The old woman lived alone and did not go out in public much anymore. When she did, it was out of necessity. At those times, she slipped out in the early morning or at twilight when most people were home with their families – laughing over dinner or sharing a second cup of coffee together.
You see, she despised encountering folks as she toddled slowly along to the public well or town market. She could practically feel the stares of adults, their pity at her appearance piercing through her. And then there were the older children imitating her ungainly walk, howling with laughter as they pretended to move as she moved – all cramped and bent over.
The little children were the worst. Out of the corner of her eye, she could sometimes see them clinging to their mothers’ skirts. She could hear them whispering in worried voices, “What’s wrong with her? How come she walks funny? Why doesn’t she stand up?”
And the pain! Not just the pain of the catcalls and piteous looks and knowing that God was being pelted with the silent prayers of those around her, short bursts of invocation that they would never end up so badly crippled as she. That pain was bad enough, but the physical pain was often nearly unbearable.
For 18 long years after the wicked spirit had claimed her, she had felt like her back would break, leaving her in two useless pieces. For 18 long years, she had stared at the ground, the hump like a heavy weight on her shoulders, forcing her gaze downward. For 18 long years, it had taken everything to just get out of bed in the morning and face another day.
For 18 long years, she had been a shadow of her former self. There was no one left now who remembered that her smile once lit up an entire house, that, at one time so long ago, she had danced with abandon; she had loved and been loved. After 18 long years riddled with pain, she could barely remember her life as it had once been.
So, you see, there were many reasons why this nameless woman kept to herself. The one exception, however, was this: She faithfully attended Sabbath services each week. You could always find her sitting in the back row of the synagogue at Shabbat observances that began a few minutes before sunset every Friday. Over the years, she had grown to love the recitation of the prayers and blessings as much as she did the traditional lighting of the candles and the odor of the warm tallow. She wished sometimes that she could still watch for the appearance of the first three stars in the sky on Saturday that would mark the Sabbath’s end – just as she had as a child.
These days though she treasured the singsong familiarity of the prayers. She often hoped they would go on forever, cocooning her from the harsh realities of her day-to-day existence. The synagogue was a safe place for the old woman. There she was part of a faithful community. There she could blend in and feel almost unobtrusive. There she did not feel quite so much like a freak.
But that all changed unexpectedly one evening. It was the day that the young upstart rabbi who hailed from Nazareth was teaching. She had heard about him as a preacher and healer – not that she had any hopes of being healed. She had long since resigned herself to being the town’s resident hunchback.
The congregation was all abuzz. Folks commented excitedly about how handsome Jesus looked and wondered aloud just what he would say. However, when he began to teach, a hush grew over the little faith community.
The old crippled woman listened as Jesus talked fervidly about the Holy Scriptures and the Kingdom of God that he felt was imminent. His words were so filled with passion that with each passing moment they seemed less like a didactic lesson and more like an invitation, a gentle and persistent beckoning into the embrace of a loving God.
And that was when it happened. All-of-a-sudden, Jesus was standing right in front of her, looking into her eyes - not an easy task considering her unusual crippled posture. But for a moment he was bent over just like she was bent over, for a moment he shared her pain - and yet commanded her to get up and come forward.
She was scared because she was certain that she could not walk that far without sitting and resting for a spell along the way. However, something inside her – in her heart - told her to move. She took a deep breath and slowly and painfully made her way to the front of the synagogue. She was mortified - now aware more than ever of the stares filled with pity that followed her and the silent prayers of intercession, prayers not for her but for the pray-ers themselves.
What happened next, of course, is nothing short of a miracle. First, the lady hunchback made it to the front of the synagogue. Jesus did not have to meet her half way.
Second, well…. "Woman, you are set free from your ailment," Jesus proclaimed as he gently rested his hands on her broken, useless, bent over body. When she felt his hands, that was when she knew that she could once again stand straight and tall – free of her decades-long infirmity.
That was when she knew that she could go to the market and the well in broad daylight. That was when she concluded that she could sit anywhere she wanted in the synagogue. That was when she understood that she could laugh at the antics of the older children and smile at the youngest ones. That was when she realized that she could finally see the sun rise in the morning and set in its colorful glory at night. That was when she fathomed that she could watch for the three stars that would mark the end of the Sabbath – just like she had as a child. And, best of all, that was when it hit her: She could dance with abandon once more – and know that she was loved. And so she stood up – straight and proud – and praised her God.
Now, if this was just a simple healing story, it might have ended here. However, it is not a simple healing story – and what happened next was nothing short of a miracle as well. In the midst of the old woman’s joy-filled praising, the synagogue priest began reading the riot act to - not Jesus, but the congregation in general and the old woman in particular. He was furious that this itinerant rabbi whom he had been so kind to invite to lead worship had done the unthinkable. He had broken with Jewish tradition. He had healed someone on the Sabbath – and that was not kosher – even if it was someone as pitiful as the old crippled woman. After all, rules are rules, and tradition is tradition. And so the priest let them all have it.
“Six days have been defined as work days. Come on one of the six if you want to be healed, but not on the seventh, the Sabbath,” he shouted.
Before anyone could respond, Jesus shot back an indignant response. “You frauds! Each Sabbath every one of you regularly unties your cow or donkey from its stall, leads it out for water, and thinks nothing of it. So why isn’t it all right for me to untie this daughter of Abraham and lead her from the stall where Satan has had her tied these eighteen years?”
When Jesus put it that way, as one Bible translation says, his critics were left looking red-faced and a wee bit embarrassed. The congregation, however, was delighted and cheered him on. And this is the miracle part: Jesus told it like it was. He told the priest that there was something seriously broken about a system that allowed you to treat your animals better than you treated your neighbors, a system where outdated tradition had trumped compassion.
This story about the crippled, bent over woman is found only in the Gospel of Luke, and it is not your typical run-of-the-mill healing narrative. It is a tale that points beyond itself to raise questions about what it means to be free and just how one moves from being spiritually crippled to being healed. The Gospel writer gets at those questions through two of the characters in the story.
The first is the priest. He got so angry that the crippled woman allowed Jesus to heal her on the Sabbath, right in front of the entire congregation who could so easily get the wrong idea and conclude that change and tweaking tradition was acceptable. Imagine the chaos then!
The priest was so imprisoned by the rules and regs of first century Judaism that he was mired in meaningless tradition that left no room for innovation or creativity – or even common sense. A blind adherence to the rules caused him to be blind to the pain and suffering of the crippled woman.
Baptist pastor Luke Powery summarized the situation well when he wrote that “we realize that (Jesus’) ministry messes with the tradition, or some might say, “messes up” the tradition. But he isn’t messing it up; he’s making it what it’s supposed to be.” If the original meaning of the word, Sabbath, is “relief”, then why would Jesus not heal a crippled old lady on the Sabbath? And remember, the priest was not against healing. The priest was simply against the timing of the healing.
And Jesus’ point, of course, is that opportunities to heal, to bring relief, to alleviate suffering should never be time-bound. Compassion and service to others is to be woven into the fabric of our lives. Our secular lives and spiritual lives are to be co-mingled rather than compartmentalized. TO embrace justice at all times and in all places is who God calls us to be as the human beings God created.
One hopes that Jesus’ sharp comeback to the hide-bound priest cracked open something in his heart. One hopes that he became less rule-bound and more freed up to minister to those around him – whenever and wherever there was need. One hopes that he learned from Jesus that compassionate service is to be at the core of who we are.
To be free then means to not be bound by rules and tradition but rather to be governed by innovation and creativity. To move from being spiritually crippled to being healed means co-mingling one’s religious and secular lives - with service to others being the link between them.
What that means for us, for example, is recognizing the potential of our building, understanding it not only as a church but also as a gathering place for our entire community, a place of outreach, a nexus for service in our community, a place of ministry 24/7, not just on Sunday mornings. What a rich and spiritually healing experience that would be for us!
The crippled woman herself also illustrates what it means to be free and what it means to be spiritually healed. Lutheran pastor Jonathan Davis made an interesting observation in his blog about the interplay between her and Jesus.
Davis writes, “So let me get this straight, Jesus, you know…the Lord, sees a woman who has been bent over for 18 years. A woman who knows people by their feet and not their faces. She slowly shuffles her creaking body into the synagogue, she has just found her seat, and she has just bent her knees past that point of no return, and he calls out, “Hey, hey you… come here.” So she cranks herself back up and continues up the aisle toward Jesus.
I mean, how rude is that? You’re the Son of God, you go to her for God’s sake. It’s a healing story. You’d think Jesus could have met her half way or something.” Davis goes on to say, “In my mind, Jesus was breaking a sort of unspoken rule in our society. A rule that says you care for your weak and sick by helping them. You open the door for someone on crutches, you bring a plate of all the potluck food to the person in the wheelchair. It’s just what you do. It’s called being nice.
But in the text, it says that Jesus saw her. And I can’t help but wonder, maybe what he saw was something we couldn’t see. Maybe he saw that what this woman didn’t need was his pity, but instead needed to be empowered. That she needed to be given something to do rather than have something done for her.”
In short, Jesus empowered the woman to do more and be more than she ever thought possible. His positive attitude – in contrast to the pity of the townsfolk and her own negative resignation - freed her and allowed her to be healed.
We too in this congregation need to feel empowered to do more and be more than we ever thought possible. An example is our lay leadership, which is on a downward trajectory. In the months to come, each one of you will need to step up and take on leadership roles here. You can no longer depend on someone else because there is no “someone else”. There is only you– but, as your pastor, I trust that Jesus would tell us that you are enough.
It is like Christopher Robin once said to Winnie-the-Pooh:
“There is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is..... I'll always be with you.”
Jesus might well have whispered those same words in the ancient ear of the lady hunchbck when he invited her to come forward. In fact, I think he must have, and that is why the bent over woman was able to get to the front to be healed. Jesus empowered her.
Likewise, if we listen really carefully, I think you will also hear Jesus whispering similarly to you as you struggle to figure out this church’s future. Can you hear him? “There is something you must always remember, O congregation in my little church in Raymond, Maine. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is..... I Jesus will always be with you.”
My prayer then for us is that we will not be bound by tradition but will be innovative in our ministries and in the use of our building and that we will be empowered, with God’s help, to be all that Jesus calls us to be. Only then will we be free. Only then will we no longer be crippled by our own fears and inadequacies, but instead be healed and able to stand tall once more.
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