Bring Someone to the River
Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Lent
Readings: Ezekiel 47:1–9, 12 • Psalm 46:2–3, 5–6, 8–9 • John 5:1–16
There’s something sacred about water that surprises you.
A hidden stream. A gentle current that grows stronger.
And sometimes — healing that arrives where hope had long dried up.
In today’s readings, we don’t just hear about water.
We witness its transformation into grace — and its power to bring the dead back to life.
But this grace doesn’t stay still. It moves. It searches.
And here’s the call: We’re not just meant to drink from that river — we’re meant to bring others to it.
The River from the Temple — Ezekiel 47:1–9, 12
The prophet Ezekiel is shown a strange vision: water flowing from beneath the threshold of the temple, trickling eastward. The longer it flows, the deeper it gets. Ankle-deep. Knee-deep. Waist-deep. Until, finally, it becomes a river that can only be crossed by swimming (Ez 47:5).
The source is sacred — it flows from the sanctuary (v.12). And the farther this water travels, the more it brings life. Where it reaches, the Dead Sea is made fresh, and trees begin to grow whose “leaves are for healing” (v.12).
This isn’t just a poetic landscape — this is spiritual geography. The river is the Spirit of God. As Jesus later declares in John 7:37–39, “Let anyone who thirsts come to me and drink… rivers of living water will flow from within him.” And John adds: “He said this in reference to the Spirit.”
This river from the temple becomes an image of grace in motion — not locked inside the sanctuary, but flowing outward to heal the land. The life of the Spirit doesn’t settle. It expands. It pushes beyond thresholds, beyond tradition, beyond the clean and sacred into the dry and forgotten.
The Stream of Confidence — Psalm 46:2–3, 5–6, 8–9
“There is a stream whose runlets gladden the city of God,” sings the psalmist (Ps 46:5).
It’s not a flood, not a storm, but a stream — constant, nourishing, peaceful.
This Psalm is a bold act of resistance.
It speaks of earthquakes, nations in uproar, mountains falling into the sea — all images of cosmic collapse. And still, it says: “We will not fear… God is in its midst; it shall not be disturbed.”
This is not the denial of suffering. It’s faith in the middle of it.
Because where God is, there is a river, and wherever that river flows, it brings joy — not superficial happiness, but joy rooted in unshakable presence.
Here’s what’s striking: this Psalm never tells us to flee the chaos.
Instead, it declares, “Come and behold the works of the Lord.”
When everything trembles, behold Him.
When you’re surrounded by need, look for the river.
The Man by the Pool — John 5:1–16
Now we turn to the Gospel — and to another water scene.
Jesus walks into the Pool of Bethesda (literally “House of Mercy”), near the Sheep Gate in Jerusalem. There, He finds “a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled” (Jn 5:3). And among them is a man who had been ill for 38 years (v.5).
Thirty-eight years. That’s a lifetime.
And Jesus asks him the strangest question:
“Do you want to be well?” (v.6)
Not, What happened to you?
Not, Do you believe I can heal you?
But: Do you want to be well?
It seems obvious — but it isn’t.
Sometimes, pain becomes home. Sometimes, resignation becomes a survival strategy.
This man doesn’t say yes or no. He says, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up” (v.7).
Here it is — a cry of abandonment.
I have no one.
No one to help.
No one to see me.
No one to carry me.
He lies in the shadow of healing — but can’t reach it.
And Jesus steps into that silence and speaks resurrection:
“Rise, take up your mat, and walk” (v.8).
Immediately, the man is healed. Not by ritual. Not by stirred waters. Not by a system of competition. But by the Living Water Himself, who walked into his pain and offered him a future.
The Tragedy of Missed Mercy
But the story doesn’t end there.
The man walks… and is promptly scolded for carrying his mat on the Sabbath (v.10).
Think about that.
A man has been paralyzed for almost four decades.
And when he walks, the first thing he hears isn’t “Praise God!” — it’s “Why are you breaking the rules?”
This is the tragedy of a ritual without mercy.
A system that values order more than transformation.
But Jesus knew it would be controversial. Because love that heals always disturbs the systems that benefit from brokenness.
When Jesus finds the man again in the Temple, He doesn’t just say, “Good job.” He says, “You are well. Do not sin anymore, so that nothing worse may happen to you” (v.14).
The healing was only the beginning. Now comes the responsibility of living free.
Our Mission: Bring Someone to the River
So what does all this mean for us — today?
Here’s the truth: there are Bethesdas all around us.
Places where people are stuck near the possibility of healing but can’t get in.
They’re near the Church, near faith, near community, near grace — but they have no one to help them.
And that’s where you and I come in.
The Church is missionary by nature. And we are the Church.
That means we don’t just sit in the sanctuary and admire the river.
We follow it into the streets, into broken homes, into silent hearts, into suffering that has waited 38 years for someone to notice.
Sometimes healing doesn’t begin with a miracle.
It begins when someone sees you.
When someone says, “You don’t have to lie there anymore. I’ll help you walk.”
That’s the work of discipleship. That’s the call of Lent.
Not just to be healed — but to become a vessel of healing.
Let the River Flow
Let’s not be content with ankle-deep religion.
Let’s wade in.
Let the Spirit carry us into deeper waters — where control is lost, but life is found.
Let the grace we’ve received flow beyond the sanctuary.
Because there is a river.
And it still flows.
And it’s waiting to reach the places where no one else will go.
So today — bring someone to the river.
You might just find that you’re the one being healed too.
Ten Ways to Respond as a Missionary to the River of Grace
- See with the eyes of Christ
Ask for the gaze that Jesus gave the man at Bethesda (John 5:6) — not a glance, but a knowing. Let your eyes become instruments of recognition for those the world overlooks.
Ten Ways to act as a Missionary In Response to the Healer:
Speak words that awaken thirst
Like the voice in Ezekiel’s vision — “Have you seen this, son of man?” (Ez 47:6) — be the one who calls others to see beauty, to long for healing, to remember they were made for more than survival.
Stay close to the wounded
Jesus did not wait for the man to find Him — He came into the place of pain. Go to those whose hearts lie near the water but cannot move, and just stay. Love begins with presence.
Disrupt silence with mercy
In a world content to pass by the suffering, interrupt the stillness with kindness. Break the spell of resignation. Your voice, like the Spirit’s breath over water, may stir something back to life (Gen 1:2).
Carry others in prayer as if lifting a mat
Bring souls to God in silence — friends, strangers, enemies. Let your prayer be like the hands the man longed for: someone to help him enter the water.
Choose the river over the rules
When ritual gets in the way of relationship, follow Christ’s lead: “Rise.” Don’t fear breaking convention when mercy is at stake (John 5:10–11).
Let the Spirit deepen you
Don’t stay ankle-deep. Open your inner life to the Spirit’s current. Risk losing control in exchange for going where grace takes you (Ez 47:5).
Offer healing without explaining it
You don’t have to fix everything or preach a thousand words. Sometimes it’s enough to sit beside someone and say with your presence: You are not alone.
Believe the desert will bloom
Trust what Ezekiel saw: that even the Dead Sea can be made fresh (Ez 47:8). Have faith in the hidden fertility of broken places — your own, and others’.
Be a tree rooted in the stream
Live like those trees on both sides of the river (Ez 47:12) — quietly bearing fruit, giving shade, and letting your leaves be medicine. In the chaos of the world, become a quiet sanctuary of healing.
Let the river flow through you — and someone else will walk again whole because you did.
