Healing Beyond Boundaries

 


 Texts:

  • Acts 16:9–15

  • Psalm 67

  • Revelation 21:10, 22–22:5

  • John 14:23–29

There are moments in Scripture that open our eyes to how wide and gracious God's movement in the world really is. Today’s readings offer just that: a vision of divine love, healing, and peace that defies borders, rules, and expectations—a grace that moves beyond the limits we humans are so quick to draw.

In John 14, Jesus speaks to His disciples during His farewell discourse. These are words spoken in the shadow of the cross—words full of comfort, promise, and power. “Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.” Then He says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives.”

Jesus speaks of a peace that is not confined by national boundaries or religious rules, a presence that abides not in temples or systems, but in the hearts of those who love Him. He promises the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, who will teach and remind and dwell among us. God is no longer confined to a place. God has come to dwell in people.

This theme echoes throughout the readings.

In Acts, Paul has a vision—a man from Macedonia pleading for help. But when Paul arrives in Macedonia, he doesn't meet that man. Instead, he finds a group of women gathered by a river, outside the city gates, outside the synagogue. There’s Lydia—a Gentile, a businesswoman, a seeker. She is the one whose heart is opened by the Lord. She is baptized. She becomes the host of the first church on European soil.

How often do we look for God in one direction, only to find He is already at work somewhere else—by a riverbank, in the faith of someone we didn’t expect?

Lydia's story reminds us that God's healing and invitation aren't filtered through gatekeepers. No one asked if she was qualified. No one measured her worth. God met her where she was and made a home in her heart.

Psalm 67 echoes this expansive vision:
“Let your ways be known upon earth, your saving health among all nations… let all the peoples praise you, O God.”
This is not a narrow, tribal God. This is a God of all nations, all peoples, all hearts. Healing and blessing flow outward, not inward. Grace is not a reward; it’s a river.

And then, in Revelation, we see that river—flowing through the New Jerusalem, clear as crystal, coming from the very throne of God. On its banks grows the tree of life, and its leaves are “for the healing of the nations.” This is not a gated city, not a fortress of purity. It is a radiant, open place with no temple, no sun, no barriers—because the Lamb is its light, and the gates are never shut.

This is what Jesus is promising in John 14: not a faith of walls, but a faith of indwelling presence. Not peace enforced by power, but peace that surpasses understanding. Not a healing we earn, but a healing that meets us in our waiting, our wandering, our woundedness.

Beloved, this message is not just theological—it is deeply personal. Some of us have been by the pool for years, like the man in John 5. We’ve waited for something to change, for someone to notice, for the “right” moment. Jesus says: You don’t have to wait. I’m here now. Do you want to be made well?

Some of us have assumed we were on the inside, while others were on the margins. But Lydia reminds us that the Spirit blows where it will—and the riverbank can be just as holy as any sanctuary.

Some of us have been gatekeepers. Some of us have been locked out. Jesus calls us all to lay down our keys and walk through the open gate of grace.

And all of us—every one—are invited to receive the peace Jesus gives. Not as the world gives—not conditionally, not with strings, not with shame. But freely. Abundantly. Eternally.

So what does this mean for the Church?

It means we must resist the urge to control where God shows up.
It means we must listen for God’s voice in unexpected places.
It means our mission is not to build higher fences but longer tables.
It means that when the Holy Spirit speaks—through visions, through strangers, through riverside gatherings—we must be ready to cross boundaries and follow where Christ leads.

In Jesus, God has made His home among us—not in a building, but in the Body. Not in ritual, but in relationship. And the river of life is still flowing.

Let’s not stand on the banks.

Let’s jump in.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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