my own private bethesda

Today is sacred to me.

I understand every day is sacred, but this one has an extra blast from the ram’s horn for yours truly. Not coincidentally, on days like this, I am prone to go off by myself (this time a coffee shop in Carrollton, Georgia) and peck out some thoughts on a keyboard, of which such exercise is probably more for me than it is for you. Sorry, no offense.

This is how I process: I write.

Today is year thirty-eight of disability and I couldn’t be happier. Weird, huh? I guess if you knew me it’d make better sense, especially the many of you who have walked with me these nigh-unto four decades. By the way, thank you for that. Some of you have been my ‘inner circle friends’ and I can’t possibly know how I ever deserved you but I’m eternally grateful. The dude who was the rehab psychologist at Shepherd in Atlanta was worried about me back in ’81 because I smiled all the time. He assumed I was in denial about my condition until he saw the steady stream of friends who visited my room every week. It dawned on him, bless his heart, that my faith family were medicine for my soul. Still are.

So…thirty-eight. Crazy, huh?

Each year that passes causes me to ask what it might mean and where the next year takes me. I like to look at the numbers themselves and find their (possible) spiritual significance. I don’t go all harebrained, mind you, but some numbers just work in powerful ways in God’s economy. In the natural, many lay down their bets on ‘Lucky 7’ and avoid the number ’13’ like the plague. It might surprise you to learn (not you-you, but the other ‘you’ reading this) God has given us numbers to identify the working out of his redemptive plan in the cosmos. I embrace the number ‘5’ often in my walk with Christ as it represents ‘grace’ and we all need as much of that as we can get.

I started looking at the number ’38’ and had to laugh because after some degree of mulling, the most obvious reference to it sneaked its way past my mental firewall. Ah yes, of course. How could I miss it?

John 5:1-6

After this there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.

Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, in Aramaic called Bethesda, which has five roofed colonnades.

In these lay a multitude of invalids—blind, lame, and paralyzed.

One man was there who had been an invalid for THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS.

When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had already been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be healed?”

One more time for the people in the back:

[How long?] “THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS.”

“It me.” 😊

Pretty sure the Father was like, ‘Helloooo…”

The story picks up at the “Sheep Gate” in Jerusalem; this fact alone should call to mind the Shepherd whose voice the sheep hear, not to mention John the gospeler has already called Jesus “the Lamb” (John 1:29) and the “Good Shepherd” in chapter ten. One gets the idea this is a pretty important theme for the beloved disciple.

Here’s a downcast sheep lying among a great crowd of cast-down sheep and he can’t do a thing to help himself into the healing spa-like waters of Bethesda (Beth=house, hesed=mercy). Suddenly, One who is called the Lamb of God kneels down where he is and asks if he’d like to be healed.  Can you just picture every head in the vicinity popping up and spinning in their direction?

The area was lousy with sick folk and here comes Mercy Incarnate winding and wending His way through the nooks and crannies at the direction of His Father’s Voice (John 5:19; 8:28-29; 10:14). He pulls up suddenly, looks down, and parks right next to this particular man on this particular day at this particular moment.

A word, if you will. If you are waiting on your healing, do not lose heart. Mercy will find its way to you. Nothing will hold it at bay or block its path so long as God directs it through in your hour of trouble. Keep going to the “pool” in the backyard of the House of Mercy and don’t stop going. I’ve been going to the same Living Water for thirty-eight years, waiting expectantly for the Day, but each one that passes and I don’t hear my “Get up, son” I still hear His “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Let’s sit together and watch what unfolds together.”

I can’t tell you just how comforting His Presence has been to me these years. Thirty-eight of them, occupying this same patch of ground every day, day after day. My own corner of Bethesda. It’s often a grind but I’m daily sunning in His Mercy. ‘Hesed’ has been my trusty beach umbrella. Hope is always playing in my earbuds.

As it closes in on sundown here in this coffee shop I know weeping is likely to have its say, but I know the sun’ll come out tomorrow and My Shepherd will still be here, beside me, at this pool. And we’ll do it together until I hear my “Today’s your day, Scott; time to get up.”

Maybe this is my year.

Maybe next year.

That’s up to the Good Shepherd, and, believe you me, I’m listening for His Voice; you’ll forgive me if I run out on you if this turns out to be my year.