I believe sometimes the greatest acts of healing or justice or rescue are the least noticeable. There can be drama, certainly, but it’s internal: a complex justification system built upon a lifetime of wounds, a backstory worthy of best-selling memoirs, a pressure cooker of cultural constraint and systematic injustice and gothic loneliness. And all that’s required to heal or make right or rescue is a word, and suddenly all the bygones and weight and pressure spring away. But without that word, there is no hope. Without that word, people like Levi don’t just wear a mask or put up a facade — they are entombed. I think compared to the rescue of Levi from his tax booth, lowering a paralytic through a hole in the roof is easy.
Let me explain, friends. Continue reading