The Miracle That Should Never Have Happened That Way

The Miracle That Should Never Have Happened That Way

There’s something about the days between Christmas and the New Year that invites us to slow down.

The noise of Christmas has faded. The decorations are still up, but the urgency has gone. And quietly—almost without us noticing—we begin to ask deeper questions.
How am I really doing? What am I carrying? What kind of year do I want to step into?

This in-between season is often where honesty finds us.

It’s also where a particular story from the Gospels begins to speak with surprising clarity. When I first read it again recently, I felt a twinge of sadness. Not because the miracle didn’t happen—but because of how it happened.

Let’s read the story, and then we’ll come back to why.

Gospel of Luke 5:17–26

What’s Wrong With This Picture?

At first glance, everything seems right. Jesus is teaching. The room is full. People have gathered to listen. And yet, right outside the door is a man who cannot walk—and cannot get in.

The Crowd

This is the part of the story that feels uncomfortable.

The house is so full that no one makes space for a man in obvious need. The crowd is absorbed in the teaching, enjoying the moment, holding onto their seats. And somewhere in the press of people, compassion gets crowded out.

It makes me wonder:
Could it be possible to love church—the worship, the teaching, the friendships—and still unintentionally make it hard for hurting people to get to Jesus?

That question isn’t about guilt; it’s about awareness.

How can we personally make it easier for others to find their way to Christ?

Lowering a man through a roof was extraordinary—but it was also exposing and vulnerable. Which raises another honest question: how much effort does it take for someone to reach the centre of our church community?

Are we guest-aware? Guest-friendly? Are we offering:

• an easy welcome,

• reassurance about what’s happening, and

• simple explanations for what may feel unfamiliar?

These small acts often carry more weight than we realise.

The Men Who Carried Him

Then there are the men who brought the paralysed man to Jesus.

What stands out is not just their effort, but their faith. Jesus doesn’t commend their strength or creativity—He responds to what they believed.

They believed enough to keep going.

When the crowd blocked the way, they didn’t turn back. They found another route. Their faith wasn’t fragile, and it wasn’t individual—it was shared. They carried the weight together.

Mark’s Gospel quietly hints that there may have been more than four men involved. Perhaps they rotated. Perhaps they took turns when arms grew tired. Either way, the load was not meant to be carried alone.

As we look towards a new year, that matters. Some of the responsibilities, needs, and callings God places before us will require unity, patience, and perseverance. Faith grows best when it’s shared.

The Pharisees

The Pharisees don’t speak—but they think. Strongly.

They hold tightly to their opinions, safely contained within their own minds. And Jesus, knowing their thoughts, gently but firmly brings those hidden assumptions into the light.

It’s a reminder that unspoken thinking can quietly become a stronghold.

Are there ideas we’ve held onto—about God, about ourselves, about others—that are shaping us more than we realise? Some opinions don’t matter much. Others quietly limit what we believe God can do.

Paul reminds us that faith sometimes means taking our thoughts captive, not hiding them. The courage to examine our thinking is often the first step toward freedom.

The Paralysed Man

This is perhaps the most tender part of the story.

The man’s obvious need is physical—but it isn’t his deepest need. Jesus addresses the heart first. Not with condemnation, but with compassion. He calls him friend.

This doesn’t mean illness equals sin—Scripture is clear about that. But it does remind us that the thing people see about us is not always the thing Jesus wants to heal first.

The most beautiful moment comes at the end.

The man stands up. He goes home. And he carries the mat that once carried him.

There’s restoration here—not just healing. Responsibility. Dignity. Renewal.

Jesus doesn’t merely repair what’s broken; He restores us to something closer to our original design.

And Then There’s Jesus

Notice who we haven’t focused on until now.

Jesus.

The power to heal was present with Him.
He responded to faith.
He healed bodies, forgave sins, and challenged minds.
He restored what people thought was beyond repair.

As we step into a new year, perhaps the most important question isn’t about resolutions or plans—but about relationship.

What kind of relationship with Jesus are we carrying forward?

Isn’t it time to ask Him to do more than we thought possible?

Not just to help us cope—but to restore, renew, and transform us from the inside out.