A little while ago I was installing a keypad lock on the door to my upstairs studio. I set the keypad up, got the old handle out of the door, got the batteries in, set the code, all of that. I stepped out of the studio, closed the door behind me, pressed lock, and it locked. Great. That's what it's supposed to do. So I type in my code to open it and continue setting things up, and nothing. The lock beeps three times. Wrong code. I enter it again, slower. Beep beep beep. Wrong code. I enter the default code that came with the lock. Beep beep beep. Wrong code.
So I've resorted to the good old jiggle the handle and hope. Nope. Next step is trying to get a credit card in there. I don't know why I tried that. I don't know how. But I tried. And you'll be glad to know that I still don't know how to do that. There I was, completely locked out of my own studio.
Then I remembered that earlier that day I had opened the upstairs window to let some fresh air in, and I wasn't completely sure I had locked it when I closed it. Slim chance, but worth trying. So I went out to the shed, dragged out a ladder, climbed up onto the roof, put both hands on the glass, pushed up, and it slid open. I awkwardly climbed through, made my way into the studio, and finally unlocked the door from the inside.
It wasn't the normal way to enter. I prefer the door. It certainly wasn't dignified. But sometimes you just have to find another way in.
Now raise the stakes a little. What if it wasn't equipment in that room but a person in a medical emergency? You'd do whatever it took. Break the door down. Call 911. You wouldn't stand outside shrugging.
Raise them again. What if it wasn't their body at stake but their soul?
That's exactly what the four friends in Mark 2 were facing. The door was blocked. The crowd wasn't moving. And they didn't shrug and go home. They found the roof, dug through it, and lowered their friend down to Jesus. Because when someone's soul is on the line, you find another way in.