Gus Portokalos says he can trace any word back to what he claims is its Greek roots, albeit, with a bit of a stretch.
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| Michael Constatine as Gus Portokalos |
"Now, gimme a word, any word, and I'll show you how the root of that word is Greek. Okay? How about arachnophobia? Arachna, that comes from the Greek word for spider, and phobia is a … phobia … is mean fear. So, fear of spider, there you go."Okay, Mr. Portokalos. How about the word kimono? [asks his daughter’s young friend]"Aha. Kimono. Kimono ... kimono … kimono. Ha! Of course! Kimono is come from the Greek word himona, is mean winter. So, what do you wear in the wintertime to stay warm? A robe. You see: robe, kimono. There you go!"
—My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002)
Paralutikós. It really is Greek, Mr. Portokalos. The King James Bible identified the person come to visit Jesus in Capernaum as “palsied;” modern English translations use “paralytic.” The English word “paralysis” comes from the same root, from the Greek paralusis, (para—beside, near, along the side of; lusis—loosing, releasing, ransoming) and literally it means "one whose side was loose or weak." Today, though, when we encounter the word paralysis or paralyzed we tend to assume a total loss of body movement. The original meaning is not necessarily so.
Jesus was home—back in Capernaum—and he had a houseful of visitors. They wanted to see their homegrown teacher, preacher, healer so they swarmed into the house’s central courtyard and the living rooms surrounding it. “Then some people came, bringing to Jesus a paralutikós, carried (φέρω / pheró—to carry some burden, to bear with one's self) by four of them. [Lit. And they are coming, bringing to him a paralytic whose burden was being lifted by four.] And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralutikós lay.”
Paralutikós. The person lowered through the roof and now in front of Jesus is one who was living with “a weakened side.” Not necessarily full-body-motionless like our 21st century minds assume, but perhaps in a weakened physical state which would have created for that individual a weakened social status in Capernaum, a status which 21st-century-we probably would not understand. Ostracized, shunned, unclean, untouchable, sinful, unforgiveable for whatever the community thought happened to bring on this condition.
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How often today we use phrases about paralysis to metaphorically describe life moments. Emotional paralysis is real and can certainly be debilitating but more often than not we use it casually as an excuse for not being able to move forward in our emotions or thinking or relating.
“He was paralyzed by fear when fire broke out.”
“Her anxiety left her paralyzed and unable to deal with the crisis.”
“It seems like Congress has paralyzed us by its inability to reach compromise.”
But rarely, if ever, do any of those metaphors separate us from the society in which we live in the same way that label did in 1st century Palestine.
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Parakletos. “Is Greek!,” Gus Portokalos would remind us about this different word. Soon after his death and resurrection and the Pentecost moment (Acts 2) the followers of Jesus emerged as the Early Church and they started to recognize in Jesus his role as Parakletos—The Paraclete, The Comforter, Advocate, Counselor—the prophesied one summoned (kletos) to the side (para) of those needing comfort.
Nahum. “Is not Greek!” It’s Hebrew, in fact, and it means “comforter.” Namely, it’s the name of one of the Minor Prophets of Hebrew scripture who wrote poetically about the end of the Assyrian Empire, and its capital city, Nineveh. Nahum, according to his story, comes from a place called Alqosh yet no one knows for certain where that is. One popular candidate for Nauhum’s hometown is Capernaum—in Hebrew, the village of (Kaphar-) the comforter (-naum). Kapharnaum. Capernaum.
Still with me? Here is what the original hearers of this story, Mark’s Early Church audience, might have heard in its telling and retelling.
Jesus, the prophesied Parakletos (Comforter), was back in his hometown, Kaphar-naum (Village of the Comforter) providing comfort by coming to the side of (parakletos) someone who has been set apart from the community due to a weakened condition (a paralutikós), one with a side (para-) which was weakened (-lusis), one who had at least four people willing to carry the burden attached to this condition.
“Is Greek … and Hebrew!”
Four of Capernaum’s citizens brought this one-with-the-weakened-side to see Jesus but they couldn’t get through the door either because the crowd was so big or maybe because they had this outcast with them. Not to be turned away by their fellow citizens, they took the paralutikós up to the roof, poked a hole through, and lowered the person down to where Jesus was. Oh, and they brought along the person’s straw sleeping mat too, probably rolled up under an arm, and slipped down through the holey roof as well. Most likely the weakened-one could walk with the assistance of the four but the mat was necessary since the only economic option for this ostracized-one was to lay around on a mat and beg for money—“cap-in-hand” or “hand-i-cap,” if you will—and this oversized crowd was certainly a target for handouts.
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I was consulting with a church which had a relatively minor physical access problem. Three steps from the driveway led to a first floor entry door. Once inside the building, there was full access to the Pastor’s Study and to the large Sanctuary used for worship. The upper floors and restrooms were a more difficult issue but first floor access from the parking lot and driveway seemed like one slight incline ramp would do the trick.
Resistance. “It will ruin the neo-Gothic façade,”; “It will cost too much;” “No one will use it.” This all despite the fact that a young man, key member and leader of the congregation, had been in a traumatic auto crash 10 years before and he was now unable to physically use the lower half of his body—a manual wheelchair provided freedom so that he could be a husband and dad, could create a successful professional career, and could participate fully in snow skiing with a disability sports program. What he couldn’t do was easily access his congregation’s building. On Sundays the sexton was usually ready with the portable ramp; otherwise Steve would use his strength to hop his wheelchair up the three steps and open the door.
“You know,” said an older church member, “it’s disappointing that we have to build a ramp. It’s shameful that we are no longer willing to carry someone up the steps. We’ve really lost something as Christians if we can’t do that anymore.”
Totally missed the point of what independence does for someone. Creating more access creates more freedom creates inclusion creates justice … and if followers of Jesus are about anything, they must be about justice.
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On meeting this weakened-one for the first time—or maybe for a second or third time since this is a small village and Jesus is quite popular here at his home—Jesus says, knowing that God forgives all of us, “Teknon aphientai sou hai hamartiai.” “Is Greek!,” again, of course. “Child, your sins are sent away.”
This is the healing moment of the story. Suddenly, a respected someone has called the ostracized-weakened-one by the intimate and affectionate title which he uses of his beloved disciples. Child. No gender can be implied so we don’t know if it’s a male or female person, and throughout this encounter we have no clue as to the paralutikós’ gender or age—it could really be a child that Jesus has just brought back into the community which once shunned him or her.
“Child,” says Jesus. With a single word, Jesus heals.
What happens next? Conflict. Jesus knows that the Scribes, the doubters who are often trying to entrap him are thinking that he has been blasphemous by claiming for himself the role of God who is the only forgiver. He sets out to remind them of what’s what, that while only God forgives sins against God, any of us can forgive each other’s human sins.
“Which is it easier to say,” Jesus asks—not do, notice, but say—“’Your sins are sent away’ or “Take up your straw mat and go on with your life (περιπατέω / peripateó)?’”
An amazing moment in the Jesus story that we mostly miss with our contemporary eyes.
Jesus takes this opportune moment to remind us that neither of these statements is easy to say, or maybe they are too easy to say. The rubber meets the road in the results. If you say to another human being, “Your sins are forgiven, your sins are sent away from you” it begs the question whether or not you really mean it, particularly if the sin was against you. As well, if you say to someone, “Welcome back into the circle, now go on home knowing that you are fully included” but as soon as you see the back of that person you snicker along with your “in” friends, what kind of words are they?
But here, Jesus is quite comfortable saying—and doing, in fact—both.
“Know that God sends your sins away from you,” has says to the soon-to-be-former paralutikos, “So now, dear Child, lightened by the removal of those burdens, no longer let your weakness be the cause of your separation from this community. Just go on and live your life, forget about the critics, roll up your mat because you won’t need it, and go about your life.”
And so the former paralutikos does. Perhaps helped still by the four who brought him but walking straighter—or maybe still a bit bent by the physical weakness, it doesn’t really matter anymore—and most definitely more confident knowing that once shunned he or she is a Child of God despite what others might be assuming.
“Immediately taking the mat [the former paralutikos] went before all, so that to amaze all and to glorify God saying ‘We never saw this way.’”
Have you ever seen that way before? Have we ever seen that way before? If we insist on interpreting this story as a violation of the laws of nature, the laws of physics, so that this person who was once totally motionless could now walk and jump and dance and the four could pound their chests for their role in it and the naysayers are once again put in their place then we have never seen it the way that it was experienced that day in Capernaum. If we insist on the physicality of this healing, then we totally miss the spirituality and emotionality of this healing.
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David lay in his bed. Still. David lay still in his bed that afternoon I visited. Still.
By the time I came to know him, David could move his eyes and mouth but nothing else, yet he could think and speak and breathe and live. David had been a brilliant physics professor at a major university in the city before a degenerative muscle disease invaded his body and gradually took away his freedom of movement. He was still brilliant, of course, and he was still writing and teaching through his assistant who was with him always.
“You know,” he said to me, “I always used to say I wouldn’t want to live if I became disabled. Just let me die.” I listened intently. “Then I got to this point in life. I don’t say that anymore.”
Paralyzed. David could move no part of his body but he could live and he could think and he could dream. “Have you ever been to The Guggenheim?,” he asked. I hadn’t. “Look it up sometime. Why can’t everything be designed like that? Frank Lloyd Wright. It’s totally accessible—it’s all ramps, running around the inside of this circular building. You don’t even realize you’re climbing higher and higher.” Brilliant. I had been telling him about my efforts at teaching congregations about accessibility—architecture and attitudes.
David wasn’t dead. Just still.
This 20th century paralutikos didn’t need me or anyone else to remind him that he had a valuable place in society. Sure some still shun him, some still ignore him as they walk by, some still would rather just toss coins onto his bed on the way past. But David knew better. He knew that The Guggenheim was perfect for any paralutikos, David knew that he wasn’t better off dead than alive, and David knew way more than I will ever understand about physics.
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Why is it that we need a Jesus who makes things happen that defy the laws of physics, the natural world which governs the physicality of our bodies? Why do we insist that a “miracle”—in this case a “healing”—must include something which simply doesn’t happen in our limited world? There was no need to violate the laws of physics to bring this paralutikos back into the proverbial, societal fold.
And that, Mr. Portokalos, is most definitely not Greek. That is quite simply reality for so many people with disabilities. And surrendering this need for a physical healing substituting for it an emotional and societal healing can be so very healing for all of us.
When those with disabilities have said to society which has treated them as outcasts for most of history, “We know that God sends your sins away,”—your pejoratives, your shaming, your scape-goating of us, your insistence that we beg with cap-in-hand—“We know that God sends all those sins away,” we might want to accept that and learn what healing can truly mean.
“So take up your mat, you who live sadly in judgment of us, and live your life. We, the formerly pitied paralutikos, know that we can now live ours.”
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Mark 2:1-12
[NRSV]
When [Jesus] returned to Capernaum after some days, it was reported that he was at home. 2 So many gathered around that there was no longer room for them, not even in front of the door; and he was speaking the word to them. 3 Then some people came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. 4 And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralytic lay. 5 When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” 6 Now some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, 7 “Why does this fellow speak in this way? It is blasphemy! Who can forgive sins but God alone?” 8 At once Jesus perceived in his spirit that they were discussing these questions among themselves; and he said to them, “Why do you raise such questions in your hearts? 9 Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and take your mat and walk’? 10 But so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins”—he said to the paralytic— 11 “I say to you, stand up, take your mat and go to your home.” 12 And he stood up, and immediately took the mat and went out before all of them; so that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying, “We have never seen anything like this!”
Mark 2:1-12
[a missed interpretation]
And returning again into Capernaum after days it was heard, “He is at home.” 2 And many were gathered so that these no longer were able to make room to the door, and he was speaking the word to them.
3 And they are coming, bringing to him one with a weakened side being lifted by four.
4 And not being able to approach him because of the crowd, they uncovered the roof where he was, and digging through let down the mat where the weakened one was lying. 5 And seeing their faith, Jesus says to the weakened one, “Child, your sins are sent away.”
6 Yet some of the scribes are seated there and are reasoning in their hearts, 7 “Why is he speaking this way? He is blaspheming! Who is able to forgive sins except God alone?” 8 And immediately Jesus, knowing in his spirit that they were reasoning in themselves this way, says to them, “What things are you reasoning in your hearts? 9 Which is easier, to say to this weakened one, ‘Your sins are sent away’ or to say, ‘Rise and take your mat and go to your home to live your life’?”
10 Yet, in order that you may see that the son of man has authority to send away sins on the earth, he says to the weakened one, 11 “I say to you, ‘Rise and take your mat and go to your home and live your life’.”
12 And the weakened one was raised and immediately taking the mat went before all, so that to amaze all and to glorify God saying “We never saw this way.”
[Translation adapted from “Left Behind and Loving It” by Mark Davis.
© Copyright 2018
James F. McIntire
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