Poem by Reinhard Bonnke 1. Hundreds staring at Bethesda’s healing water, longing for the moment proper, An angel was supposed to come and stir the waters now and then. Those who’d jump in first as sick, were thought to come out cured - and quick. The ill, focusing on angels still, ignored Jesus the angel’s commander, at will. Who looked from row to row around, if someone sick wanted to be found. But Christ sadly searched in vain since no one beckoned, called or came. Having missed the angel’s cue, they were about to miss Christ too.
2. Since that place was thick with grief, and steeped in rotten unbelief, The needs of the suffering drew Christ like a lure, to the sick and the impure. And there he was, a cripple, waiting in tears for thirty-eight years. Jesus asked if he wanted to be well, but the man didn’t know what that would spell. In his fantasy, he muttered about an angel, he had missed regularly. The Lord ignored his reply with a sigh, but could not resist to heal this paralysis. A power surge went through his body; he then jumped up, cured, strong, and happy.
3. A stampede should now have broken out, this miracle rout all their doubt. Yet Jesus kept looking around “Anybody else needing me, anybody bound?” But no sigh; no cry came as reply, no waving hand, no anxious demand. Jesus slowly had to walk away never to return to Bethesda’s causeway. But now He looks at you, please grab His nail-pierced hand, He’ll heal you too. Give Him a wave or just a call, He is the Lord your Healer, for maladies big or small. He actually stands at your door and knocks, don’t let him move on along the sidewalks.