One of the enduring tensions in the life of faith is the tension between control and trust.

In the first reading, the elders of Israel come to Samuel with what sounds like a reasonable request: “Appoint a king for us to govern us, like all the nations to judge us.” They want stability, predictability, and protection. Their request is not irrational. Samuel himself is aging, and his sons have failed. The future is not looking so good. But God’s response reveals what lies beneath the request: “They have rejected me as their king.”

Israel is not simply asking for leadership; they are asking for control. I think that is something we can all relate to. We want something visible, centralized, and predictable. They want a system they can manage, even if it comes at a cost. Samuel patiently warns them of that cost: a king will take their sons, their daughters, their land, their labor. Control always demands payment. And still, the people insist.

Be careful what you wish for.

In the Gospel, we encounter a very different posture. The paralytic’s friends bring him to Jesus, but they cannot control the situation. The house is crowded. The path is blocked. There is no obvious solution. Yet instead of forcing outcomes, they trust. But notice it is not passively waiting in trust. They take some creative action as they continue to trust. They open the roof (Luke’s description is a little more vivid: they dig up the roof). With the passage cleared, they lower their friend into Jesus’ presence. At that point, they relinquish control, but not hope.

Jesus responds first not with a command to walk, but with words of forgiveness. This unsettles the scribes, who are deeply invested in controlling how forgiveness is mediated and who is authorized to offer it. Their objection sounds theological, but it is rooted in fear of losing control of their religious authority and status. Jesus exposes the contrast by asking: “Which is easier?” The real issue is do they trust that God is acting freely among them, or must everything remain contained within familiar structures?

The irony is striking. Israel asks for a king who will take from them, and God reluctantly allows it. A paralyzed man is brought to Jesus who gives everything: forgiveness, healing, restoration. Jesus asks nothing in return.

And what about us? These readings invite us to look honestly at our own lives. We, too, are tempted to trade trust for control. We want certainty before commitment, guarantees before obedience, clarity before faith. We prefer plans we can manage over dependence that leaves us vulnerable. It is a very human and natural inclination.

But the trust we are speaking about is very divine and supernatural. We know from our own experience that control offers only the illusion of safety and leaves us closed.  The harder thing is trust but the upside is that trust opens us up to God’s grace.

The friends of the paralytic do not control the outcome.  Heck they don’t even speak. But their trust speaks volumes and creates an opening where healing can happen. Israel, on the other hand, insists on control and receives exactly what they asked for, along with its burden.

The question these readings pose to us is simple and searching: where are we clinging to control when God is inviting us to trust?

God’s reign is never imposed through force or fear. It is proposed and received through faith. The kind of faith willing to open roofs, let go of certainty, and place what we cannot fix into God’s hands.

And when we do, we often discover that what God gives is far more freeing than anything we tried to control.

Jesus heals a paralytic | mosaic from Sant’Apollinare Nuovo – Ravenna | photo by José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro | CC BY-SA 4.0