A sermon about Luke 13: 10 – 17, the Bent Over Woman
In an age where people are quick to anger and quickly “get bent out of shape,” we turn to the story of the healing of the bent-over woman and the angry protest of those that would rather keep her down.
It’s the Sabbath, and Jesus is teaching to a packed synagogue. The Torah scroll unrolled to the day’s reading stretched out before him. The congregation hangs on to every word.
Suddenly, there is the rustle of robes as a woman makes her way through the crowd. Though her face is cast downward as it had been for 18 years, everyone recognizes her–the bent-over woman.
Bent over but not a pushover.
Maybe you’ve known someone who has had a condition like that. A wide range of medical conditions can cause it. Imagine the hardships and indignities that come with it. It’s no easy thing. People make assumptions about your abilities. But one thing I’ve learned is not to underestimate a bent-over woman. All the ones I’ve met are brilliant and make the world better. If you don’t believe me, let me introduce you to Jean Bixby Smith, a community pillar whose leadership and kindness have helped many people, making Long Beach such a wonderful community.
We should always see beyond a person’s physical limitations and focus more on abilities rather than disabilities. We should always be on the lookout for ways to make our church accessible to people with disabling conditions.
Jesus sees you for who you are.
Back to the story. As the bent-over woman shuffles toward Jesus, Luke goes out of his way to say that Jesus saw her. There are different ways of seeing. There is seeing that is just noticing, and then there is seeing, paying attention to the inner person. Jesus sees us—deep down. When the rest of the world discounts you and treats you like you don’t matter, and you feel like your inner nature is invisible to everyone, Jesus sees.
He tells the woman she is set free from her ailment, lays hands on her, and she stands up straight. If only it were so easy for everyone else who suffers from that.
Bent over spirits if not bodies.
However, with many of Jesus’ healings, the physical conditions tend to serve as metaphors for disabling spiritual conditions that everyone can be cured of. For example, when Jesus healed a blind man, it was in the context of the disciple’s spiritual blindness and inability to see Jesus for who he was. When Jesus healed lepers, the larger context was about including those the community holds at arm’s length.
In this story, Jesus refers to some spiritual condition that Satan had bent her over for 18 years. We’re not sure what that means. However, what is clear is that the spiritual condition of the religious leaders was far more out of alignment than the woman’s back.
When she stands up straight, they get bent out of shape and erupt in protest. The synagogue leader shouts at the congregation. “This is an outrage, defaming the Sabbath. God set rules against this sort of thing. Come and get cured on another day, just not today.”
He had a point. There are parts of the Old Testament that forbade this sort of thing. But Jesus always let compassion overrule the rules. This wasn’t the first or the last time Jesus did this sort of thing. It was his message. He points out that people take care of their animals on the Sabbath. How much more should they take care of people?
The hard part of this story is to imagine that the synagogue leader could be so insensitive–to protest this poor woman’s healing. However, it points to the sad truth that religious leaders are too often more interested in rules and traditions than helping people.
The “sin of empathy?”
This week, I kept seeing social media posts about how a lot of evangelical pastors have mounted their pulpits to decry what they call “the sin of empathy.” My first thought was, “No way is this true. Maybe it’s just a few wackjobs, but it can’t be ‘a thing’ that a lot of pastors are preaching that something is wrong with empathy.
But I looked into it; unfortunately, it’s all the rage. They claim empathy makes us too accepting of sinful behavior. It compromises morals. It makes us too lenient about things that harm the social fabric. We can’t afford to take care of everybody–people have to learn to take care of themselves, or they become parasites leaching off everybody else. “Too much compassion,” they say, “and you lose your spiritual backbone.”
My second thought was they had lost the plot and were excusing their meanness and hardness of heart. Talk about pandering. Ignore Jesus and permit people to not care about anyone who isn’t inside their little circles. It’s a message that we all long to hear, but it’s not the gospel, it’s not Jesus, it’s not anything you will ever here from this pulpit. There is no way you can look at the stories of Jesus, today’s included, and conclude empathy is a sin.
The whole point of the Parable of the Good Samaritan is to define the commandment of loving our neighbor as ourselves. The neighbor is the one who is different from you, from another country’s culture, but who is in need. Love means showing mercy even to those who are different from you.
Captain G. M. Gilbert, the Army psychologist assigned to observe the defendants during the Nuremberg Trials (1945–1949). He stated:
“In my work with the defendants at the Nuremberg Trials, I was searching for the nature of evil, and I now think I have come close to defining it: a lack of empathy. It’s the one characteristic that connects all the defendants—a genuine incapacity to feel with their fellow men. Evil, I think, is the absence of empathy.”
I heard an Episcopal priest talk about this a few years ago. He said if empathy is a sin, do as Martin Luther said and sin boldly. Wallow in it. Make it your favorite sin. Do it all the time.
It’s a message we need to reclaim what makes us human. People will look at Bay Shore Church and know that some Christians are dedicated to Jesus’ teachings about love and compassion for those who are hurting.
This is a needed message right now because so many people are bent over by poverty, illness, hunger, war, and senseless violence.
When I think about the healing of the bent over woman despite the opposition, I am reminded of Maya Angelou’s poem, “Still I Rise.”
Still I Rise
By Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Maybe you are feeling bent over right now by worry and regret. Maybe some problem or something outside of your control is bending your spirit. Perhaps you feel invisible.
A Moment to Stand Tall
Now, let us meditate. Close your eyes, and take a deep breath. Feel the weight of whatever has been bending your spirit. Maybe it’s a fear, a wound, or a voice that tells you you’re not enough. Imagine that weight as a physical burden pressing down on your shoulders. Notice its heaviness, its shape.
Now, hear the voice of Jesus calling to you: “You are set free.” Picture him placing his hands gently on your shoulders. Feel the weight lift. Your back begins to straighten. Your spirit begins to rise. You stand tall, taller than you thought possible. Your face turns toward the light, and you see the world with new eyes. You ignore, defy those who would want to keep you down.
Take another deep breath. Let the freedom fill your lungs. And as you exhale, know this: you are a child of God, worthy of healing, called to stand tall, and empowered to rise. So come on and rise up and let the love of God flow through you to become the person God created you to be—someone who pours out compassion and grace.
Amen.