When the Physician Hosts a Wedding

This morning I’m sitting with the image of Christ as both Physician and Bridegroom. It’s striking how He meets people differently depending on their posture—those clinging to old religion, and those forming new rituals. To the Pharisees, so sure of their righteousness, He came as a Physician—not to affirm their health, but to heal the sick. That’s me, often. Sick with pride, or fear, or fatigue. And He doesn’t shame me—He heals.
But to John’s disciples, fasting and mourning, He revealed something more tender: He is the Bridegroom. Not just a healer of wounds, but the One who draws us into joy. John had already said it—Christ came to take the Bride. And now, Jesus reminds them: this isn’t a funeral. It’s a wedding.
I feel that contrast in my own walk. There are days I come to Him needing surgery—cutting away what’s infected, restoring what’s broken. But there are other days, like today, when I sense Him inviting me to dance. To feast. To stop mourning what’s been lost and celebrate what’s being made new.
His disciples weren’t fasting because they were with the Bridegroom. To fast in His presence would be absurd—like refusing cake at your own wedding. It would dishonor the joy He offers.
I love how Jesus didn’t argue. He simply stood in truth. “You’ve missed it,” He seemed to say. “I’m here. I’m the Bridegroom. These are My friends. Let them rejoice.”
I want to live like that. To let Him be both my Physician and my Bridegroom. To let Him heal me, yes—but also to let Him love me. To feast with Him. To stop acting like I’m at a funeral when He’s throwing a wedding.