“Bent over and unable to stand up straight”

Luke 13:10-17



Pastor Tom Johnson, August 25, 2013

The woman who is bent over and unable to stand up straight comes across Jesus’ path at a time of religious debate over the Sabbath, the day of rest. The Third Commandment says, “Remember the Sabbath Day, by keeping it holy. You shall work six days—Sunday through Friday—but on the seventh day—Saturday—you shall do no work.” For people who spent hundreds of years in slavery under Pharaoh, the Sabbath was a gift—a welcome day off. Even beasts of burden—working farm animals like oxen and donkeys got a day off. And so, when Jesus heals the woman who is bent over, the leader of the synagogue starts to condemn Jesus. Jesus is working on the Sabbath because Jesus is healing on the Sabbath. Healing is working. Apparently.

But the fact remains that the woman is bent over on the Sabbath. She is putting undue strain on her lower back. She is carrying the weight her upper torso on muscles not designed to bear the heavy burden. Her body is overworked. There is no Sabbath day for her bent over body—no rest for her wearied body and soul. It is worth noting that the cause for condition is a mysterious one. Our text says that a spirit crippled her for 18 years. Jesus calls it both an “ailment” and a “bondage.” It is both a spiritual as well as a physical burden that she bears. The woman is bent over and “quite unable to stand up straight.” There is no mind over matter for this woman. You cannot just tell her to get over it, think positive, and stand tall. Telling to her just snap out of it will not work. She cannot do it. She is most certainly in bondage as Jesus describes her condition.

Jesus provides an open door or window for us to view this woman with empathy. She did not choose her condition. She is a victim of an ailment that cannot be easily explained or remedied. And we all can think of someone we know—or perhaps it is we ourselves—who have been sabotaged by injury, illness, or psychological ailment. And like the poor woman in our text, we are bent over, unable to hold our heads high. What has bent you and me over in the past? What has us bent over now? There is something dehumanizing about this condition. Humans are supposed to stand vertically. We are not supposed to move about almost on all fours with our arms hanging down like our ape cousins. Luke, our Gospel writer, is a physician. By telling us she is quite unable to stand up straight, he is giving us his professional, medical assessment. She has a chronic back condition—that is to say, with no end in sight. It does not take a lot of imagination to understand how frustrating it is to not be able to pull ourselves up by our own boot straps—to be powerless to break free from whatever bonds that bind us—doubled over with the wind knocked out of us.

The leader of the synagogue would rather have the woman suffer than violate his narrow interpretation of Mosaic Law. That is why Jesus’ response to the leader of the synagogue—what we would call the chair of the local congregation—is both deeply compassionate and simply hilarious. Jesus says, “You hypocrites! You religious faker and belly acher. Let me tell you phony this spirituality is. You are more humane to oxen and donkeys than you are to your own species! On the day of rest, you will grant respite to your beasts of burden—you will untie them from their bonds for a day, feed, and water them—but you will leave this poor woman bent over and quite unable to stand up straight.

Jesus invites us to leave heartless, inhumane religion behind us—to view ourselves and those around us with compassion. He invites us to not judge but pray and labor for people to be delivered from their debilitating conditions and to experience the respect and love of the human family. Jesus does not call this woman a cripple. He calls her “a daughter of Abraham.” How incredibly beautiful and progressive for a man to address a common Israelite woman with a royal name! Jesus not only causes her to stand up straight but also gives her the dignity to hold her head high. He elevates her not only back to her stature as a human being but views her with God’s promise to Abraham to make for him a nation of kings and queens and to bless all the families of the earth.

This is Jesus we are talking about. Jesus is the one who takes on our humanity, bends over to bear our crosses, and is the only one able to stand up straight bearing the weight of sinful humanity. In his death and resurrection, we stand tall and guiltless forever.

“The entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that [Jesus] was doing,” our text says. Jesus led them to worship. They witnessed and heard the stories of what God was doing in the lives of those around them. They listened and they learned. And together they straightened up. They raised their chins and voices high. And together, they gave God all the praise, honor, and thanks. That was a true Sabbath Day. That is true worship. That it true spiritual rest. And it is ours today.

"Baptism by Fire"

Luke 12:49-56

Pastor Tom Johnson, August 18, 2013

Jesus describes his own baptism by fire. He already feels the stress and weight of this baptism. Soon, he will sweat drops of blood. He will pray for the cup to pass him by—to avert this fiery bath—but he will yield to the will of God the Father. It is a baptism of fire. And like all fire, it is a consuming fire. It is a cleansing fire. It is a baptismal washing that incinerates the power of evil, our sin, and death itself. It is the raging blaze of Jesus’ Cross and resurrection from the dead. Jesus passed through this furnace of death, hell, and the gateway back to life for us. And so, it should come as no surprise that, since we are baptized into Christ’s baptism, we will also feel the heat and bite of those flames. John the Baptizer prophesied that although he baptized with water, Jesus the Lamb of God would baptize with fire and the Holy Spirit.

“Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth?” Jesus asks, “No, I tell you, but rather division.” Do you think the Gospel always strengthens the ties that bind us? No, Jesus warns, sometimes our relationship with God pulls us apart. Do you think that Jesus, the Prince of Peace, brings peace as understood by human standards? No, Jesus cautions, sometimes the truth causes discord and strife. This is no threat from a detached, uncaring prophet. Jesus’ words help us take an honest look at what can happen when we join him on our spiritual journey: “Father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”

I cannot help but wonder, “Jesus, did you forget about those difficult son-in-laws and father-in-laws? Or how about sisters and brothers can lash out each other?” “Two against three and three against two? What about six against one?” Of course, Jesus’ words are not meant to be an exhaustive list of dysfunctional family relationships. Nor is he trying to mathematically calculate the division we experience. Nor does it does not mean that our family won’t eventually come around. No, Jesus is giving us a sober reality check. He is being transparent about what it means to be his follower. He is, as some might say it, keeping it real. He does not want us to be surprised or lose faith in the midst of deep and troubling circumstances in life. He does not want us to think we are alone in what we experience.

You’ll remember that at one point in Jesus’ ministry, his own mother and brothers thought he had gone mad and wanted him to come home. But Jesus points to those in the room and says, “Behold, these are my mother and brothers” (Matthew 12:46–50). The Christian journey is not a path paved in a bed of roses. Yes, the Good News is about reconciliation. In Christ, we have peace with God in the forgiveness of sins. And we have peace with one another. But there is also a restructuring of relationships. We are not only baptized with water but also into a new, triune family Name—the Father and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. And just like the day of Pentecost, we also receive adoption into God’s family in flames of fire.

As a young child, I remember watching Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer on television with its sometimes awkward stop motion animation. Of course, you’ll remember from the song that Rudolph’s bright nose was an embarrassment to his own family, he was not accepted by his community, and so Rudolph runs away. But there is a parallel story of Hermey the elf who, to the great annoyance and disbelief of the other elves, wants to be a dentist instead of a toy maker. Hermey also runs away from his native land and culture. At one point in the story, Rudolph and Hermey find each other on the Island of Misfits. There is great diversity on that island. They are toys and creatures that are peculiar, sometimes broken, but they all have one thing in common—they each carry the burden and stigma of being different. But now they share the same exile to an island of rejection and separation from those that sent them there. Sadly, this is how we might feel as believers and followers of Jesus: misfits. We don’t experience peace but division. Our own family may not understand our higher call to trust in the one who created us, lived, taught, died, and rose again for us.

The turn in the story of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer and Hermey the aspiring dentist is when they, and the entire community of misfits, pool all their peculiarities together. They bind together under a new and higher banner. Rudolph puts his nose to good use, Hermey performs dental work on a beast with a monstrous toothache, and everyone contributes to purpose, acceptance, and freedom. On the Island of Misfits and in the Church we find a new family—people who love and accept us even for all our malfunctions and shortcomings. As the Proverb says, “There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother” (18:24). Or like David said in his Psalm, “Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me in” (27:10). That is what Jesus did in his Baptism by fire—he took us in—all of us—our sin, brokenness, and frail humanity. In his death and resurrection, Jesus takes away our sin and guilt as a goldsmith takes away the dross from his refiner’s fire. But along with the great and eternal benefits, there are some immediate growing pains as we answer God’s higher call and undergo our own baptism by fire. But as a new family—as sisters and brothers in Christ—we discover a deeper, richer bond that we have through our Savior and Brother, Jesus and our loving, heavenly Father.