The Pharisees, the Healed Man, and My Own Heart
Reading about the man Jesus healed at Bethesda made me confront something uncomfortable: there was a season when I had far more in common with the Pharisees than I wanted to admit. This post is about compassion, pride, and the God who gently softens our hearts.
1 Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples, 2 “The teachers of religious law and the Pharisees are the official interpreters of the law of Moses. 3 So practice and obey whatever they tell you, but don’t follow their example. For they don’t practice what they teach. 4 They crush people with unbearable religious demands and never lift a finger to ease the burden.
Matthew 23:1-4 NLT
I just started reading the Book of John for my Bible study this month. As a refresher, I’ve been trying to make myself read at least one of the Gospels—or weave some of the chapters into my study—every three months. Right now, I’m in chapter 5, reading about how our Lord and Savior healed a man by the pool of Bethesda on the Sabbath day.
This man had been an invalid for thirty‑eight years. I had to look up the definition of invalid again: someone too sick or weak to take care of themselves. I’ve always loved what Jesus did here. He already knew this man had suffered for a long time, yet He still asked, “Do you want to be healed?” The man explained that he had no one to help him into the pool. And Jesus simply told him, “Get up and walk.”
At that moment, the man got up and walked.
What an incredible miracle. After nearly four decades of suffering, he was finally set free. Someone who needed the help of others just to move around was suddenly released from the weight of his infirmity and able to live again.
But the Pharisees didn’t see it that way. Instead of rejoicing, they were annoyed. In verses 16–18, we see them going after Jesus for healing on the Sabbath. Jesus responded, “My Father is working until now, and I am working.”
I’ve always felt frustrated with the Pharisees when reading the Gospels and Acts. After witnessing people being set free from sickness—physical or mental—their reaction was to attack the One who healed instead of praising God. Verse 18 even tells us why they wanted to kill Him: not only because He “broke” the Sabbath, but because He called God His Father, making Himself equal with God.
We know from Scripture how hypocritical they were. They sold merchandise in the temple, the very place meant to be a house of worship for God alone. And I can’t help but ask: how hard were their hearts? How could they see someone healed—like the man with the withered hand in Mark 3—and respond with, “We need to take this man out”?
In Matthew 23, Jesus even tells the crowd and His disciples to listen to what the Pharisees teach but not to imitate their behavior. They “preach, but do not practise.” They pile heavy burdens onto people’s shoulders—rules, expectations, spiritual weight—but refuse to lift even a finger to help. Their version of righteousness demanded everything from others and nothing from themselves.
It’s easy to shake my head at them. But the more I read these passages, the more I realise the Pharisees aren’t just historical villains—they’re a mirror. Their hardness exposes the places in my own heart where compassion has grown thin.
16 So the Jewish leaders began harassing* Jesus for breaking the Sabbath rules. 17 But Jesus replied, “My Father is always working, and so am I.” 18 So the Jewish leaders tried all the harder to find a way to kill him. For he not only broke the Sabbath, he called God his Father, thereby making himself equal with God.
John 5:16-18
There was a season in my life when I was hard‑hearted too. Cynical. Suspicious. I believed in God, but my mindset was, “The world is horrible, everyone is my enemy, and I’m not the problem.” It’s easy to slip into that posture when life doesn’t go the way you hoped, or when you put your trust in the world instead of God.
If the people in my life at the time—coworkers, friends—had found out I was a Christian, they would’ve been surprised. My actions didn’t match my beliefs. I looked down on others. I gossiped about people even though I would’ve hated them doing the same to me. Honestly, looking back, there were acquaintances in my life who worshipped other gods but were far more compassionate and approachable than I was.
God had to confront me gently but firmly: “You are not a pleasant person to be around, and you need to change.” I didn’t realise in that season how much I had in common with the Pharisees—more than I’d ever want to admit. I was prideful. I believed that having a hard heart was necessary to survive in the world. I wish I had softened the moment I started acting like a Pharisee.
All of this brings me back to the heart of the passage I started with.
So what do we learn from this? For me, it’s a reminder of how easy it is to let the circumstances around me harden my heart if I’m not keeping my eyes on God or staying in constant communication with Him. A hardened heart doesn’t usually form overnight. It builds slowly—through disappointments, frustrations, unmet expectations, and the quiet belief that we need to protect ourselves instead of trusting God to protect us.
But Jesus shows us a different way.
He moves toward suffering, not away from it. He notices the people everyone else overlooks. He heals on days when others say healing shouldn’t happen. He lifts burdens instead of adding to them. And He invites us to reflect that same compassion in our own lives.
The Pharisees remind me of what happens when we cling to pride, fear, or control. Jesus reminds me of what happens when we let God soften us. And just as He saw the man at Bethesda and moved toward him with compassion, He moves toward us too—even when our hearts feel stiff, guarded, or tired.
So my prayer—both for myself and for anyone reading—is simple:
Lord, keep my heart tender. Keep it open. Keep it compassionate. Don’t let bitterness, cynicism, or self‑protection take root. Help me see people the way You see them. Help me love the way You love. And when my heart starts to harden, draw me back to You quickly.
Because a soft heart isn’t something we manufacture. It’s something God forms in us as we walk with Him.
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