11 SEPTEMBER 2026
When You Cannot Get To Jesus
Not every season of faith looks like running toward Jesus
By Shikha, S.C.M.A. Communications Director
Scripture: Mark 2:1-12
There is something about this miracle that is easy to miss. We remember the roof. We remember the four friends. We remember the man getting up and walking.
But before all of that, there is a man lying completely still. He does not preach a sermon. He does not make a declaration of faith. He does not fight his way through the crowd.
In fact, throughout the entire story, we never hear him say a single word.
He is simply carried. Maybe that is the part of the story someone needs to hear today. Because not every season of faith looks like running toward Jesus. Sometimes, you are too tired.
Sometimes, life has taken more out of you than you expected. Sometimes you have prayed all the prayers you know how to pray, and now all you can do is lie there with the weight of what has happened to you.
You still believe Jesus is good. You just don't have the strength to move. And perhaps you have wondered whether that makes you a failure. Perhaps you have looked at everyone else worshipping, serving, praying, believing, moving forward and quietly thought, “Why can't I be like them? Why can't I just get myself together?”
But this man couldn't get himself to Jesus. So someone else carried him. And when the crowd blocked the door, his friends didn't say, “We tried.” They climbed.
When there was no entrance, they made one. When there was no way through, they refused to believe that “no way” meant “no hope.” They tore open the roof and lowered their friend down into the presence of Jesus.
Imagine that moment. The noise. The dust falling. Everyone is looking up. And then this man, who could not walk himself to Jesus, descending from above, completely dependent on the hands holding him.
I wonder what he was thinking.
Was he embarrassed? Did he feel like a burden? Did he wonder whether this was all too much? We don't know. But we do know this:
His inability to move did not stop him from being brought to Jesus.
And maybe your faith does not always have to look like strength. Maybe sometimes faith looks like letting someone pray for you when you cannot pray for yourself. Maybe it looks like answering the phone when someone says, “How are you really?”
Maybe it looks like allowing people to carry you for a little while. We often think faith means, “I will make it on my own.” But this story tells us something different. Sometimes faith says, “I can't walk right now. Please don't leave me here.”
And there is something even more beautiful.
When Jesus saw the man lying before Him, He didn't begin with the obvious problem. Everyone in that room could see what was wrong with his body. But Jesus looked beyond what everyone else could see.
Before telling him to stand, Jesus said:
“Son, your sins are forgiven.”
Son.
Before He restored his legs, Jesus restored something deeper. He spoke identity before He spoke movement. He gave belonging before He gave healing.
It is as though Jesus was saying, “Before we talk about what you need Me to fix, let Me remind you who you are to Me.”
Son.
Not a problem. Not a burden. Not the man who had to be carried. Not the interruption coming through the roof.
Son.
And perhaps that is the miracle we need to remember. Jesus does not wait for you to stand before He loves you. He does not wait for you to become strong before He calls you His. He does not wait until you have fixed everything, overcome everything, or found the strength to walk again.
He meets you on the mat. Right there. In the place where you cannot move. In the season where you have no words. In the moment when all you can do is let someone else carry you.
And then, when the time comes, Jesus speaks:
“Get up.”
Not because you finally became strong enough. But because His word gave you the strength you did not have before.
The same man who was carried into the room eventually walked out carrying the very mat that had once carried him. Can you imagine that?
What once held him down became something he could hold in his hands. What once represented his limitation became evidence of what Jesus had done. Maybe one day, the thing that feels like it has defined this season of your life will no longer define you.
Maybe one day, you will look back at the place where you thought, “I will never get up from this,” and realise Jesus was already working in ways you couldn't see. Maybe the mat will still remind you of where you have been. But it will no longer be where you live. So if you are tired today, this is your reminder:
You do not have to crawl to Jesus perfectly.
If all you can do is lie still, He sees you. If you need someone to carry you, let them. If you have no words, He still understands. And if you feel like you have been on the mat for far too long, remember this:
Jesus knows your name. He sees what others cannot see. He calls you His before He asks anything of you.
And when He says it is time to rise, the same Jesus who meets you in your weakness will give you the strength to stand. You may have been carried here. But you will not stay here forever.