The Paralysed Man

There was a lot of commotion
in the town that day;
a lot of people,
and
a lot of people
meant money.
It was the only way
I could make ends meet;
pay my way.
I couldn’t earn my own living;
I couldn’t work.
I couldn’t work
because
I couldn’t walk.
I couldn’t even move
without the help
of others.
I was dependent
on others
and
I hated it.
I was bitter.
I felt twisted inside.
I had so much
anger
in me
and I took it out on
anyone;
everyone
including,
and especially,
God.
But my friends
stood by me;
understood me
maybe better
than I understood
myself.
So
instead of taking me
to my usual spot
they told me
they were taking me
to see Jesus.
That was the reason
for the commotion.
Jesus
was back in town.
I didn’t want to go.
I didn’t want to see him.
If he really did have
anything to do with God
then
he, too,
was part of my problem;
he, too,
was a focus for my anger.
It was one thing
to be angry with God
from a distance;
quite another
to be angry with him
face to face.
I didn’t want to go
but,
being unable to help myself
I had no option.

There was such a crowd
outside the house.
‘Good,’ I thought,
‘they will turn round.’
But no.
They were so determined.
I was manhandled
up some stairs
and on to the roof.
Then they lowered me down
into the middle
of the crowd.
Anger;
bitterness;
embarrassment;
shame;
every emotion was there
jostling to be expressed.
But I kept quiet,
seething inwardly.
I didn’t dare
look at anyone,
especially not
at Jesus.
Then he spoke.
He forgave me!
It was like
a hot needle
piercing
right through me.
Pain;
exquisite pain
through
my whole body
and
into my heart.
I had not felt pain
like this before;
not felt anything
for so long
that I had forgotten
what it was like
to feel;
to be touched.
But more,
so much more
than feeling
was the effect
on my heart;
on me.
All the bitterness;
all the anger;
all the frustration
seemed to be burnt away
leaving peace;
such peace,
that I felt,
actually felt
my body
relax.
Then,
and only then,
did I look at him,
and I knew
I had met God.


© Kathleen Wilks