Bent out of Shape (Luke 13:1-17)
Journey with Jesus to the Cross -- Tuesday, March 29
Read Luke 13:1-17
Generally, she forgot about her misshapen body. But when someone’s eyes averted after meeting hers, she remembered.
That’s when she realized that her condition was more than just a daily nuisance to her. She was a public eyesore to others. She was someone to be avoided. People viewed her with pity, or revulsion, or both.
She was on the outside looking in. She was different. Her crooked back was not just uncomfortable for her; it made others uncomfortable around her.
So she learned to cope. She tried not to stick out. She entered late, stayed in the background, and left early. But she longed — oh, how she longed! — to be whole.
Word spread that a local preacher was passing through town. The town was electric with anticipation. As anxious to see him as everyone else, she slipped silently into the synagogue.
Suddenly he paused, and looked intently at her. Or was it her imagination?
“Woman, come here,” he said. Attention was the thing she feared most. Did he really mean for her to stand up in front of all those women and men? Why?
Trembling, she obeyed. Coaxing her crooked bones, she crept toward the front of the crowd. Her condition always worsened when she was self-conscious.
He smiled, sensing her embarrassment and fear. Looking her squarely in the eye, he said, “Woman, you are set free from your disability.” What? Did she hear him correctly, or was she imagining things?
He touched her. When was the last time she’d been touched? Instantly, she felt vitality course through her crooked bones. She cautiously raised her shoulders, straightened her back, and – could this be happening? — she ... stood ... up ... straight. For the first time in eighteen years, she was whole again. Her hands shot upward in joy and thanksgiving.
Her joy was short-lived. Sounds of celebration were quickly quelled by words of condemnation. Quieting the crowd, the ruler of the synagogue spoke sharply to her: “There are six days for work. Come to be healed on those days, not on the Sabbath.”
She recoiled, slinking slowly toward her seat. Another voice, equally authoritative, boomed, stopping her in her tracks. “You hypocrite! You permit us to untie an ox on a holy day; why don’t you allow us to untie this woman from her bondage?”
At this retort, her accuser was humiliated, her community was amazed, and her reproach was removed. And we, two millennia later, still grapple with the lessons of that day.
We are appalled by the religious leader’s callousness. A woman was healed and he was indignant. How could he be so obtuse? She got bent into shape -- and he got bent out of shape!
And yet if we are honest with ourselves, we acknowledge that his attitude sometimes infects religious folks like us. We forget that traditions are here to serve people, not the reverse. God help us remember that church should be a place where broken people are made whole, not where imperfect people play pretend.
Mostly, however, we are encouraged by Jesus’ compassion. Our brokenness may not be as apparent as hers, but it is equally painful and debilitating. Whether hampered by past hurts or craven fear, sincere doubts or stubborn habits, painful failures or lingering illness, Jesus loves to bring healing to us at the point of our deepest hurt. And for that we, like the woman in this story, cannot help but praise and thank God.
“Lord,
grant me the courage of the woman, to come to you no matter how broken my life is;
guard me from the insensitivity of the ruler who valued propriety more than people;
and give me the compassion of Jesus for all whose lives are broken.”