(John 5 & John 6:16–21 — The Lame Man and the Storm)
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Introduction — When Life Won’t Move
Have you ever been stuck?
Not the “traffic jam on I-15” kind of stuck.
I mean the deeper kind — when nothing in your life will budge.
You pray, you plan, you push, and still it feels like the wheels are sunk in mud.
John gives us two stories about people who couldn’t move.
One was paralyzed on a mat for thirty-eight years.
The other was a boatload of disciples caught in a storm, rowing but going nowhere.
Both needed the same thing: a word from the Father that could move what was frozen and calm what was frantic.
Both learned that the presence of Jesus is the difference between paralysis and progress, between chaos and calm.
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1 The Man at the Pool — When Faith Stalls (John 5:1-15)
It’s Sabbath in Jerusalem. Pilgrims fill the temple courts, and just outside one gate is a pool called Bethesda — “House of Mercy.”
Five stone porches surround the water, and under them lie dozens of bodies: the blind, the lame, the withered.
Everywhere you look is waiting.
Waiting for the water to ripple.
Waiting for a miracle that seldom comes.
Among them is one man whose body has been stuck for thirty-eight years.
He’s not a bad man; he’s just tired of hoping.
He’s learned to live with disappointment like it’s furniture.
Then Jesus steps through the crowd.
No halo, no fanfare — just a quiet question:
> “Do you want to be made well?”
It sounds almost cruel.
Of course he wants to be well! But the man doesn’t answer yes.
He gives his résumé of reasons:
> “Sir, I have no one to help me … someone else always steps down before me.”
Can you hear the resignation?
Thirty-eight years of “I can’t.”
Jesus doesn’t argue theology or timing.
He simply speaks the Father’s creative word:
> “Rise, take up your mat, and walk.”
And immediately — bones that had forgotten their purpose remember.
Muscles fire.
Feet feel weight.
The man stands.
No ripple in the pool, no angel in the water — just the Word made flesh speaking life into paralysis.
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Reflection — What the Father Does When We Can’t
Sometimes God’s greatest mercy is to interrupt our excuses.
He asks us questions we’d rather not answer: Do you really want to be free? Do you actually want to move on?
The Father is not content to let us exist beside healing; He invites us to stand inside it.
When Jesus says, “Rise,” He isn’t just commanding legs — He’s awakening faith.
And that’s what the Sabbath was meant for all along: not more rules, but restoration.
A rest so complete that even the crippled parts of us begin to walk again.
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2 The Disciples on the Sea — When Fear Takes Over (John 6:16-21)
Now jump to the other story.
Same chapter, different scene.
The feeding of the five thousand is over.
Evening falls.
The crowd is cheering, but Jesus slips away into the hills to pray.
The disciples start across the lake toward Capernaum.
The Sea of Galilee can turn dangerous fast.
By the time they’re halfway, a wind rises — a hard, howling wind straight down from the cliffs.
Darkness.
Cold spray.
Twelve men rowing, muscles burning, and the shoreline still far away.
They’re doing exactly what Jesus told them … and still they’re in a storm.
Isn’t that familiar?
Obedience doesn’t always come with calm seas.
Then, through the blur of rain, someone sees movement on the water.
At first it looks like a ghost — a shape walking across the waves.
They cry out in terror.
And then a voice — clear above the storm:
> “It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
Those words are more than comfort.
“It is I” in Greek echoes the divine name: Ego Eimi — “I AM.”
The same voice that said “Rise and walk” now says “I AM here.”
They let Him into the boat — and John notes something small but stunning:
> “Immediately the boat reached the shore.”
The storm doesn’t just stop; the distance collapses.
When Jesus steps in, time and space obey Him again.
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Reflection — The Father Who Walks on What Scares Us
The waves that threatened to drown the disciples became a sidewalk for God.
The very thing over our heads is still under His feet.
At Bethesda the Father proved His authority over paralysis.
On the sea He proved His authority over chaos.
In both places He restored movement: one man walks, one boat arrives.
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3 The Mirror Between Them
John pairs these scenes deliberately.
One happens beside still water, the other upon raging water.
One shows human helplessness; the other, divine mastery.
Together they whisper: The Father is Lord of every environment — still or storming.
At Bethesda, Jesus reclaims the Sabbath from superstition.
On Galilee, He reclaims creation from fear.
Both miracles end the same way: a command, a response, and sudden peace.
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4 The Father’s Heart Revealed
1. He doesn’t wait for perfect faith.
The lame man never asked; the disciples never expected.
Grace arrived uninvited.
2. He moves toward what others avoid.
Most people step around the broken and steer clear of storms;
the Father steps in.
3. He transforms paralysis into participation.
“Take up your mat” — you’re part of the miracle now.
“Invite Me into the boat” — you steer, but I steady.
4. He teaches us to rest while moving.
True Sabbath isn’t inactivity; it’s security in His presence,
even when the oars are still in your hands.
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5 When You’re Stuck Beside Your Own Pool
Maybe you’ve been lying by something you once believed could save you: a job, a relationship, a ritual.
It promised healing, but years have passed and nothing stirs.
Listen for the question: Do you want to be made well?
The Father isn’t accusing; He’s inviting.
Don’t rehearse your reasons.
Rise.
Even if you wobble, rise.
Grace is stronger than muscle memory.
And when you stand, pick up the mat — the thing that used to hold you — and carry it as testimony.
That’s how the world knows the healer has been here.
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6 When You’re Rowing Into Headwind
Or maybe you’re the one in the boat tonight.
You’re doing what Jesus asked, yet everything seems against you.
The waves keep slapping; the progress feels pointless.
Hear His voice over the wind:
> “It is I; be not afraid.”
He doesn’t always silence the storm first.
He comes through it.
The wind that scares you becomes the wind that carries Him to you.
Let Him in.
That’s all it takes for chaos to find its shoreline.
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7 The Lesson of Movement
Notice that both miracles involve movement:
the man moves forward, the boat moves forward.
Faith isn’t frozen; it always has momentum.
We are not meant to stay where fear leaves us.
Every “Rise,” every “Do not be afraid,” is an echo of the same heartbeat — the Father calling His children to walk again.
When the Word speaks, creation remembers its rhythm.
Legs remember walking.
Waves remember who made them.
Hearts remember hope.
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8 Closing Appeal — The Walk and the Wave
Maybe your mat has been your comfort zone.
Maybe your storm has been your excuse.
Either way, the Father is saying,
> “Get up — I’m here.”
“Take courage — I AM.”
And when you obey, something holy happens.
The ground beneath you and the water around you both recognize His authority.
You begin to walk — not because circumstances changed,
but because you’ve discovered who’s walking with you.
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Closing Reflection
Bethesda shows a Savior who stands over paralysis.
Galilee shows a Savior who strides over panic.
Together they declare:
> The Father’s power is not only creative — it’s compassionate.
He doesn’t just make the world; He rescues it, step by step, wave by wave.
So whether your storm is outside or inside,
you can trust the same voice that said,
> “Rise and walk.”
“It is I; don’t be afraid.”
