On the Sunday of the Paralytic, this homily explores Christ’s piercing question: “Do you want to be made well?” It examines our tendency to respond not with repentance, but with explanation—justifying our condition rather than opening ourselves to healing. Grounded in the Church’s therapeutic vision of salvation, it calls us to move beyond self-justification and into obedience, where Christ’s command becomes the source of our transformation. Enjoy the show!
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Homily for the Sunday of the Paralytic
John 5:1–15; Acts 9
Christ is risen!
What effect do you have on others? Is it like St. Peter’s? Do you walk in the midst of broken people, bringing them healing? Do others, recognizing the peace within you, go out of their way just to be near you? Have you attained even a small measure of the purity and goodness—the peaceful spirit—that, as St. Seraphim of Sarov teaches, becomes the salvation of thousands?
These are important indicators—ways to examine how we are doing in this walk of salvation. Some of them are internal and relatively easy to observe: How do I react to praise? How do I respond to criticism? How quick am I to anger, to despondency, to lust? But here is another indicator—an external one: How do people react to us? Do they find peace when we enter the room, or when we leave it?
We need to be honest about this. When it comes to the things that truly matter—in our lives, in our families, in this parish, and in the great story of our salvation—we are always moving in one of two directions: either we are cooperating with grace, with healing, or we are cooperating with corruption.
St. Peter, glory to God, became a man who cooperated fully with healing. But that was not always the case. There was a time when he was driven by pride, fear, and the expectations of others. By the time we meet him in Acts, however, he is no longer just occasionally doing what is right. He has been transformed. He has become the kind of person through whom Christ works.
In today’s Gospel, we see the beginning of such a transformation.
The paralytic had been suffering for thirty-eight years—thirty-eight years of waiting, hoping, and being unable to heal himself. We can hardly imagine the weight of that suffering. And what does Christ ask him?
“Do you want to be made well?”
It is a strange question. In some ways, it is obvious—he is lying by the pool, waiting for healing. And yet we must name the desire. Not everyone who is sick truly wants to be healed.
Notice how the paralytic responds. He does not answer the question directly. Instead, he explains his situation. He explains why he has not been healed. “I have no man… When the water is stirred, someone else steps down before me…”
We recognize this, don’t we?
This is how we often respond to God—not with repentance, not with surrender, but with explanation. We explain why we are the way we are. We explain why change is so difficult. We explain why our situation is unique.
Much of what we say is not wrong. But it is not healing. It does not open us to grace.
St. John Chrysostom, reflecting on this passage, notes that Christ does not wait for a perfect answer, nor does He require a full confession before acting. But neither does He accept the man’s explanations as sufficient. Instead, He goes directly to what is needed—not explanation, but transformation. Christ commands the man to do what he cannot do, and in the command itself, He gives the power to obey.
This is where we must be careful.
When the soul is disordered, it does not remain neutral. It becomes a source of distortion—not only for ourselves, but for others. The problem is not simply “out there.” The problem begins within.
And the great difficulty of living in this world is that it teaches us to normalize this condition. It calls distortion authenticity. It calls self-justification wisdom.
But the Church is not here to affirm our condition.
The Church is here to heal it.
The Church is a hospital. But what good is a hospital if those within it refuse to be healed? What kind of peace can we offer if we are at war within ourselves—and with one another?
It is very easy to remain in this disordered state. Our instincts are not neutral; they are wounded. And our minds—brilliant as they are—often serve those instincts rather than correcting them. We use our intelligence to justify our condition instead of correcting it. The mind becomes a kind of spokesman, explaining why we are the way we are and why it is acceptable.
We justify our anger.
We excuse our selfishness.
We baptize our pride.
Scripture gives us clear examples. Ananias and Sapphira likely thought themselves generous. Simon Magus likely convinced himself that he wanted spiritual power for good reasons. But their self-justifications did not save them. The truth exposed them.
The same danger exists for us.
We are always moving—toward healing or toward corruption. And over time, we will become more of one than the other.
I know you. I love you. You want to be part of the solution. That is why you are here. But wanting to be healed is not the same as being healed. Wanting to be good is not enough.
The paralytic had desire—but he still could not heal himself.
You were created good, and you are called to become more fully what you were created to be. But you are not there yet. Neither am I.
So how are we healed?
There is only One who heals.
Christ does not argue with the man. He does not analyze his situation. He does not accept or refute his explanations. He commands:
“Rise, take up your bed, and walk.”
And in that command, there is power.
This is the heart of the matter:
Healing does not come from explanation.
Healing comes from obedience.
So how do we learn from the living Christ?
The answer is not new. We give our lives—our bodies, our minds, our souls—to Him and to His Church. We pray. We enter into the Liturgy. We love our neighbors sacrificially. We learn from the Fathers. We seek wise counsel. We quiet ourselves so that we can hear.
Not because Orthodoxy is simply a system, but because this is where Christ is—healing, teaching, restoring.
The paralytic could not heal himself.
Neither can we.
But Christ can.
And He does.
If we stop explaining, stop justifying, and begin obeying, then—and only then—will we become not part of the problem, but part of the healing.
Christ is risen!
