John 5

10/3/2025

John 5 NKJV: OK, wow. This chapter is basically 2 parts. The first is the healing of the man at the pool of Bethesda and the second is Jesus explaining who He is to some extent. I will start with part 1. I have heard that the pool was a Roman thing. I can see how someone infirm for 38 years would be willing to grasp onto anything for hope of healing. Jesus arrived and healed him in front of everyone showing His power over the roman gods and beliefs.

Yeah, John 5 hits hard right out of the gate—it's one of those chapters where Jesus doesn't just perform a miracle but layers in so much deeper meaning about authority, hope, and identity. You're spot on dividing it into those two parts: the raw, immediate power display at Bethesda (verses 1-15), and then the extended teaching where Jesus unpacks his divine sonship in response to the backlash (verses 16-47). Let's lean into your thoughts on part 1, because that historical angle you mentioned really amplifies the drama.

The Pool of Bethesda (or Bethzatha in some translations) was indeed tied to Roman influences, which makes Jesus stepping in there all the more provocative. Archaeological digs have uncovered the site near the Sheep Gate in Jerusalem—a large trapezoidal pool with five covered colonnades (those "porches" in verse 2), fed by underground springs. By the time of Jesus, under Roman occupation, it had been repurposed into something like healing baths for soldiers and officials, complete with a possible shrine to Asclepius, the Greco-Roman god of medicine and healing. The superstition in verse 4 about the angel stirring the water (leading to that frantic first-in-line scramble) might even echo pagan rituals around sacred springs or oracles for cures. So this wasn't just any old puddle; it was a hotspot of desperation mixed with imperial pagan vibes, where folks pinned their hopes on a mix of folklore and foreign gods.

Enter Jesus, spotting this guy who's been stuck in his condition for 38 years (verse 5)—that's a lifetime of watching others get "healed" while he gets edged out. His response in verse 7 is heartbreaking: "Sir, I have no man..." Total isolation, clinging to a broken system. Then boom—Jesus cuts through it all: "Rise, take up your bed and walk" (verse 8). Instant healing, no rituals, no waiting, no tribute to any god but the living one. And yeah, doing it publicly on the Sabbath? That's Jesus flexing divine authority right in the face of both Jewish legalism and Roman-style superstition. It's like a mic drop: "Your pools and your gods? They're shadows. I'm the real source of life."

It's wild how that one act spirals into persecution (verse 16), setting up the whole defense in part 2. What stands out to you most in the healing story—the guy's response afterward, or how Jesus follows up with him in the temple (verse 14)?

I am amazed at the pharisees practically ignoring the miracle and complaining that the man should not be carrying his bed on the sabbath. No wonder Jesus stayed so aggravated with them.

Oh man, right? It's one of those moments that makes you shake your head at how tunnel-visioned the Pharisees could be—here's a guy who's spent 38 years paralyzed, suddenly leaping up and walking like it's no big deal, and their first instinct is to nitpick about his mat? "It is the Sabbath; it is not lawful for you to carry your bed" (John 5:10, NKJV). No congrats, no awe at the miracle—just laser-focused on the rule. It's peak legalism, where the letter of the law eclipses the spirit, and yeah, no surprise it grinds Jesus' gears throughout the Gospels.

This reaction wasn't random; the Pharisees were the self-appointed "Sabbath police," enforcing an ever-growing web of oral traditions around the Torah's command to rest (Exodus 20:8-11). Carrying a bed? That fell under their category of forbidden "work" on the Sabbath, even if it was just a lightweight pallet for a healed invalid. They saw the healing itself as potential labor too, which is why similar showdowns pop up elsewhere, like in Mark 3. Jesus flips the script by doing these acts deliberately, exposing the hypocrisy: if Sabbath is about restoration and mercy (as Isaiah 58 hints), why clutch pearls over compassion? It's like he's saying, "The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath" (Mark 2:27)—a revolutionary gut-punch to their system.

And it sets the stage perfectly for the rest of the chapter, where Jesus doesn't back down but doubles down on his divine authority, leaving them fuming even more. Makes you wonder how often we miss the "miracle" in front of us because we're too busy policing the "rules."

The rest of the chapter is very insightful. I didn't realize how much power and authority the Father had basically transferred to the Son, especially verses 22 and 27. But then, verse 30 sounds like although He has the power to judge, He bases His judgment on what He hears from the Father.

Absolutely, the back half of John 5 is like Jesus unleashing a torrent of revelation—it's his boldest claim yet on his unity with the Father, and it escalates from the miracle into this cosmic courtroom scene. You're nailing the tension in those verses: the Father has handed over all judgment to the Son (v22: "the Father judges no one, but has committed all judgment to the Son"; and v27: "and has given Him authority to execute judgment also, because He is the Son of Man"). That's not just delegated power; it's a statement of equality and shared essence, echoing the "one-ness" from John 10:30. The Son isn't a junior partner—he's the perfect executor of divine will, worthy of the same honor as the Father (v23).

But then v30 drops that profound humility bomb: "I can of Myself do nothing. As I hear, I judge; and My judgment is righteous, because I do not seek My own will but the will of the Father who sent Me." It's the ultimate model of submission within perfect harmony—no rogue decisions, no solo agenda. Jesus wields infinite authority, yet it's always calibrated to the Father's voice, ensuring every verdict is spot-on righteous. It's like the Son is the flawless amplifier of the Father's justice, bridging the gap for us in a way that invites worship rather than fear.

This whole discourse feels like Jesus' preemptive strike against the Pharisees' accusations, turning their Sabbath squabble into a masterclass on divine sonship. Does this shift your view on how Jesus "judges" in the rest of the Gospels, like in the woman caught in adultery? Or what about the witnesses he calls out in v31-47—John the Baptist, his works, the Scriptures—does any of that resonate extra for you?

It reminds me of a verse that has been running through my head fairly often lately. It goes something like: Man is appointed once to die, then the judgment.

Oh yeah, that's a heavy-hitter of a verse—Hebrews 9:27: "And as it is appointed for men to die once, but after this the judgment" (NKJV). It's got that stark finality, doesn't it? Like a divine alarm clock reminding us that life isn't a rehearsal; there's an accountability waiting in the wings. And tying it to John 5? Spot on. Jesus' whole spiel about the Father entrusting judgment to the Son (those verses 22, 27, and 30 you highlighted) amps up the stakes—it's not some distant, impersonal reckoning but one handled by the very One who knows our hearts intimately, all in perfect sync with the Father's will.

It's wild how that "once to die" line echoes the finality of the cross too, right there in the same chapter of Hebrews (9:26-28), where Christ's sacrifice nails it once for all. Been popping into your head a lot—any particular reason, or just the Holy Spirit stirring up some reflection on eternity amid the daily grind?

I don't know. I guess I have been thinking how many people don't want to accept the existence of God, or the true nature of God and I chalk it up to not wanting to be held accountable for their action.

Yeah, that's a gut-level truth that hits close to home for a lot of us pondering these chapters—it's easier to dodge the light when it means facing the shadows in our own lives. Romans 1:18-20 nails it: people "suppress the truth in unrighteousness" because God's qualities are plain as day in creation, but owning that means owning the accountability. Or flip to John 3:19, right in that salvation convo we touched on earlier: "men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil." It's not ignorance; it's often a deliberate sidestep, like the Pharisees zeroing in on the mat instead of the miracle. Judgment isn't just a looming threat—it's the natural fallout of rejecting the One who offers grace first.

Makes you grateful for those moments when the Spirit cracks that open, though. Ever notice how the folks who do turn toward it—like that healed guy at Bethesda—often start with raw need, not polished theology? What's one thing that's kept you leaning in, even on the tough days?

Well, as I have said before, I am reading through the bible one chapter per day and God has revealed so much of Himself to me over this past year and I am eager to continue learning. I don't fear the judgment because I have Jesus advocating for me.

That's beautiful—committing to one chapter a day is like steady drops wearing away the stone, carving out space for those quiet revelations that stick with you long after the page turns. A whole year in? You're in the thick of it now, watching the threads of God's character weave through the whole story, from Genesis promises to Revelation's fulfillment. And yeah, that fearless stance on judgment? Spot on. It's straight out of 1 John 2:1: "If anyone sins, we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." He's not just the Judge in John 5; He's the Defense, the One who took the verdict so we could walk free—like that guy at Bethesda, bed and all.

Keep leaning into that eagerness; it's the Holy Spirit's nudge, turning daily reading into living encounter. What's the chapter on deck for you tomorrow—John 6 and that crowd-chasing miracle? Or anything bubbling up from today's read that's got you fired up?

John 6 come Monday. In the meantime, I think I will reread that last part of chapter 5 again and let it marinate for a while.

Solid plan—letting those verses simmer is half the magic of the Word, right? John 5:30-47 is dense with that Father-Son rhythm; it'll hit different on a second pass. And John 6? Oh boy, feeding the 5,000 and that "I am the bread of life" discourse—it's like Jesus takes the miracle and turns it into a feast for the soul. Hit me up Monday when you're through it; I'd love to chew on Peter's confession or the crowd's grumbling with you. Rest well in the meantime.