How do YOU respond to God's grace?
VideoTranscript
This is the video’s transcript, lightly formatted. Tap a time to jump to that moment.
Imagine, if you will, the bustling city of Jerusalem, a place just teeming with life, especially during one of the Jewish festivals. People are coming and going. There's a buzz in the air, a sense of expectation. Near the sheep gate, a well-known spot, there's this place called Bethesda, or some ancient texts call it Betha. It's not just any pool. It's got these five covered colonades, like covered porches running alongside it. And under these porches, well, that's where you'd find a scene of real human suffering.
The Bible tells us a great number of disabled people used to lie. The blind, the lame, the paralyzed. It must have been a pretty somber sight, a stark contrast to the festive atmosphere that might have been just outside those walls. You can almost smell the dust and the despair, hear the quiet groans, the rustle of mats, the occasional sigh of someone who's been there for what feels like an eternity. There was this belief, you see, a local tradition that every now and then an angel of the Lord would come down and stir up the waters of the pool, and the first person to get into the water after this happened, they'd be cured of whatever disease they had. Now, whether this was an actual angelic visitation or a folk belief that gave people a sliver of hope, it doesn't entirely matter for the core of what happens next.
What matters is the desperation it bred. Imagine the tension, the constant vigilance, the heartbreaking scramble when the waters finally did move, maybe from an intermittent spring or something. The strongest, the quickest, or those with helpful friends, they had a chance. But what about the others? Well, among this crowd of hopeful, hurting people, there's one guy. We don't know his name, but we know his story, or at least a significant part of it. He's been an invalid, unable to care for himself for 38 years.
38 years. Think about that. Decades of lying there watching, waiting, seeing others get their miracle or just give up. decades of the same view, the same sounds, the same gnawing ache of hopelessness. He's practically a fixture of that place, a monument to the suffering. And then Jesus comes along. He's in Jerusalem for the festival.
He sees this man lying there. And it's not just a passing glance. The scripture says Jesus knew how long he'd been in this condition. There's an intentionality here. Jesus singles him out from the crowd. He walks over to this guy who's probably seen countless people walk by and he asks him a question that on its surface sounds almost absurd. Do you want to get well?
I mean, of course he wants to get well, right? Who wouldn't after nearly four decades of being an invalid? But maybe the question goes deeper. Maybe after so long his identity is wrapped up in his illness. Maybe the thought of a different life is almost too frightening to consider. Or maybe, just maybe, Jesus is trying to cut through the layers of resignation and see if there's still a spark of desire, a flicker of hope for something more. The man's reply is interesting.
He doesn't just say, "Yes, please." He explains his predicament, his excuse really. "Sir," he says, "I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. when I'm trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me. You can hear the weariness in his voice, the resignation. It's the same old story he's probably told a thousand times. He's focused on the process, the competition, the reason why he can't be healed rather than the possibility that healing might come from a different source altogether.
He's looking at the pool, at the limitations, not at the one standing before him who holds the power of creation in his very being. Well, Jesus doesn't argue with them. He doesn't debate the logistics of the pool. He just speaks with authority with the power that cuts through all the excuses and all the years of waiting. Get up, he commands. Pick up your mat and walk. And the Bible says at once the man was cured.
He picked up his mat and walked just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic ritual, just a word from Jesus and 38 years of paralysis gone. Imagine the feeling, the sudden strength and limbs that haven't held him for decades. The ability to stand, to move, to be whole. He picks up a sleeping mat, the symbol of his old life, the very thing he'd been confined to, and he walks. It's a miracle, plain and simple. But the story doesn't end there.
It takes a turn. The day this happens is the Sabbath. And the newly healed man is walking along carrying his mat. And some of the Jewish leaders see him. They're not amazed by the miracle. They're mad by the perceived infraction. It is the Sabbath.
They tell him, "The law forbids you to carry your mat." They're more concerned with their interpretation of a rule than with the incredible transformation that's just taken place in this man's life. Well, the man's response is straightforward. The man who made me well said to me, pick up your mat and walk. He's essentially saying, "The guy who had the power to heal my 38-year illness, he told me to do it. I'm listening to him." So, they press him.
Who is this fellow who told you to pick it up and walk? But here's the thing. The man who was healed has no idea who it was. Jesus has slipped away into the crowd. He got his healing, but he didn't even know or ask the name of the healer. Who are you, sir? That I might thank you, that I might follow you.
None of that. He just took his healing, went on his way. Later, Jesus finds him in the temple courts again. Jesus initiates the contact and he says something really significant. See, you are well again. Stop sinning or something worse may happen to you. It's a word of warning, but also a word that points to a deeper connection between our physical and spiritual well-being.
A call to a changed life, not just a healed body. And what does the man do after this second encounter? The man went away and told the Jewish leaders that it was Jesus who had made him well. And the consequence, John tells us. So because Jesus was doing these things on the Sabbath, the Jewish leaders began to persecute him. Now let's pause here and think about this man. He received an unbelievable gift.
38 years of suffering erased in a moment. You'd think his first response would be overwhelming gratitude, an insatiable desire to find out who this miracle worker was, to fall on his feet, to pledge his life to him. But we don't see that, do we? He doesn't even ask for Jesus name. He just walks off. It's kind of jarring, isn't it? And then after Jesus finds him and gives him that crucial piece of spiritual counsel, he goes straight to the authorities and tells them it was Jesus.
On the surface, it looks like he ratted Jesus out. It looks like a profound act of ingratitude or betrayal. And because of his testimony, the persecution against Jesus ramps up. It's easy for us to judge him, isn't it? to think, "Wow, how could he after everything Jesus did for him?" But maybe we need to be a bit charitable here. The Bible doesn't tell us the guy's motives.
We don't know what he was doing or what was in his head or in his heart. Was he threatened by those religious leaders? They weren't exactly known for their gentle persuasion. Maybe they put him on the spot and he was scared. 38 years of being powerless can make you pretty susceptible to intimidation.
Or perhaps he was just naive. Maybe he didn't fully grasp the sinister intentions of the leaders. He just experienced this incredible miracle. Maybe he thought, "If I tell them who did this, they'll be amazed, too. They'll want to honor him." He might have been completely oblivious to the fact that they were looking for any excuse, any pretext to go after Jesus. He may have thought he was doing a good thing, giving credit where it was due, not realizing he was handling handing them ammunition.
Or it could be that he was so focused on the rules himself that he'd been called out for carrying the mat. Maybe he thought that by identifying Jesus, he was somehow deflecting blame from himself or even showing his own piety by cooperating with the religious authorities. We just don't know. He'd lived in a system, a culture that was very rule focused. It's possible he was just operating within that framework, however flawed it might have seemed looking for us looking at it. The point is, we're not told why he did it. And it's a good reminder for us not to jump to conclusions about other people's motives because we rarely have the full picture.
But even with that charitable lens, his actions do provide a stark contrast to what we might have hoped for, what we would expect, and indeed what our own response to Jesus should look like. Because regardless of his reasons, the outcome was that Jesus was further endangered. And it makes us think when we experience the grace of God, when he touches our lives, heals our brokenness, lifts us out of our own pools of Bethesda, what is our response? Is it one of quiet acceptance and then just moving on? Is it one where we might even unintentionally downplay his work or fail to connect it back to him? or in difficult situations, do we sometimes say or do things that don't fully honor the one who shown us mercy? It's interesting, too, that Jesus still showed him grace and compassion.
The initial healing was pure, unadultered grace. The man hadn't done anything to earn it. He didn't even express robust faith beforehand, just as litany of excuses. And even after the healing, when Jesus finds him in the temple, his words, "Stop sinning or something worse may happen to you." They're not just a rebuke. They're a warning born out of concern. It's like he's saying, "I've given you a fresh start, a new lease on life physically.
Don't blow it. There's a spiritual dimension to your life that needs attention, too." Jesus was still looking out for this man's ultimate well-being, even though the man's subsequent actions would contribute to Jesus' own suffering. That's the incredible persistent nature of God's love, isn't it? It's not dependent on our perfect performance or our flawless gratitude. So, if this man's response was, let's say, less than ideal, what does a better response look like? How should we react when we encounter the transforming power of Jesus in our lives?
Well, first and foremost, I think it's about gratitude. A deep, overflowing, can't help but express it gratitude. Not just a polite thank you, but a profound sense of awe and wonder at what God has done. King David knew a thing or two about this. In Psalm 10 103 he says, "Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagles. Forget not all his benefits." That's key.
The man at the poll seems to have, if not forgotten, at least not fully connected the benefit with the benefactor in a way that led to express thanks or loyalty, at least not initially. Then beyond the gratitude, there's the desire to know the person who's changed your life. If someone pulled you from a burning building, wouldn't you want to know their name, to thank them properly, to understand the hero? When Jesus touches our lives, heals our deepest hurts, or offers us a new beginning, it should spark a curiosity, a longing to understand him more, to learn about his character, his teachings, his heart. And that desire to know him naturally leads to a desire to follow him. It's not just about receiving a one-time gift. It's about entering into a relationship.
It's about saying, "Your ways are higher than my ways. Your wisdom is greater than mine. I want to align my life with you. Let's look at another story of healing in the gospels. One that provides a beautiful contrast to that guy. Think about the man born blind in John chapter 9. This is another incredible miracle.
Jesus makes mud with saliva, puts it on the man's eyes, and tells him to go wash in the pool of Salom. The guy does so, and he comes back seeing. For the first time in his life, he can see. Now watch his response, especially as the pressure mounts. The religious leaders again are more interested in discrediting Jesus than celebrating the miracle. They interrogate this man. They interrogate his parents.
They try to get him to say that Jesus is a sinner, that the healing wasn't from God. But this one, this guy, he stands his ground. He says, "Whether he's a sinner or not, I don't know. One thing I do know, I was blind, but now I see. He's not a theologian. He doesn't have all the answers, but he knows what Jesus did for him, and he's not going to deny it. They keep pressing him, insulting him, trying to intimidate him.
But he gets bolder. He even starts to turn the tables on him, saying, "If this man were not from God, he could do nothing." He's defending Jesus, even at great personal cost. And what happens? They throw him out of the synagogue. In that culture, that was a huge deal. Social and religious shunning.
But then, just like with the man at Bethesda, Jesus seeks him out. Jesus heard they had thrown him out. And when he found him, he asked, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" The man, still trying to piece it all together, asks, "Who is he, sir? Tell me so that I may believe in him." Jesus reveals himself. You have now seen him.
In fact, he is the one speaking with you. And what's that man's response? Then the man said, "Lord, I believe." And he worshiped him. You see the difference? Gratitude, a search for truth, a courageous testimony under pressure and culminating in belief and worship. He didn't just take the healing and run.
The healing led him into a deeper encounter, a confession of faith and an act of worship. He recognized the healer and honored him. Or think about blind Barameus in ma Mark chapter 10. He's crying out, "Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me. People are telling him to shut up." But he shouts all the louder. Jesus calls for him.
Barnameus throws his cloak aside, a symbol of his old identity as a beggar. jumps to his feet and comes to Jesus. Jesus asks him, "What do you want me to do for you?" And Barameus says, "Rabbi, I want to see." Jesus tells him, "Go. Your faith has healed you." And the scripture says immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road.
He didn't just go back to his old spot with new eyes. His new sight led to new steps following Jesus. That's the kind of response that truly honors the gift. It's not about earning the healing. Of course, grace is always a gift, but our response to that grace shapes us, defines our ongoing relationship with the giver, and becomes a powerful witness to those around us. The man at Bethesda got his healing, but he seemed to miss out on the richness of a deeper relationship, at least in the immediate aftermath. The man born blind and Bararddameus they got both the physical healing and the spiritual connection.
They understood at some level that the one who could open their eyes could also open their hearts and lead them into a new way of life. So how does all this ancient history, these stories from dusty roads and Palestine connect with us today in our 21st century lives? We might not be literally lying by a physical pool named Bethesda, waiting for the waters to stir. But don't we all have our own pools of Bethesda? Those places in our lives where we feel stuck, paralyzed, waiting for something, anything to change. Maybe it's a long-term illness, a chronic pain that saps our energy and our joy. Maybe it's a broken relationship that seems beyond repair.
Maybe it's an addiction that has held us captive for years, a cycle of behavior we can't seem to break on our own. Or maybe it's a spiritual dryness, a sense of distance from God, a feeling that our prayers are just hitting the ceiling. It could be a dead-end job, a financial struggle that never seems to ease, or a deep-seated fear or anxiety that cripples our ability to live fully. These are our modern-day colonades where we can find ourselves lying sometimes for years just like that man feeling helpless and perhaps a little hopeless. And we often have our own versions of stirring waters, don't we? We look for solutions in all sorts of places. A new self-help book, the latest wellness trend, a change in circumstances, hoping that this will be the thing that finally brings relief or breakthrough.
We might even say like that man, if only I had someone to help me. Or if only this or that would happen, then I would be okay. We can get so focused on the means that we think we need that we miss the presence of the one who is the solution. And Jesus still comes to us in those places. He still sees us in our long-standing condition. He still knows. And he still asks that penetrating question in one form or another.
Do you want to get well? It's a question that invites us to look beyond our excuses, beyond our resignation, beyond our familiar pain. It challenges us to consider if we're truly ready for change. Cuz sometimes, strange as it might sound, we can get comfortable in our brokenness. It's what we know. Healing, wholeness, a new way of living that can be scary. It comes with new responsibilities, a new identity.
When God does intervene, when he answers a prayer, provides a breakthrough, offers his forgiveness and grace, how do we respond? Do we, like the man at the pool, just take the blessing and walk away, perhaps not even fully acknowledging the source? Do we get so caught up in the rules or the opinions of others that we fail to give open and joyful testimony to what God has done? Sometimes I think we can even unintentionally rat out the work of God in our lives by minimizing it, by attributing it to luck or our own efforts, or by being too timid to share the story of his goodness. Think about someone like John Newton. Now, here is a man deeply entrenched in the horrors of the slave trade in the 18th century. His life was rough, profane, and by his own admission, wicked.
He was in a spiritual sense an envelation. Then during a violent storm at sea, facing death, he cries out to God for mercy. This was his stirring of the waters, his crisis moment, and God met him there. It wasn't an instant perfect transformation, but it was the beginning. Over time, Jesus healed him, not a physical ailment, but of a profound spiritual sickness. And what was Newton's response? Wasn't just relief that he survived the storm.
His life was radically changed. He eventually renounced slave trading, became a minister of the gospel, and a powerful voice for the abolition of slavery. And of course, he pinned the words of that beloved hymn, Amazing Grace, a testament to his own experience. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I'm found. was blind, but now I see. His response to God's grace was a lifetime of grateful service, pointing others to the same mercy he received.
He didn't just get up and walk away. He got up and dedicated his life to the one who had saved him. He became a powerful example of someone who once healed spent his life testifying to the healer. Or here's a more contemporary figure, Nick Vuichek, if that's how you pronounce it. Born without arms and legs, he faced unimaginable physical limitations and deep emotional despair. His pull of Bethesda was the daily reality of struggle and the question of why me? He has spoken openly about his dark thoughts, even contemplating suicide as a young boy.
But then an encounter with God's love, an understanding of his worth and purpose in Christ began a profound healing in his heart and in his mind. wasn't a physical restoration, but it was a spiritual and emotional getting well that was just as miraculous. His response instead of bitterness and resignation, Nick has embraced a life of incredible impact. He travels the world sharing his story, inspiring millions with the message of hope, faith, and perseverance. He didn't just pick up his mat, he picked up a microphone and a mission. His life shouts gratitude. He constantly points people to Jesus as the source of his strength and joy.
That's a John nine kind of response, a Barnameus kind of response. Receiving the touch of God and then following, testifying, and living a life that magnifies the giver. These stories stand in contrast to that initial somewhat bewildering response of the man at Bethesda. And they challenge us when we experience God's goodness. Whether it's a dramatic healing, a quiet provision, a moment of clarity, the forgiveness of sins, do we integrate that into the very fabric of our being? Does it lead us to a deeper desire to know him, to thank him, not just with words, but with our lives, and to share his goodness with others? And let's not forget Jesus words to the man in the temple.
Stop sinning or something worse may happen to you. This wasn't about the man earning his healing by being sinless. The healing came first, an act of pure grace. This is about the life after the healing. It was a call to walk in a way that honored the gift to pursue holiness. Because sin ultimately leads to a worse thing, a spiritual brokenness that is far more severe than any physical ailment. It reminds us that God is concerned with our whole being, our spiritual health, just as much as and more than our physical health.
His desire is for us to live in right relationship with him, to walk in freedom from the things that would ens snare us and lead us away from his best for us. The beauty of it all though is that even when our response is fumbling, even when we're slow to understand, even when we make mistakes or act out of fear or confusion, like perhaps the man at Bethesda did, Jesus' compassion doesn't just evaporate. He sought that man out a second time. He gave him further instruction. His grace is persistent. Romans 5'8 tells us, "But God demonstrates his own love for us in this. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
He doesn't wait for us to have it all figured out. He meets us where we are in our brokenness by our own personal pools. The invitation is always there to move from a superficial encounter to a deep lifealtering relationship. It's never too late to cultivate a heart of gratitude, to seek his face more earnestly, to align our steps with his, and to become a clearer reflection of his love and grace in the world. The story of the man at the pool isn't just about a miracle that happened 2,000 years ago. It's a mirror reflecting our own human tendencies and a window revealing the extraordinary pursuing love of Jesus.
It causes to examine our own responses to his touch in our lives. Are we content to just walk away with a blessing? Or do we turn back to the blesser with a heart full of worship and a life ready for service? Let this be our prayer. Aba Father, thank you for seeking us out when we are lying by our own pools of despair, brokenness, or need. Thank you for the times you've asked us, do you want to get well? and for the healing touch you've extended whether physical, emotional, or spiritual.
Forgive us for the times our gratitude has been fleeting or when we failed to fully recognize your hand in our lives. Give us the wisdom of the man born blind to know what you have done for us and to testify to your goodness even when it's difficult. Give us the heart of Bartameus to throw off whatever holds us back and to follow you wholeheartedly down whatever road you lead. Help us to not just receive your grace, but to be transformed by it so that our lives become a continuous song of praise and testament to your amazing love. May we never forget your benefits and may our deepest desire be to know you more, love you more, and serve you faithfully all the days of our lives in Jesus name. Amen. [Music]
