt sharp on Day 1 has gone dull.
Mshariyo Sunday speaks to both groups.
To the person who is doing well: remember the friends on the roof. Our faith is not only for us. There are people in our life who are paralyzed. They cannot get to Christ on their own. Our prayers carry them. Our faithfulness holds the ropes. Our refusal to give up on them may be the thing that brings them into the room where Jesus is. Do not fast only for yourself. Fast for someone who cannot fast. Pray for someone who has forgotten how.
To the person who is struggling: we are the man on the mat. And that is not a failure. It is the starting position of this story. The man on the mat did not climb the roof. He did not dig through the ceiling. He did not lower himself through the hole. He was carried. Every step of the way. And when he landed in front of Jesus, the first word he heard was not a rebuke. It was “Son.” We belong.
The leper on Garbo Sunday came to Christ on his own feet. The paralytic on Mshariyo Sunday was carried. Both were healed. Both were met by a Christ who dealt with their deepest need. The method of arrival does not matter. What matters is that they ended up in front of Jesus. And so can we all. Carried if necessary. Through the roof if required. But in front of Him. Where the word that forgives and the word that heals are the same word.
For Our Journey Today
Carry someone. You know someone who is paralyzed. Spiritually stuck. Unable to pray. Unable to move toward God on their own. Today, carry them. Pray for them by name. Call them. Visit them. Be the friend who refuses to leave them lying on their mat. We cannot heal them. But we can bring them to the One who can.
Let yourself be carried. If you are the one on the mat today, stop pretending you can walk. Stop performing strength you do not have. Let the community hold you. Let someone else’s faith be enough for today. Christ saw their faith and responded. Your weakness is not a disqualification. It is the condition in which this miracle happens.
Receive the first word. Before “rise and walk,” Christ said “Son.” Before the healing, belonging. Before the restoration, identity. Today, before we do anything, hear that word. We are His. Not because of our fasting. Not because of our prayers. Not because of our spiritual performance over the past fourteen days. Because He has claimed us. Son. Daughter. Ours is a belonging that paralysis cannot undo.
Lord Jesus Christ, who looked through the hole in the roof and saw not a nuisance but faith, look at us today. Some of us are the friends on the roof, carrying others who cannot walk. Give us strong arms and stubborn love. Some of us are the man on the mat, paralyzed by sin, by doubt, by exhaustion, unable to reach You on our own. Give us the humility to be carried. And when we are finally lowered into Your presence, say the word You said to him. Say “Son.” Say “your sins are forgiven.” Say “arise.” We cannot heal ourselves. But You can. And You are willing. By the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos, the holy Evangelist Mark, and all the saints, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
References
- St. John Chrysostom (c. 349–407). Homily 29 on Matthew, on Matthew 9:1–8 (the parallel account of the healing of the paralytic). Edition: Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers (NPNF), Series I, Vol. 10: Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew, translated by George Prevost and M.B. Riddle (available at newadvent.org and ccel.org). ↩︎
- St. Basil the Great (c. 330–379). Longer Rules (Regulae Fusius Tractatae), particularly Rule 7.Edition: Saint Basil: Ascetical Works, translated by M. Monica Wagner, Fathers of the Church Series, Vol. 9 (Catholic University of America Press, 1950). Also available in Anna M. Silvas, The Asketikon of St Basil the Great (Oxford University Press, Oxford Early Christian Studies, 2005), which provides the most recent critical study and translation. ↩︎
- St. Cyril of Alexandria (c. 376–444). Commentary on the Gospel of Luke, Homily 12, on Luke 5:17–26 (the parallel account of the healing of the paralytic). Edition: Commentary on the Gospel of Saint Luke, translated by R. Payne Smith (Studion Publishers, 1983; reprinted by Astir Publishing, 2009). Excerpts also in the Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Luke, edited by Arthur A. Just Jr. (IVP Academic, 2003). ↩︎
- St. Ephrem the Syrian (c. 306–373). Commentary on the Diatessaron. Edition: Saint Ephrem’s Commentary on Tatian’s Diatessaron, translated by Carmel McCarthy, Journal of Semitic Studies Supplement 2 (Oxford University Press, 1993). Excerpts also in the Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Mark, edited by Thomas C. Oden and Christopher A. Hall (IVP Academic, 1998). ↩︎
- St. Athanasius the Great (c. 296–373). On the Incarnation (De Incarnatione), particularly chapters 17–19 and 30–32. Edition: On the Incarnation, translated by John Behr (St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, Popular Patristics Series, 2011). Also Athanasius: Contra Gentes and De Incarnatione, translated by Robert W. Thomson (Oxford University Press, Oxford Early Christian Texts, 1971). ↩︎
