This Week's Devo

  When Faith Makes a Hole in the Ceiling

They could see Jesus through the window, but the crowd was so thick inside the house and flowing onto the streets—no one would budge an inch to let them through. Everyone was so captivated by His words. 

There had to be a way to get near to Him. This man was the key, they knew it—but they had to get to Him. Their friend’s life depended on it. For too long they’d watched their friend wither away on his mat, resigned to the life of a cripple. Lately his spirits had been down even more—he needed hope and this man could give it to him. 

Word had spread across Capernaum—Jesus was back. The miracle worker had returned! He had been traveling around casting out evil spirits and healing people of diseases and ailments and now he had returned!

But how would they be able to get through this crowd, close enough to get his attention and ask for healing? Turning away without giving their friend an encounter with Jesus, wasn’t an option. They had to think outside the box—literally! 

The roof!

If they couldn’t bring their friend through the crowd, they would bring him through the roof and lower him directly at the feet of Jesus. 

Mark 2 is such an incredible account of the faith of friends. Friends who knew that getting to Jesus would change everything for one hurting man and when barriers arose, they didn’t turn away defeated, they literally broke through them. 

Mark 2:4 says, “They couldn’t bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, so they dug a hole through the roof above His head. Then they lowered the man on his mat, right down in front of Jesus.”

Tearing up a roof? 

Let’s back up a beat. Let’s consider the moments leading up to that famous roof demolition moment. Scripture says four men arrived carrying a paralyzed man. They weren’t carrying a backpack, they were carrying a full-grown man on a mat over uneven stone streets, through crowds already flocking to Jesus. This was no casual stroll. This was sweat-on-your-brow, hold-your-breath, don’t-drop-him determination. 

Then, most likely already exhausted, they couldn’t get to Jesus. The crowd was too thick; there were too many pressing in to get closer to Jesus. A barrier that would have stopped most. But the determined belief of these four men drove them to look up—the roof. 

Most homes in Capernaum had flat roofs, made of wooden beams, layered with thatch, mud, straw and packed clay—in essence, they were concrete. Outside staircases or ladders would have made it possible to get to the roof, but hauling a grown man on a mat? That’s next-level commitment. Their faith wasn’t quiet. It was sweaty, inconvenient, and borderline reckless.

Breaking through that concrete roof would not have been easy—especially to create a hole large enough to lower a man. They would have had to scrape away hardened layers of mud, pull apart branches and sticks woven into the structure, and break through packed clay. 

This wasn’t silent. Dust would fall. Clay would crumble. People inside would look up mid-sermon like, “Uhhh… what in the world…?” 

And yet, they kept digging.

Their faith had splinters, dirt under the fingernails, and zero regard for propriety when someone needed Jesus. 

These friends didn’t just bring him to Jesus—they broke barriers to get him there. Their faith was active, gritty, and inconvenient. But when they lowered him through that hard-fought hole, Jesus rewarded their faith. 

Their friend didn’t just receive a miraculous healing that sent him leaping from his mat and shouting for joy—he received hope. Eternal hope.

The very first thing Jesus said was, “My child, your sins are forgiven.” Before addressing the body, He addressed the soul. Before the physical miracle, He revealed His authority to forgive sin—something only God can do.

Healing proved His power.

Forgiveness proved His identity.

Those friends left that day seeing the power of Jesus change everything and I guarantee that every moment of sweat, grit, and determination was worth it. Their faith became a doorway because they refused to quit. 

It made me wonder:

Do I have that kind of faith for the people I love?

Do I fight to get them to Jesus… or settle for the crowd in front of me?

Roof-demolition faith still happens today. 

It looks like: 

Praying over your kids before school.
Encouraging a friend who’s barely holding on.
Standing for biblical values in a culture built on compromise.
Engaging, showing up, and voting your faith—because obedience is ministry.

Every simple, unseen act of faith is a breakthrough waiting to happen.

Who needs you to tear through a roof for them today?

And who are the friends doing the same for you?

Because the world still needs believers who refuse to be blocked by the crowd—believers willing to climb, carry, dig, pray, engage, and stand until someone meets Jesus.