Who Gets Access
Sacred Disruption and Healthcare Justice
Welcome back to our journey through Mark's Gospel, dear ones. Last week we explored how Mark 1 subverted imperial propaganda and started good news in the margins. Today, Mark 2 pushes us deeper into uncomfortable territory: who deserves healing, who controls access to care, and what happens when marginalized bodies demand to be made whole.
As I write this, I'm thinking about the conversations happening in our culture about healthcare access, particularly for trans people. Mark 2's healing narratives aren't just ancient stories—they're blueprints for understanding how power structures control bodily autonomy and how persistent love disrupts those systems.
Mark 2: The Politics of Healing Bodies
Mark 2 presents us with four interconnected stories that build a systematic critique of religious and social gatekeeping around healing and wholeness. I don’t believe that these are supposed to be feel-good miracle stories—they're accounts of marginalized people demanding access to care and Jesus consistently choosing bodies over bureaucracy.
The Paralyzed Man: Disrupting Sacred Spaces (2:1-12)
The chapter opens with what might be the most audacious act of civil disobedience in the Gospels. Four friends, desperate to get their paralyzed companion to Jesus, literally tear apart someone's roof. Mark tells us the house was so packed "there was no longer room for them, not even in front of the door" (2:2).
This detail isn't incidental. The crowd blocking access represents more than poor crowd control—it symbolizes how religious spaces often become inaccessible to those who most need healing. The paralyzed man cannot simply walk up and ask for help. The very nature of his condition, combined with the social barriers (crowds, architecture, religious protocol), creates multiple layers of exclusion.
From an intersectional perspective, this story resonates powerfully with contemporary experiences of seeking healthcare while marginalized. How many trans people have been blocked from accessing care not just by insurance denials or legislative barriers, but by the simple reality that medical spaces weren't designed for them? How many times have we encountered waiting rooms, intake forms, and medical protocols that assume everyone fits the same narrow template of what bodies look like and how they function?
The friends' response is instructive: they don't politely wait for the crowd to thin out or ask permission to modify the building. They take direct action. They "dug through" the roof—the Greek word suggests sustained, determined effort. This is not spontaneous desperation but calculated resistance to architectural and social barriers.
Jesus's response is equally radical. He doesn't rebuke the friends for property destruction or disrupting his teaching. Instead, he sees their collective faith and addresses the root issue: "Son, your sins are forgiven" (2:5). I strongly believe that this statement is about liberation from the shame-based systems that told paralyzed people their condition was divine punishment for wrongdoing. (Now don’t confuse shame-based system with honor/shame culture principles, that’s not what I’m talking about).
The religious leaders' objection reveals the deeper threat: "Who can forgive sins but God alone?" (2:7). They understand that if Jesus can declare someone free from divine condemnation, he's undermining their authority to determine who deserves healing and who doesn't. He's removing the theological gatekeeping that keeps marginalized bodies in their place.
Levi the Tax Collector: Eating with the "Wrong" People (2:13-17)
The calling and dinner with Levi extends the access theme from physical healing to social inclusion. Tax collectors in first-century Palestine weren't just unpopular—they were collaborators with Roman occupation, economically exploiting their own communities while serving imperial interests.
When Jesus calls Levi and then dines at his house with "many tax collectors and sinners" (2:15), he's being radically inclusive and he's making a statement about whose company he prefers. The Greek text suggests this was a large gathering, a public celebration that would have been visible to the entire community.
The Pharisees' question—"Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?"—reveals their understanding that meals are political acts. In ancient Mediterranean culture, sharing food created bonds of mutual obligation and public association. By eating with social outcasts, Jesus is declaring his allegiance.
His response cuts to the heart of religious gatekeeping: "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners" (2:17). While it’s tempting to think that this is a statement about moral categories— I believe it's a critique of who gets to determine those categories in the first place.
From an intersectional lens, this story speaks to the reality that marginalized communities often find their deepest spiritual nourishment outside traditional religious institutions. How many LGBTQ+ people have discovered more authentic faith community in bars, community centers, and chosen family gatherings than in church buildings? Jesus's ministry consistently gravitates toward the spaces where excluded people create their own communities.
As I’m writing this I’m reminded of conversations that I had with a friend over the last few months. At the core my friend’s question is “am I by nature wretched and in need of salvation?” As I’m thinking about the question it gets less and less relevant because of the above passage. It doesn’t matter what the answer is, it doesn’t matter what hermeneutical lens we use, it doesn’t even matter if we believe it because Jesus doesn’t seem to care. Jesus keeps on hanging out with people he thinks need him.
Fasting Controversies: Joy vs. Religious Performance (2:18-22)
The fasting controversy that follows reveals another dimension of religious control: the regulation of bodies through prescribed spiritual practices. When questioned about why his disciples don't fast like John's disciples and the Pharisees, Jesus responds with wedding imagery: "The wedding guests cannot fast while the bridegroom is with them, can they?" (2:19).
This response does more than explain a practice—it reframes the entire purpose of spiritual discipline. Rather than fasting as a demonstration of religious seriousness or a mechanism for earning divine favor, Jesus presents spiritual practices as responses to present reality. When joy is appropriate, joy is the faithful response.
The parable of new wine in old wineskins (2:22) becomes a critique of trying to contain new realities within old systems. The Greek word for "burst" (rhēgnymi) is the same word used elsewhere for the violent tearing apart of oppressive structures. New wine destroys old wineskins entirely.
For contemporary intersectional theology, this presents both promise and warning. The promise: God's inclusive love cannot be contained within exclusive religious systems. The warning: attempting to retrofit traditional theological frameworks to accommodate marginalized experiences often results in both the new insight and the old system being damaged.
Sabbath Healing: Human Need vs. Religious Rules (2:23-28)
Mark 2 concludes with two Sabbath controversies that crystallize the chapter's central tension between human flourishing and religious control. When the disciples pluck grain on the Sabbath, the Pharisees challenge the action and the authority structure that would permit it.
Jesus's response invokes David eating the bread of the Presence (1 Samuel 21:1-6)—another story of human need taking precedence over religious protocol. But his conclusion goes further: "The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath" (2:27).
For those interested, In Judaism this concept is called Pikuach Nefesh which loosely translates to “saving a life.” If you can save someone by feeding them bacon, let them eat pork. If you’re pregnant, you should not fast. If you have to drive someone to the Hospital, ignite the engine of your car.
This principle reverses the typical relationship between people and religious systems. Instead of humans existing to serve religious institutions and their rules, religious practices exist to serve human flourishing. When religious observance conflicts with human need, human need takes priority.
The final statement—"so the Son of Man is lord even of the sabbath" (2:28) is a christological claim and it’s also a declaration that the one who consistently chooses marginalized people over religious establishments has ultimate authority to interpret what faithfulness looks like.
Contemporary Applications: Healthcare as Human Right
To me, Mark 2's healing narratives provide a theological framework for understanding healthcare access as a justice issue rather than a privilege to be earned or a commodity to be purchased. Jesus's consistent pattern of responding to physical need without preliminary moral evaluation challenges every system that makes healthcare conditional on worthiness.
This has profound implications for how we approach transgender healthcare access. The current debates over gender-affirming care mirror the religious gatekeeping Mark 2 critiques. Medical professionals, politicians, and religious leaders position themselves as authorities who must determine which trans people deserve access to care and under what conditions.
Mark's Jesus suggests a different approach: immediate response to expressed need, accompanied by liberation from the shame-based systems that create barriers to care in the first place. When the paralyzed man's friends tear through the roof, Jesus doesn't question whether their friend has done enough therapy or waited long enough or satisfied sufficient bureaucratic requirements. He sees need and responds. And he damn sure didn’t ask if he worked the minimum amount of hours to qualify for medical… I mean qualify for healing.
The structural parallel is striking: trans people and their allies often must "tear through roofs"—navigate hostile insurance systems, travel across state lines, crowdfund medical expenses, and challenge discriminatory policies—to access basic healthcare. Mark 2 suggests that such disruptive action isn't regrettable but faithful, and that those who create barriers to healing bear responsibility for the desperate measures required to overcome them.
Questions for Reflection
As we continue through Mark's Gospel, these stories invite us to examine our own assumptions about who deserves healing and who controls access to wholeness:
Where do you see contemporary "roofs" that need to be torn apart so marginalized people can access care?
How do religious institutions today function like the crowds blocking the door—well-meaning but creating barriers to those who most need healing?
What would it mean for your faith community to prioritize human flourishing over institutional preservation?
Next week, we'll explore Mark 3 and its radical reconceptualization of family, community, and belonging. The themes of access and inclusion continue to evolve as Jesus faces increasing opposition from traditional power structures. Until then, may you find yourself among those who tear through roofs rather than those who block doors.