REMAIN OPEN

A few years ago, I pulled a muscle in my lower back. For almost three weeks, the slightest move I made led to predictable agony. A simple function like getting out of bed took minutes instead of seconds. When I did manage to get out of bed, I could not stand upright. Nor could I walk in normal fashion – trying to lift one leg and place it in front of the other sent waves of excruciating pain through my body. Crawling was not an option, because I could not get down on my hands and knees. So I resorted to moonwalking. Those of you who are familiar with Michael Jackson’s dance steps know what I mean. It’s basically walking backwards – and even though I didn’t do it to music, in front of a huge audience, or make tons of money from it, it added some much needed humor to my otherwise distressing plight.

I don’t know if I would’ve been able scrape any last ounces of humor from moonwalking if my plight had lasted longer than it did, so I find it hard to imagine that the woman in our gospel story might find anything amusing about her condition. For 21 plus 6,549 days, she has been living in a body with a mind of its own. No matter how much she wills it, her mind cannot convince her body to stand upright. And, like most hostages, she is only allowed what her captor wills. So she:
shuffles instead of walks
sees the cracks on the ground instead of the stars in the sky
listens to voices instead of looking at faces.

More likely than not, she is not what we might consider to be a productive member of society. In fact, she’s probably one of those people – the ones who are a burden to society, who take more than they give, whose absence may be more welcome than others dare to admit.

When, on days like this one, she goes to the synagogue, people may have grown accustomed to looking past her – after all, who cares enough to stoop down and look into her eyes? And even if they did a few times, who can keep that up on every Sabbath for 18 long years? It’s probably easier on everyone to pretend she doesn’t exist. She is given the privilege of shuffling around the margins while those in the in crowd don’t have to be bothered with her. The frightful thing is, when others treat us as though we are unimportant, we begin to wonder if we are.

So imagine how surprised she must be to hear a voice calling her. And it’s not just any voice – it’s the rabbi who is teaching the crowd. He stops teaching and calls her to him. Wouldn’t it have been easier for him to come to her? She shuffles over to the vicinity of the voice. When she finally arrives, the owner of the voice speaks. And with eight words and a touch, he rights what has been wrong for eighteen long years.

With body straight and hands lifted to the heavens, she praises God.

But then a strange thing happens. While she is rejoicing in her good fortune – whoever knew today would be the day she had been waiting for? – she hears another voice. This time she looks around for its owner.

It’s the leader of the synagogue. He’s chiding the crowd. Don’t come on the Sabbath to be cured! Don’t come on the Sabbath to be cured? Surely, he must be out of his mind. She came to pray. That’s what a faithful Jew does on the Sabbath – even if her prayers for healing seemed to go unheard. She was minding her own business, even if he was minding hers. And she certainly wasn’t expecting the rabbi to call out to her. He was the one who saw her, called her, and cured her.

As wonderful as it is to have someone who saw and understood what she was going through, it seems as though there is something else going on here. On the one hand, the rabbi was teaching, but he was also paying attention to the needs of the people around him. And when he saw her plight, he was moved to action. He stopped teaching the crowd for her – for one human being! He took the initiative and reached out to her. And when she responded to his call, he healed her. Naturally, her response was to praise God.

On the other hand, the leader of the synagogue seems angry. He certainly isn’t sharing her joy. He seems to be more concerned that the rabbi healed her on the Sabbath than about the fact that she is healed. He certainly knows the 4th commandment – to keep holy the Sabbath day – but his rigidity keeps him closed to the new thing that God is doing in and through Jesus.

Perhaps the leader of the synagogue would’ve been able to facilitate the woman’s healing if he had been concerned about her wellbeing instead of his own ego.

Perhaps he could’ve learned something from Jesus had he been open to the new thing that God was doing in “his” synagogue.

But Jesus doesn’t hesitate to challenge the leader. He shows how the leaders manipulate the law when it’s to their benefit. They loose the lesser that is bound – their animals – on the Sabbath, so why shouldn’t he loose the greater that is bound – a daughter of Abraham – on the Sabbath?

So the authorities are put to shame while the crowd rejoices. Jesus is not about maintaining peace at any price; he is about doing the will of God – and God invites all to move in the direction of healing and wholeness. That’s very good news for some, and very bad news for others. So those who are desperate for healing welcome Jesus and those who benefit from the brokenness of others fight against him.

Jesus pushes the boundaries to include those on the margins, but also those parts of ourselves that we want to keep on the margin – because they are not compatible with what we think is the good thing to do or the right way to be. Some of us may not be bent over physically, but we may be bent over in our minds – through discouraged, distorted, hopeless thinking.

In what ways are some of us bent over and unable to stand up straight?
How is Jesus calling us to leave behind traditions that no longer work?
How is he inviting us to remain open to the new thing that God is doing?

In The God of Transformation: A Meditation on God’s Dream for the World, The Rev. Stephanie Spellers, Episcopal priest and author, remembers God’s words to the Israelites and to all who are in bondage:

“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?”
You have never seen rivers in the desert – this God will make it so.
You have never seen wild animals obey – this God will make it so.

You cannot imagine life beyond old patterns and accepted ways . . . this God is not bound by those limits. This God is making a new heaven and a new earth, one where pain will cease, justice will rule, and death itself will die. God invites us to look around with the eyes of faith; then, we too, will see how God ‘is making all things new.’”