(Luke 13.10-21) (Pentecost 11)
25 August 2019 – ©Neil Millar
Here we are this morning reading about another round of Sabbath-day shenanigans. In the blue corner, weighing in at 72kgs, we have Jesus of Nazareth, teaching in the synagogue, noticing and healing a woman, long burdened by crippling infirmity. And in the red corner, weighing in with the heavy dictates of legalistic religion, his opponent – the scrupulous and indignant ruler of the synagogue. Today’s gospel reading can be read as a set piece – almost like one of those staged wrestling matches – with each protagonist playing out their predictable part. And, as is the case with these narrative dramas, we play a part too. Like the crowd before whom this spectacle unfolded, we relish the discomfit of Jesus’ opponents and revel in what he says and does. Scenes like this function to help us understand what matters to God, to appreciate that in God’s economy compassion trumps fastidious religious observance, and human solidarity trumps self-conscious purity.
Well, it’s true that this, like so many gospel stories, is about Jesus’ insistence on mercy and grace over law-keeping and sacrifice. But, let’s not be too quick just to type-cast this scene. Read with sensitive ears, we also hear an invitation to listen more deeply for what God’s preference for mercy might actually look like in our life – in our experience, our relationships, our context.
So, here’s a few reflections that may deepen our listening. First, note how Luke contrasts two different understandings of what is necessary when it comes to honouring God. For the leader of the synagogue, godly necessity revolves around the letter of the law – in this case, keeping the Sabbath. As we heard in the text, he says – indeed ‘he kept saying’: ‘There are six days on which work ought’ (that is, six days on which it is necessarythat work) ‘be done; come on those days and be cured, and NOT on the Sabbath [on which it is necessary to rest]’ (14). But for Jesus, honouring God necessarily revolves around being merciful – releasing people from their burdens rather than adding to them. In response to the ruler’s insistence on scrupulous Sabbath observance, he says ‘ought not’ (in other words, is it not necessary that) this woman be set free from her bondage? (16).[1]
In making this point, Jesus highlights not only the double-mindedness that deems religiously tolerable the loosing of livestock on the Sabbath (for water), and yet is indignant about the loosing of a thirsty human being. He also evokes with great economy who this human being is – not just some crippled old woman, but ‘a daughter of Abraham’, a fellow human being – your sister in God! A sister whom Satan has kept bound for ‘eighteen long years’ (16).[2] Note that little adjective ‘long’. It speaks volumes. As if Jesus is saying – look at her and think of what you’re saying. Think of her life – day after crippling day of struggle and isolation and pain and weariness; eighteen years, and she has to wait another day? Are you serious? Is that what God requires, what God’s like? Look! She’s free, she’s praising God. Do you really think that’s a betrayal of what the Sabbath is about?
The leader of the synagogue seems worried about the slippery slope – if you break the Sabbath once, who knows where it could lead. But Jesus is concerned to bring us back to the true spirit of Sabbath, which is to enjoy God and the gifts of God – mercy, grace, forgiveness, release. So here we see that Jesus’ practice of mercy is not about undermining standards or letting people get away with stuff. No, it’s about paying real attention. Not merely acknowledging the ‘fact’ of another’s suffering, but letting yourself be touched what it means for them, how it can blight and thwart life. When Jesus sees this woman, he perceives her daily experience and it calls forth his tenderness. And it’s the self-satisfied blindness of the smug rule-followers to this, their easy sense that her suffering is of no real account, that provokes his stinging rebuke. ‘You hypocrites! … ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be loosed from this bondage on the Sabbath day?’ With these words, he reveals their vision of God, their much-vaunted piety, to be petty, alienated, heartless – even cruel.
The ruler it seems is silenced, the crowd rejoices, and Jesus seizes this moment as a teachable opportunity. He asks, ‘What is the kingdom of God like? And to what should I compare it?’ In other words, if God’s way isn’t the scrupulous path of rule-following compliance, then what is it like? Well, ‘it’s like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in the garden; it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air made nests in its branches’ (19) … ‘It’s like yeast that a woman took and mixed with three measures of flour until all of it [every bit] was leavened’ (21). In these analogies, he evokes a way of being that brings growth, that’s hospitable to life, a way of being that in a mysteriously and powerfully transforms a situation. Significantly, both images suggest a certain hiddenness, even anonymity.
When Jesus describes the God’s way of working, in contrast to this synagogue ruler and his cronies, he doesn’t speak of scrupulous law-keeping. Rather, he speaks of an attitude and energy that changes things from the inside out. He doesn’t speak of a religious domain, separated out from the rest of life, but of immersion in and the enlivening of what’s already there – including the mess.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer – disillusioned with the self-conscious and hypocritical church of his time – spoke of the pressing need for ‘religionless Christianity’, and this seems resonant with what Jesus describes here. The point of his ministry isn’t about rules to get right. On the contrary, it’s about incarnation, being with one another, graciously, mercifully, tenderly – creating space within and around for life to flourish, for all of us to become more freely and fully ourselves.
In the present era, we so need communities capable of embodying this vision of the kingdom, this understanding of human vocation. So much of what passes for religion these days is about maintaining a separate domain of the pure and undefiled, and then seeking to impose some kind of spiritual strait-jacket on others – this is what religious fundamentalism of all brands tend to do, and it’s toxic and often cruel to those who are already most bowed down and burdened. And yet, what’s really necessary is the commitment to attend deeply to one another (to the whole of creation), the willingness to recognise that God is for liberation, and that ‘Sabbath rest’ is all to do with enjoying and enabling release, the gift of flourishing.
In concluding this sermon, I invite you to close your eyes for a moment and for us all to sit in silence… and in the silence I invite you to bring to mind anything that is contributing to your feeling pressed or burdened at present, that’s crippling your life – causing you to bend or buckle… (It may be something to do with your health… or a relationship… it may grief or resentment or a memory or some other concern…) And as you think of that, picture yourself there in that synagogue… Jesus is teaching and he notices you, looks directly at you (not with judgment, but with recognition), he sees you, sees your struggle, and he calls you close… and feel his touch – tender hands resting on your head… let your body straighten, your life straighten… and let a word of praise rise from within…
And now picture yourself asking him who or what needs your real attention, your recognition? Where can you show mercy, participate in liberation…
Lord,
may your kingdom come, may your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.
[1] Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke X-XXIV (New York: Double Day & Company Inc., 1985), p.1011.
[2] I. Howard Marshall, The Gospel of Luke: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1978), p.559.
http://stninians.ht.dstier2.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/NM.Lk13.10-21.pdf