Dancing Fools

The following is a reflection on Luke 5:17-26, "Jesus Heals a Paralytic."

I was struck when I read this passage by the phrase, "and the power of the Lord was with him to heal" (vs17). Less because of the possible implication that at times the power of the Lord to heal was not with him, but because of the strange image it conjured up of a televangelist-type character filled with the Holy Spirit, jumping up and down on stage, sweating in the most embarrassing places, knocking people out of their wheelchairs. Factor in verse 26 and we got ourselves a genuine revival! I wondered at this for a moment, and it occurred to me that perhaps it was more the image of Jesus dancing around, acting a fool in front of the Pharisees that struck me as particularly odd. This is not the Jesus from Sunday School pictures, not the Jesus flipping tables in a fiery rage, not the Jesus we generally invite into our comfortable, mainline churches.

I see him, dancing around the front of the room, maybe stuck in a circle, surrounded by as many people as could be crammed into one space, cheered on like a teenager in a dance-off at prom. He's on a roll--the sick, the lame, the blind, they're all being healed. He hears the raspy cough of a man with a cold that's been hanging on for weeks and in his excitement, reaches behind himself and touches the cougher's throat, adding some flare to the scene with an around the back healing. The room is pulsing with excitement, songs have risen spontaneously from various corners of the room, everyone outside the inner circle straining to see what's going to happen next.
All of a sudden a piece of roof hits Jesus in the shoulder. There's so much going on he pays it no attention. He's startled though, when a rather larger piece smashes at his feet. And suddenly, the brightness and warmth of the midday sun fills the room through a makeshift skylight. A shadow emerges through it. A silhouetted rectangle that descends, barely discernible for the light behind it. And as abruptly as the sun had filled the room, a deafening hush joins it and at Jesus' feet lies a paralyzed man. The songs have stopped with the harshness of a needle pulled across a record. All eyes waver between Jesus and this intruder.
Jesus' eyes though, are only on the man, not an intruder but a guest. And as he's reflected in the eyes of the newcomer, he sees the pain of one who has been told that all his problems are self-imposed, who has been abandoned by colleagues and family because of the shame of his affliction, cared for by a few low-life buddies who don't even have the manners to wait their turn, who have punched a hole in someone else's roof in an act of desperation. Jesus sees the need for acceptance and love before he sees the man's need of physical healing. He sees the faith of those who still love this man and hope beyond hope for him. And Jesus gives him the assurance he needs. "Friend, your sins are forgiven." In one phrase Jesus hits the man in the deepest part of his heart. He is called friend by a Rabbi, he is freed from his supposed shame.
As so regularly happens, Jesus' acts of love go unrecognized and all that is seen by the religious leaders is the disruption of the status quo. "Who is he to forgive sins?! Who does he think he is just ignoring this guy's obviously shameful state?" Jesus hears the grumblings and irritation screws up his face. They just don't get it. They still see the man lying on the ground, separated from society, ostracized from the temple, a disgusting embodiment of all that they are terrified of. So Jesus goes one step further and denies all those precious boundaries. If the simple assurance of humanity is insufficient, then we'll just have to dance the party-poopers out of here! The truly paralyzed need a lesson in movin' and shakin'! "Get up and go home." And as suddenly as the music had stopped, it starts again and a conga line of the formerly sick, lame, blind, coughing and paralyzed circles the room and leads the way out the door, dancing with everything they got.

Jesus, the dancing, foolishly loving Christ is the opposite of our paralyzed selves--we who are stuck in our ways, bound by decorum and social graces, rendered immobile by our selfish concern. And yet, he continues to call us to join the dance, to let go of our limited expectations, to thrash about, madly in love with our God and each other. Like Paul said, Jesus wants us to be fools for him, to be seized by amazement and filled with awe and the ridiculous joy of our own freedom.