Through the Roof: Seeing the Value in Every Person

“When Jesus returned to Capernaum several days later, the news spread quickly that he was back home. Soon the house where he was staying was so packed with visitors that there was no more room, even outside the door. While he was preaching God’s word to them, four men arrived carrying a paralyzed man on a mat. They couldn’t bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, so they dug a hole through the roof above his head. Then they lowered the man on his mat, right down in front of Jesus. Seeing their faith, Jesus said to the paralyzed man, ‘My child, your sins are forgiven.’

But some of the teachers of religious law who were sitting there thought to themselves, ‘What is he saying? This is blasphemy! Only God can forgive sins!’

Jesus knew immediately what they were thinking, so he asked them, ‘Why do you question this in your hearts? Is it easier to say to the paralyzed man “Your sins are forgiven,” or “Stand up, pick up your mat, and walk”? So I will prove to you that the Son of Man has the authority on earth to forgive sins.’ Then Jesus turned to the paralyzed man and said, ‘Stand up, pick up your mat, and go home!’

And the man jumped up, grabbed his mat, and walked out through the stunned onlookers. They were all amazed and praised God, exclaiming, ‘We’ve never seen anything like this before!’” Mark 2:1-12

If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a parent in the disability world, it’s this: you become determined.

Determined to find help, community, support, and a place for your child to belong. That kind of determination is exactly what I see in Mark 2, and every time I read it, the story feels personal.

This story in Mark especially touches me. I picture the scene: Who were these four men to the paralyzed man—family or friends? What moved them to bring him to Jesus? Whoever they were, they were determined. The crowd was huge, blocking every path to Jesus.

Can you imagine these men are trying to push through the crowd, carrying their friend, but no one will move aside. Maybe people thought this man wasn’t worth the trouble. Maybe they judged him, assuming his disability was a punishment for sin. But that didn’t stop the friends. They refused to give up until their friend met Jesus.

I often think about that kind of persistence when it comes to disability ministry in the church. It can be hard for churches to open their doors wide enough for families who have a child with a disability, whether visible or unseen. Too many families have been turned away or told, in so many words, that their child, teen, or adult isn’t welcome at their church.

That breaks my heart.

We’ve personally experienced the opposite—grace, acceptance, and inclusion—but I’ve heard far too many stories from parents who haven’t. Families who were told their child couldn’t attend, who felt pushed aside, unseen, or unwanted. So, like those four men in Mark, they work tirelessly to find another way to bring their children to Jesus.

As my son grows older, I feel that same determination rising in me. There is so little available for him as an adult. Churches often expect us to simply bring him to service, but David is cognitively around the age of two. An adult church service means nothing to him. So how do we help him experience Jesus in a way he understands? Where is his community?

The men in Mark’s story came up with an idea that must have sounded crazy—but that’s how desperate they were for their friend to be healed. They knew if Jesus saw him, He would heal him. So they did what no one expected: they carried him onto the roof, tore through the tiles, and lowered him down. That’s faith and love in action. If people wouldn’t move, they’d find another way!

I imagine that moment, Jesus teaching, dust falling from the ceiling, and suddenly, a man being lowered right in front of Him. Jesus looks up and sees their faces, hopeful, tired, but full of faith. He looks around and knows what others are thinking. Their hearts are full of judgment. If you have a child with disabilities, you know that look, the wrinkled brow, the scowl of discomfort or disgust. But not Jesus. He looks at this man with compassion and says, “My child, your sins are forgiven.”

I wonder what that felt like for the paralyzed man. We don’t know how long he had been lame, but we can imagine the shame he carried. He had probably been judged his whole life, treated as though he had no worth. And now here he was, face to face with Jesus. Maybe he thought, Why would He heal me? Why would he even look at me?

My son does something that reminds me of that. When he meets people, he often covers his face. We tell others he’s playing peek-a-boo, but sometimes I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t feel worthy to be seen. People often pass him by, they’ll say hi to me or my husband but ignore David. So he hides his face, as if to say, You don’t see me anyway.

But Jesus saw the man. He always sees. He spoke directly to his heart, forgiving him and lifting the weight of shame he had carried for so long. I imagine that something inside the man shifted before he could even move his legs, he was already being healed on the inside.

Then Jesus, knowing what the Pharisees were thinking, turned their judgment into a moment of truth: “Is it easier to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or ‘Stand up, pick up your mat, and walk’?” And to show them His authority, Jesus did what only God can do—He told the man to get up and go home.

And the man did.

Can you imagine that moment? A man who likely hadn’t walked in years stands, without pain, without hesitation, and walks out before everyone’s eyes. The miracle wasn’t just in his legs—it was in his heart, his restored worth, his renewed identity as someone seen, loved, and made whole by Jesus.

The man who once had to be carried now walked out on his own, mat in hand, through the same crowd that once blocked his way. The room that had been heavy with judgment and doubt now overflowed with awe and praise. Every eye watched as he walked out, no longer the man who was overlooked, but the man who had been seen, healed, and made whole by Jesus.

That same power still moves today.

About ten percent of churches in the U.S. have some form of disability ministry, but that means ninety percent have yet to even try. What would it look like if more churches opened their hearts and doors, creating spaces where people of every ability and every age could learn about Jesus in a way they understand? Imagine the blessing, joy, community, and the transformation that could happen if every church believed, as Jesus did, that everyone has value, purpose and worth.