The bright rays of the mid-day sun bounced off the placid pool to create a slow, hypnotic motion on the ceiling of the colonnade. He lay on his back and stared at the glow—eyes glazed, fighting back the stupor that could rob him of his only chance to be healed.

For 38 years he languished by the pool, hoping against hope. He was not alone. Hundreds of afflicted—the sick, the blind, and the lame—had journeyed to this place, desperate for a miracle. At certain times an unexplained force mysteriously agitated the calm surface of the water. It was commonly believed that the first one to dip in the pool would be healed.

He had seen the waters troubled many times. Each unfulfilled quickening of hope left him feeling discouraged and more desperate than before. As he stared at the light, his thoughts drifted in review of the choices that had led him to his debilitated state. Rather than leading him to repentance, the consequences of his actions prompted feelings of self-pity. God must hate me, he thought.

As a group of visitors to the feast passed by, his attempts to manipulate them his way failed. Each would-be sympathizer was grieved away—if not by the grotesque sight and foul smell, by his begging punctuated by a long litany of complaints. He was unpleasant to be around. It was easier to flick a denarius onto the mat than spend a few moments in the company of this pathetic man.

As the pilgrims slipped out of sight a fresh wave of disappointment flooded his heart. Amidst the crowd, he felt alone and beyond the reach of God’s mercy.

Exhausted, he breathed out a sigh. Staring at the ceiling once again, a tear hung momentarily at the corner of his eye before spilling down his temple and into his ear.

A flickering of the light suddenly arrested his stupor. His heart leapt, but his legs were like weights holding him down. He reached for a crutch to pull himself up. He strained to reach the water’s edge, but before he had made any progress, the languid crowd stirred into a frenzy. The mass of broken humanity lunged forward, pushing and shoving, crawling over one another. The chorus of excitement was punctuated by the cries of children trampled underfoot, separated from their mothers.

With every ounce of strength he could muster, he pulled himself up. His chin almost reached the top of the crutch when suddenly someone’s foot tripped, causing the base of the crutch to slide out from under him, sending him sprawling across the ground. His elbow smacked against the hard stone as he reached out to break his fall. As the knot on his elbow began to swell, someone jumping to reach the water’s edge stepped on his fingers, rolling and twisting them between the sole of the sandal and the smooth stone floor. He winced in pain as they began to throb.

The disturbance immediately drew a curious crowd—heads weaved and bobbed as they peered to see if anyone had been healed. He listened intently beneath the stand of legs that surrounded him. All was confusion until one by one the people disbursed and went about their hurried business of preparing for the Sabbath. He lay motionless with his cheek pressed against the mat. Bits of sand and dust flipped into his face as the sandals flopped past. Then, to his good fortune, someone laid a piece of bread in his hand, and quickly disappeared. He would not go to sleep hungry.

As another day drifted into the west, he began to feel the encroaching chill that would come with the night. It was quiet now, except for the bleating of the sheep in the market nearby.

He pulled his thin blanket around him as best he could. He ached for comfort. Sores had formed where his bones pressed against the cold slab. Sleep came hard. The promised Sabbath rest eluded him.

The smell of smoke from a nearby fire hung in the air—a welcome diversion from the stench of the stale urine in his garment. How he longed to warm himself by that fire, or better yet, to soak in a warm bath. Maybe a clean robe. He could only dream. And dream he did, of splashing in the water and coming up healed; of running and dancing for joy; of not being alone.

The crowing of the rooster awakened him to his harsh reality. It was still dark and colder now. He pulled his blanket over his head to retain some heat, only to expose his legs and feet. Sleep came slowly.

The beautiful panorama of colors that painted the dawn went unnoticed, but the warmth of the sun felt so good on his back. It provided momentary deep sleep and sweet dreams. Sabbath rest!

A visitor had returned to Jerusalem that day. Walking alone in the morning sun, the stranger appeared to be in meditation and prayer as he wove through the streets of the city. When he came upon the Pool of Bethesda, his heart went out to the multitude of suffering ones who had made the pilgrimage to what they believed to be their only hope of a cure. How he longed to employ his healing power and instantly make every person whole.

Crowds of people were passing by the scene on their way to worship at the temple. He knew that such a benevolent and dramatic act of healing would stir up the prejudice of the Jews and cut his work short. Obedient, he held in check his intense longing.

But his eyes were drawn to the thin and twisted legs that protruded from a blanket. His heart felt their pain. Occasionally the man would lift his head from the mat to gaze at the pool. Then, in disappointment and fatigue, he would rest his head on the mat again, closing his eyes.

A shadow cast over him, and he looked up into the tender and compassionate face of a man who said, “Would you like to be made well?”

The ray of hope that shone in his eyes soon faded. He remembered his disappointment the day before and felt that he may not live long enough to see the waters troubled again. His eyes dropped to the mat. “Sir, when the water is troubled, I have no one to help me into the pool. I have no one to help. Others push past me and plunge into the water before me.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the man simply said, “Get up. Take your mat, and walk.”

Instantly, every nerve and muscle in the man’s body quickened with life and vitality. Faith was born at hearing these words. His muscles started to respond to his will, and he sprang to his feet. He was amazed and thrilled beyond belief.

He gazed down at his once lifeless and twisted limbs that now glowed with health. In obedience, he stooped to pick up his mat and blanket. He turned to look again into the wonderful face of his Deliverer, but the man was lost in the crowd. In desperation, he began searching through the crowd. Amazed at the ease of his mobility, praises to God spontaneously erupted.

As he made his way with ease through the crowd, he came upon several Pharisees and immediately began to tell them of his good fortune. But to his astonishment, they did not share his enthusiasm.

Scowls formed on their brows. “Why are you carrying your blanket and mat on the Sabbath?” they queried. “You know it is not lawful to carry burdens on the Sabbath.”

With boldness and no sense of condemnation for what he has done, he said, “The One who made me whole told me to pick up my mat and blanket and walk. So I did.”

“Who was it?” they asked, all the while knowing it could only be one man.

“I don’t know. I wish I did,” the man replied with a sense of loss.

The conversation ended and the man went on his way.

Grateful for the unmerited mercy he had received from God, he made arrangements for a sin offering and a thank offering and brought them to the temple. It was there that Jesus revealed himself to the man and said, “Look, now you are well; stop your sinning or something worse will happen to you.”

His heart was full of joy, for that’s exactly what he wanted—to live a life free from sin. Somehow he felt the One who made him well could now make him whole.

Gary Burns is the Lake Union Conference communication director.