Not One More Minute

Scripture: Luke 13:10-17
Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, "Woman, you are set free from your ailment." When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, "There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day." But the Lord answered him and said, "You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?" When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing.

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We can imagine this moment. Jesus is teaching in the synagogue; it's not surprising that going to synagogue is his “custom.” But in this moment he encounters a woman, bent over, bearing the heaviness of an affliction. Something that isn’t really a part of her is bearing heavy on her well being. We can imagine her journey to the synagogue, her posture lowering the horizon, placing one foot in front of the other as she knows each pebble, exposed root and paver on the path. We don’t know her name, but we know that she has born this ‘affliction” for 18 years. Walking into the synagogue perhaps she notices the familiar hems of cloaks and stretches to greet . We don’t know if she is 18 or 48, but we can imagine how she has to turn her whole body to look up, tilting to see each face. She doesn’t ask for healing, and no one asks on her behalf. Maybe they would have if it was the first year, when they noticed, when their own backs ached at the sight of this daughter of Abraham. Maybe they looked for cures once, maybe they listened once, maybe they noticed once, but after 18 years maybe this affliction just blended into everything else or maybe they just felt numb to her needs. This unnamed woman walks into the synagogue, and Jesus cannot wait another minute. He offered healing; she didn’t even ask, but he heals her right there in front of God and everybody.

Some folks look at this scripture and see it as a miracle story. And that is true, but the actual healing miracle is fairly small piece of the whole narrative. Plus, I think we often get caught up in the wrong part of the miracle. Since we often read the Christian Scriptures and not a lot of other stories and narratives from the same time, we think this gift of healing that Jesus has is somehow singular, or entirely unique to him. But the truth is that healing is the work of the temples and synagogues. There are other narratives that share stories of healing, and we shouldn’t assume that ancient people don’t understand when they feel better just because we don’t really understand the methods people are using to bring about healing. We can hear this echoed in the voice of the synagogue leader who says, "There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day." She could have made an appointment, but so often the healing miracles of Jesus and his disciples are not about the methods or technology, rather it is the accessibility that is a miracle. 

This helps us understand the tension between Jesus and the synagogue leader. That is the second way folks often look at this passage, as a debate about rules. It can be so easy for us as modern Christians to read this text and others like it and just fall head over heels for this rule breaking, sabbath defying Jesus. Jesus the great de-regulator. You tell him someone is untouchable and he is giving big hugs. You tell him you can’t eat with tax collectors and he is inviting himself to their home. Don’t heal on the sabbath and it seems to be his favorite time of the week. We love this rebel with a cause and assume he likes bacon too. This is why grown ups will say to my face, “Jewish people loved rules, the Old Testament is about rules and Jesus is about love. Love trumps rules. Christianity is better, we love love.” Of course you say to these same folks, “ok we are going to host a wedding for two cute guys,” and they say, “hey wait a minute there are some rules…haven’t you heard of Leviticus. It's a great book.” 

Since we are in a day when Nazis are not history, this is my anti-anti-semitism PSA: Jesus is Jewish and debating religious leaders of his day out of love and rooted in his Jewish identity. When we see him in debate and disagreement with religious leaders of his day, we would be fools to think he wouldn’t also be in debate with just about every single religious leader of our day. Frankly, I can understand the struggle of the Synagogue leader. If someone spontaneously started a new service at the Abbey, I probably wouldn’t be a fan and would definitely ask if they reserved the space. In fact there is one gentleman who frequents us on Saturday mornings, when we are full and meeting new folks, and he wears hand-made t-shirts bearing a message in iron on letters that let’s just say isn’t quite affirming of women’s reproductive rights or of research based sex education. I am always worried that people will think, oh this is a church and oh that man must represent this community’s values. One day, he was about to chat with some young women as they shopped our books, and I was so nervous that I sent three volunteers to just talk to him until he left. Jesus might be pushing the boundaries or crossing some lines, and we can imagine how it would end if some one set up a free clinic in the lobby of the Med Center; it wouldn’t end well, they would probably go to jail. Jesus is healing on the sabbath and this isn’t a life threatening illness. She could have made an appointment and saw the licensed professionals at the synagogue on Monday. We look at this passage and think Jesus doesn’t love the sabbath, but Jesus argues out of a place of deep love of the sabbath. He knows how rest makes his people different from the empires around them; it pauses our pursuit of more stuff and more progress and more production. Honoring the sabbath is woven into the origin stories of God resting, it is woven into the exodus from slavery and it is sacred. Jesus heals on the sabbath as an act of liberation. 

See I don’t think this is about a great debate on the theology of the sabbath or even a story about miracles. I wonder if it teaches us something about the Kingdom of God, the kin-dom of heaven. Jesus shares a story about a fig tree that is fruitless; he goes searching for fruit in the synagogue community, maybe wondering if he will ever find the seeds that bring forth life. After he heals this woman and the crowd cheers his liberation, they found the fruitfulness, they witnessed it. He goes on to share the story of a mustard seed and yeast in dough, they are symbols of the kingdom of god. They are small, they are unassuming, mundane and not very important by the world’s standards. No one would put the mustard plant on their flag or passport, and some say the mustard might even be a bit of a nuisance plant. But these essential and small elements point to God’s expansive love. Maybe Jesus heals this woman because waiting delays the presence of the kingdom of God, and delaying the kingdom of God even one more moment is holy unacceptable. 

When this woman rises, from her affliction, she gives thanks to God. Her moment of standing up after 18 years of struggle shares the same language as the closing elements of the Gospel when Jesus names the next hopes of this work he nurtured with his very life. And this calls us to be a part of this rising. Perhaps we know how this woman feels even if we don’t experience life bent over with eyes to the ground. Maybe we know what it is like to have a heaviness, a weariness, a burden that hinders us. Maybe we know what it is like to long for healing. Maybe we feel the weight of the community, trying to help or looking away or tiring and trying and tiring again. Faith is lived, not always in the absolutes but in the tender relationships that challenge, nudge and even debate out of love. The kin-dom of God calls us all, perfectly imperfect to rise. The kingdom of heaven looks small and tremendous at once, sacred and ordinary, not too important and almighty at once.  And we are called to be a part, convenient or not, questions and all; we are called to show up, to be a part, and to not delay the presence of love one more moment. May we be as fruitful as the fig tree Jesus was seeking, as robust as the mustard seed, and as vital as the yeast in the bread dough. May we rise.