After this there was a feast of the Jews; and Jesus went up
to Jerusalem. Now there is at Jerusalem, by the sheep-market,
a pool which is called in the Hebrew tongue Bethesda, having
five porches. In these lay a great multitude of impotent folk,
of blind, halt, withered, waiting for the moving of the water.
For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool and
troubled the water; whosoever, then, first after the troubling
of the water stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he
had. And a certain man was there which had an infirmity thirty
and eight years. When Jesus saw him lie, and knew that he had
been now a long time in that case, he saith unto him, Wilt thou
be made whole? The impotent man answered him, Sir, I have no
man, when the water is troubled, to put me into the pool; but
while I am coming, another steppeth down before me. Jesus saith
unto him, Rise, take up thy bed, and walk. And immediately the
man was made whole, and took up his bed, and walked: and on the
same day was the Sabbath.--_John 5, 1-9._
The most serious charge that can be placed against mankind is this,
that when the Gospel is proclaimed to them, that Gospel is rejected,
that when pardon and salvation of God is offered, that offer is
coldly and indifferently turned aside. We are sometimes surprised
at this. We ought not to be. The same coldness and indifference was
manifested years ago. It says: "Christ came into His own, and His
own received Him not." To-day's Gospel records to us the cure of the
paralytic. It was a most remarkable and convincing evidence that He
who could bring to His feet this debilitated and disabled man was
indeed the Messiah, the Savior of the world. But no; it started a
wrangling among His enemies about the power of forgiveness of sin,
and caused Him to be haunted with hatred and malice. And as a
parallel passage to that Gospel miracle is the record here in the
fifth chapter of St. John, part of which we have just heard. Let us
notice now, _I. the history of the miracle_; _II. the instruction it
imparts_.
"After this," says the Evangelist, that is, after Jesus had
conversed with the woman of Samaria at Jacob's well, and after He
had healed the nobleman's son who was lying sick at Capernaum,
"there was a feast of the Jews." The feast, it is generally
supposed, was the Passover. And "Jesus went up," out of Galilee
into Judea, "to Jerusalem." He went thither not only that He might
pay all due regard to the Temple and to the Law, but also that He
might have an opportunity of manifesting Himself and His doctrine
to a greater number of people. "Now," says the next verse, "there
is at Jerusalem by the sheep-market," or sheep-gate, a "pool," or
a bath, the ordinary purpose of which was for bathing or swimming,
but on account of the supernatural character of the water was called
Bethesda, that is, the House, or Place, of Mercy. Around this pool,
or bath, were built five porches, porticos, or verandas, which
served to shelter from the heat and the cold those who frequented
the place. In these porches "there lay a great multitude of impotent
folk;" some of them were "blind," some "halt" (or lame), and others
were "withered," that is, their sinews and muscles were disabled,
withered in one particular part of the body, as the man with the
withered hand, or all over, as in the case of the paralytic, whose
friends had to bear him on a litter. These patients, at least most
of them, were probably deemed incurable by ordinary methods, and
therefore they were carried to Bethesda to wait and hope for a
miraculous recovery there; for it pleased God (in order to show
that He had not forsaken His chosen people, but was operating among
them) to send "an angel" who went down at certain seasons into
the pool and "troubled the water," by which troubling of it, and
by the extraordinary motion that followed, the sick were informed
of the time of the angel's descent, and, "whosoever then first,
after the troubling of the water, stepped in" was instantly healed,
while those who bathed afterwards obtained no relief. All sorts of
opinions have been advanced as to this healing spring. That it was
not the natural virtue, as in the case of mineral springs in this
country, that wrought the cure, is evident from the circumstance
that not one disease, but all manners of disease were healed by it;
that these cures were performed not always, but only at the seasons
appointed by God, and that not all who stepped in, but _one_ only
was healed after the troubling of the water. What became of this
fountain we are not told; very likely its miraculous properties did
not continue for many years. In the porches around this pool was an
impotent man; he had labored under a bodily infirmity for thirty
and eight years. How long he had waited at the pool we know not,
but certainly for a considerable period. But it was hoping against
hope. The man was so utterly helpless that even if he saw the water
disturbed, whilst he was slowly dragging himself along, another
stepped in before him. When Jesus, therefore, passed by and saw him
in this helpless condition, and knowing his past history, He asked
him, "Wilt thou be made whole?" The man does not even give direct
answer, but narrates the story of his long and futile expectation,
whereupon Jesus gives this command: "Rise, take up thy bed and
walk," when instantly, easily, as if the withered limbs had been
thrilled with electric sparks, the man arises, takes up his bed,
and walks away. Such is the history of the miracle; and now let us
regard some of the instructions it imparts.
Our interest is naturally divided between the man who had lain
sick such a number of years, the pool, and the cure. And, surely,
a long and wearisome time he had had of it,--thirty and eight
years. The woman with the issue of blood who touched the hem of our
Savior's garment, had borne her affliction twelve years, but that
was scarcely one-third as long, and she was still able to be up and
about. As then, so now. The number of those who lie on pallets and
are bent low with sickness is larger than superficiality credits;
in fact, those who have never been racked with pain, distressed
with fever, are few and far between. How many ever give thought as
to this providential dealing--have stopped to ask whence it comes,
or what profit and lessons may be in it? It has been remarked by
a famous writer that there are two chapters of human history that
shall never be read upon the earth; the one chapter is the chapter
of the dying. The feelings and emotions, the inexpressible thoughts
and sensations that pass through the soul when the things of this
world fade upon the senses, and the doors of eternity are about
to swing open, is an experience which no human tongue or pen can
describe, is something which none but ourselves can discover. And
another chapter is the chapter of the sick and the ailing, as it
is written in quietness within the narrow space of a couch and four
walls, alternating perhaps with the operating table and passing
through the dark valley of the Shadow of Death. And yet, something
of this chapter may still be read, and most remarkable, significant,
and ofttimes blessed things are experienced in the sickroom. Who
dare say that the world in its present condition would be what
it still is without this check, this intruder upon the affairs
of life? Most men are inclined to regard sickness as a calamity,
as a positive misfortune, a smiting scourge. It is not that. It
has blessings both to the one afflicted and to those around him.
Sickness may contribute to the development of the noblest qualities
of the mind and heart. In the rush and tug of life men are too
much inclined to concern themselves with the affairs of this life,
to lose sight of the greater value of the unseen and eternal. Put
such a one from the excitement of business and the frivolity of
this world's fashions and pleasures prostrate upon his back with
the hot fingers of disease clutching for his vitals or the sharp
pains striking upon the heartstrings, and he must be thoughtless,
even base, whose appreciation of the merely earthly things does not
fall, and who does not learn that with all his boasted strength and
all that he has and hopes for, he is only a pilgrim and stranger on
this earth, and that there is something more worthy than what is
seen and temporal. Oh! the quiet reflections of a sickbed. Many a
man is indebted to them for a revelation which has been the wisdom
and power of God unto his salvation when the message of Church and
its servant had but very little effect. The parched lips of disease
are often more eloquent and effective than man's lips. And he that
fails of this salutary end of affliction, does not come forth a
better person, more devoted and consecrated to his God, has missed
the purpose for which it was sent, and gone out of the way of the
Almighty. Of this man in the text we may have the assurance that
the experience of thirty-eight years remained indelibly upon his
mind and enrolled him among the faithful disciples of Christ. May
it serve likewise in your case, my dear hearer, at the sickbed of
many of whom I have had occasion and may yet be called to minister.
And not only for the person afflicted, but for those attending and
affected by the affliction, sickness is a blessing, a positive
messenger of good and mercy. It is when disease has broken in upon
their habitation that many a man has first learned to appreciate
the kindly ministry of his life's partner; has keenly felt what this
world would be like should death part them asunder, and the hearts
sometimes estranged have again become reconciled and determined
to bear and forbear. It is when the little cheek is hard pressed
against the feverish and aching pillow that we feel how intensely we
love that boy and girl and would sacrifice everything else dear to
us to keep them. Yes, there is nothing in human experience to bring
into larger and better exercise our common love and sympathy and to
show that there is still some nobility, kindness, and pity in our
shattered humanity than in the care and memories that cluster around
the sickbed. Would to God that these experiences touching the hearts
that perhaps for long time were dead would be of longer duration,
for commonly they are so quickly forgotten and so easily erased from
the mind.
So much as to the first suggestion--the man's sickness. The
place where he was lying was called Bethesda, which means House
of Mercy. Nor need I inform you which is the true Bethesda, the
House of Mercy, provided for the cure of those souls who are
spiritually halt, blind, withered, and weak. That's the Church of
Jesus Christ, and in that place there was a pool, as we heard,
endowed with miraculous properties, greatly valued, thronged about
by patients. To that pool we have in our Bethesda an exact and
superior counterpart, a blessed fountain from which issues the
stream of health and salvation upon the sinful and diseased race
of man, a water allied not only with the contact of an angel, but
with the presence of the Savior Himself. You know of what water I
am speaking, you yourselves have been committed into this salutary
flood. It is the Sacrament of Holy Baptism. It might be well to
speak a few words on the subject. What Bethesda's part was for the
body, that, my beloved, is Holy Baptism to the soul. It was a means
of restoration and recovery, it gave health back to the limbs and
frame. So does Baptism. "Arise, and be baptized, and wash away thy
sins," said Ananias to Saul. "A washing of regeneration and renewing
of the Holy Ghost," says Paul. "It works forgiveness of sins,
delivers from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation,"
says Luther. Baptism is the means by which the Holy Ghost operates
in a soul, the outward washing which you see with your eyes is a
type of the washing which God's power affects invisibly. We speak
of Baptism in our church not only as a rite, a ceremony, a form of
initiation, but as a means of grace, as a means of salvation, by
which we are christened, that is, made Christians. To elucidate.
Outside of our city there are enormous reservoirs holding millions
of tons of water, and we daily see vast tanks holding thousands of
cubic feet of gas. But all of these would be useless unless pipes
are laid to convey their currents. Lay those pipes, and you have the
means of securing water in your homes and light in your dwellings.
So the Sacraments, of which Baptism is one, are means by which God's
blessings are brought to our souls. It's not an idle ceremony which
one can dispense with at liberty, nor is it something which people
can wait with till they are old enough to be taught the Christian
faith and to understand it; as well might they dispense with the
supply of water and illumination, or wait until they themselves
can lay the pipes. No; God has given us the means, now we must use
them, and use them as early as possible. If this man had spoken
as disparagingly of the pool of Bethesda as some people speak of
Baptism, and had in consequence kept away from its waters, he would
not have met with Christ, and would have remained a cripple all
his days. It is for us to use God's means, and to hold with the
Scripture that no man is a Christian until he has been baptized. Of
course, there is this difference between the impotent man in the
Gospel and some in our community. He _could_ not enter the healing
water, they _will_ not. They lie by the side of Bethesda, but, not
believing in the healing waters, are never benefited as to their own
souls.
There are many objections made against Baptism. To repeat and
publicly set aright one objection sometimes met with in our circles:
What good does Baptism do? See how many children turn out bad
afterwards notwithstanding. What good does it do? I answer: The same
good that it does if you had water and illumination connection,
and then cut it off. No good; on the contrary, if, having been
made God's children, Christians, in Baptism, we afterwards live as
heathen, so much the worse the sin as our Savior particularly warns
this man who was healed. "Behold, thou art made whole; sin no more,
lest a worse thing come upon thee." But had the man nevertheless
gone back to his sinful life, would that have made the healing of no
account? And so the fact that people once baptized live in sin does
not make Baptism of no account. Marriage is not a failure because
some who have married have proved failures. When a man enlists
in the army, the form of enlistment makes him a soldier, but not
necessarily a good soldier; he may prove to be a coward and traitor,
but it put him in a position to lead a brave and useful life and to
win honor and glory; if he chooses otherwise, it is his own fault.
So in baptism we are made Christians, but it is our own fault if we
afterwards turn out bad Christians. Baptism is the beginning, the
means, not the end. We are put on the right road, we are made God's
children, citizens of His kingdom of heaven. It is our own fault,
not the Sacrament, if we develop into prodigals, wander out of the
right road, prove cowardly soldiers and bad citizens.
As to the third suggestion made, the cure, let us briefly note that
the condition of that poor paralytic is the perfect emblem of our
human nature, of ourselves without Christ. As he was diseased and
helpless in body, so are we all diseased and helpless in soul. To a
miracle of grace he owed his recovery; and where he found his cure,
we must find ours. He stands before us this very moment again, that
omnipotent Son of God, that compassionate Savior, and asks, "Wilt
thou be made whole?" Wilt thou receive the absolution of thy God,
the forgiveness of thy sins, through the mediation of my suffering
and death? Nothing else can remove the palsy of our nature, nothing
else can give health and soundness.--Let us, then, who feel our
malady and wish it removed, answer, Yes, Lord, I will be whole.
Jesus, give me true repentance
By Thy Spirit come from heaven.
Whisper this transporting sentence,
"Son, thy sins are all forgiven."
Amen.