March 13, 2013. The world watched with bated breath. White smoke rose above the Sistine Chapel. Habemus Papam! “We have a Pope.” But what followed next stunned the world—not just the announcement of the name Francis, but the gesture. Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio, newly elected Pope Francis, stepped onto the balcony, looked out at the massive crowd, thousands and thousands who had gathered there at Saint Peter’s square, and did something no pope had done before. He bowed to the crowd. He bowed...
And then, with a trembling voice, he asked the people: “Before the new Bishop of Rome blesses the people, I humbly ask you to pray to the Lord to bless me.”
No pomp. No proclamations. Just humility. He wasn’t stepping forward with answers or power—but with reverence for the mystery before him. It wasn’t about control; it was about surrender.
In many ways today’s passage from Acts echoes that same posture. Peter and John have just healed a man lame from birth. The crowd surges toward them, astonished. But instead of accepting their praise, Peter deflects it: “Why are you staring at us as if we had made him walk? It is Jesus—alive, risen, glorified—who has done this.”
This moment isn’t just about healing the lame legs that now move. It’s about a world that has shifted. Resurrection has broken in. And Peter—who not long ago had trembled with fear in the high priest’s courtyard—now proclaims boldly Jesus as the fulfillment of every ancient promise.
But he doesn’t do it from a place of pride. He stands like Pope Francis on that balcony—with awe, not ego. With reverence, not rhetoric, with humility not pride.
And that’s the message we need. In our world, we often fixate on personalities—on the powerful, the polished, the persuasive. We stare at people, hoping they’ll save us, fix us, and lead us. But Peter reminds us: the real power comes not from personality, but from presence—the living presence of Jesus among us.
It’s a lesson we see throughout Scripture. Remember when Moses struck the rock in the wilderness and water gushed forth? The people were saved—but it wasn’t Moses who saved them. It was God. And when Moses took credit, he was rebuked. Peter doesn't make that mistake. He steps aside and points upward.
And the healed man? He doesn’t make a speech. He doesn’t start a movement or starts a ministry. He just clings. Clings to Peter and John. Sometimes, faith is like that—not bold declarations, but quiet gratitude. Not fully understanding everything about it but deeply moved by grace.
Today, maybe you feel more like that man who was healed than Peter or John. Worn out. Waiting. Wondering if healing or hope will ever find you. But Easter proclaims: Jesus is still walking into our stories like the disciples on the road to Emmaus. Still stopping at the gates where people sit forgotten. Still whispering life into places long paralyzed.
So don’t get lost in the faces of those who stand before you—however inspiring they may be. Look beyond them. Look to the One who still breathes life into the broken.
And when your moment comes—when healing begins, when hope flickers—cling not to the miracle, but to the name behind it. Jesus. The Author of life. Still writing. Still rising. Still calling us to walk.