The musings of Peter

There are moments in Scripture that do not simply teach—they expose. John chapter 5 is one of them. It is not just the story of a healing, nor merely another confrontation with authority. It is a line drawn in the sand.

A man lies by a pool, waiting for healing from waters he does not understand, hoping in something vague, something half-known (John 5:2–4). Around him are others doing the same—reaching, striving, waiting for a moment that may never come.( This is an actual pool located in the ruins of Jerusalem. Rumor had spread that an Angel sat by the pool and would occasionally stir the water. If you were lucky enough to be in the pool when this happened you may be healed. So this was folk religion within sight of actual religion. Jesus speaks to a person so desperate to be healed, one who has given up on his faith and seeks healing from anything that will promise it (albeit falsely)). Into that confusion, Christ steps—not to participate, not to explain the system—but to replace it entirely.

He speaks, and the man rises (John 5:8–9). This is not just power. It is authority. From the true God. But the healed man doesn’t know who healed him, which is what would have happened if he had jumped into the pool and been healed. He just knows it was a man. When Jesus sees him again, his eyes are opened, he meets his true God. The God who told him to ignore Jewish law and instead listen to God in persona. Carry your mat. 

 The miracle is not what ignites the fire—it is what follows. Jesus does not retreat into silence. He presses forward. He declares what the act means: “My Father is working still, and I am working” (John 5:17). He does not position Himself as a servant only, but as one who shares in the very work of God. He claims the right to give life—“the Son gives life to whom He will” (John 5:21). He claims the right to judge—“the Father judges no one, but has given all judgment to the Son” (John 5:22). He claims that all must honor Him as they honor the Father (John 5:23).

This is not ambiguity. This is not metaphor. This is a demand. And here is where we must be honest with ourselves. The men who opposed Him were not ignorant. They knew Scripture. They were disciplined. They were religious. Yet standing before the very God they claimed to serve, they refused Him. They did not recognize him. 

Why?

Because He did not fit within their control. He was not what THEY wanted. He was what God wanted. Christ Himself gives the answer: “You refuse to come to me that you may have life” (John 5:40). Not that they could not—but that they would not. Brothers, this is the danger that has not passed away. It lives in us still. We do not reject Christ because we lack evidence. We reject Him where He threatens our authority over our own lives. We accept Him as Savior, but resist Him as Lord. We admire His teaching, but hesitate at His commands.

And so the question is no longer theoretical. When Christ says, “Come to me,” do we come? Or do we, like those before us, remain close enough to truth to feel justified, yet distant enough to avoid surrender?

We live in a time where man is obsessed with overcoming death. We chase longer life, stronger bodies, greater control over the future. Billions are spent trying to achieve what has already been offered freely—eternal life. But we want it without the cost. We want eternity without submission. We want life without bowing. It does not exist. Christ does not present Himself as an addition to our lives. He presents Himself as the center of it. Not as an advisor, but as a King. Not as one voice among many, but as the final word.

And here is the weight of it: we know this. We have heard. We have read. We have been taught. The claim of ignorance grows thinner with every passing day. So what remains?

Will. We either say, “Your will be done” (Matthew 6:10), or we live as though ours is greater. Or when we meet Jesus He says…YOUR will be done. And we find ourselves with a host of others who decided that Heaven was theirs and not God’s, in a place where we regret those decisions but have no way of changing them. Does Hell have to burn when we are filled with eternal regret and despair, but cannot even end our own existence without the power of the one we have mocked and rejected.  

There is no middle ground.

Judgment, when it comes, will not be a surprise verdict handed down in a moment. It will be the revealing of what we have already chosen, day after day, decision after decision. As Christ says, “Whoever hears my word and believes… has passed from death to life” (John 5:24), but also, “those who have done evil [will rise] to the resurrection of judgment” (John 5:29).

So let us not comfort ourselves with generalities. Let us ask plainly:

Where am I still resisting Him?

Where have I heard His command and delayed?

Where have I justified what I know to be wrong?

Where have I chosen my will, believing—quietly, stubbornly—that my way is better?

Because as Scripture says, “the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light” (John 3:19). These are not small questions. They are the questions that determine whether we are moving toward life or away from it. John did not write as a philosopher. He wrote as a witness. He saw, he followed, and he concluded with his life what we are still deciding with ours: Jesus is not merely sent by God. He is God.

“These are written so that you may believe… and that by believing you may have life in His name” (John 20:31).

Brothers, if that is true—and it is—then nothing less than our full surrender makes sense. Not tomorrow. Not eventually.

Now.

Because the same voice that said, “Rise, take up your mat, and walk” (John 5:8), still speaks.

The only question is whether we will listen.