Crawl: (v) to move on the hands and knees
It is a story found in the Good Book. What makes that book good are the tales that enlighten us, inspire us and cause us to question our mediocre choices instead of covering them with the doctrine of grace.
She was a woman.
This particular lady in this specific story had been crippled for eighteen years. The passage has a detailed description of her problem—she was bowed over, couldn’t walk, and basically found herself uncomfortably situated in some sort of heap, lying on the ground.
Jesus comes upon her. She is some distance away from him, and the assumption is made by everyone in the room that he would walk over, talk to her for a few minutes, and then do some of his jim-dandy magic and heal her. But that’s not what he does.
He calls her to him.
Yes, he requests of this disabled, disheartened woman, that she make the journey across the room, pulling herself along on her arms, elbows and thighs—inch-by-inch making her way to his side.
Can you can imagine the reaction of the room? “This is gross. He’s making her crawl.”
The woman does not complain.
The prospect of being made whole, improved, or even just included was worth it.
She crawled to Jesus.
He did not make her do this because he was a son-of-a-bitch. He wasn’t trying to showcase his authority.
He was giving her a chance to be an intricate part of her own miracle. “Crawl over here and get your blessing.”
Even though each one of us may feel it is cruel or unusual, there are times that we cannot heal the psychological burden of our pain unless we feel as if we are making the crawl to our solution.
I have crawled.
I have made the crawl in joy.
I have crawled, knowing that without the crawl, I would not be able to overcome the anxiety in my soul.
After the crawl came the miracle.