So, when I was at St. Paul's Kingsport, in Tennessee, there was a parishioner, Bill, who was all bent over. Seems that several years ago, he was mowing his yard. Now part of that yard was a small hill with a steep grade, and he took his large riding mower up the hill thinking he could save himself the trip of bringing the push mower up there later. But he hit a bump and the mower up-ended, tossing him off of it. Then the mower came down on him and broke his back.
He was actually lucky. The mower didn't shut off, but it didn't cut him up. And the searing hot engine didn't touch him. But damage was done, and from that day on, he would always walk hunched over, using a sawed-off cane to get around.
I sat and talked to him once about the accident and how he felt about it. He said that ever since then, he always would stop himself before acting impulsively, because now he's reminded every day about how being stupid can get you into trouble. And he said that he always lives with a little bit of regret because he is such a burden on his wife, Eleanor. But mostly he misses her eyes.
He said, “I am a pretty good judge of people's shoes now. I know good quality shoes and when shoes are wearing our, and when people are wearing mismatched socks, because nowadays that's where I'm always looking. But I can't remember the color of people's eyes. It hurts so much to twist around so I can look at someone's face directly. And I miss being able to look at Eleanor's eyes whenever I want.”
And he strained as he twisted his muscles in his neck to finally look up at me. And with a sad, little smile he said, “See, I didn't know you had hazel eyes. Now I do.”
As we listen to Luke's story of Jesus confronting yet another group of pious folks, chiding him for healing on the Sabbath, we've get the feeling that he's heard this all before. It's a running theme – Is Man made for the Sabbath, or is the Sabbath made for Man?
And I think we all can sit here, over 2,000 years out, agreeing that the Sabbath is made for Man. That we should not let unjust rules and regulations, policies or laws, get in the way of loving God and loving our neighbor. And that sometimes we have to stand up to the scorn of our fellow man in order to follow Jesus. That sometimes we may get the reputation of being “that guy,” the crazy Christian who won't go along with today's crowd, who won't toe the line because toeing the line is the wrong line to toe.
Y'all, frankly, I think we SHOULD be crazy Christians, loving the hurt and the damaged in a hurt and damaged world. Standing up to powers and systems that want us to despise those who aren't like us, not following others into dark places of hatred and vengeance, of fear and oppression. Refusing to hoard whatever we can snatch for ourselves so that our hands are constantly closed tight like fists, rather than boldly opening our arms to offer love and compassion to those around us. Locking our doors and our hearts because we've been told to fear a world of people of different color or gender or status than engaging those people, striving for justice and peace.
We should do these crazy things, the things that go against society's grain. And if it takes breaking a rule here or a tradition there, well, there are worse ways to be. Because being that way is being like Jesus.
I think back to that day with Bill, and I wonder about the broken, twisted woman in our reading today. She was an outcast in society. She didn't fit in. She was freakish and couldn't even enter the Synagogue to worship for fear that her disfigurement might spread to others. She was literally and figuratively looked down upon. She was an other, an alien, different.
Here's where I think the point is: It's not that Jesus healed her and made her stand tall and straight. It's not that. It's this:
There must have been a moment, somewhere after the broken woman prayed for a miracle and before Jesus performed the miracle. There must have been a moment when Jesus knelt before her and looked her in the eyes. A moment when the Lord met her in her brokenness; where he saw the anguish in her face; where he knelt so low before her that he looked UP into those beautiful eyes and saw the face that nobody else in the village had seen for years.
Maybe that's what we're meant to hear from the reading today. Maybe that's what we are supposed to see.
A Jesus who sees those we choose to overlook. A Jesus who sees those we treat as scary and different. A Jesus who sees the alien among us.
A Jesus who goes to that homeless man and embraces him and tells him he's loved. A Jesus who goes to that person who is considering ending it all because they can't stand another day being hated for who they are inside and saying to that person that death has no power here in Jesus' eyes – only love. A Jesus who sits in concentration camp detention cells, or camps on the border, or death row cells in our prisons, or mental health wings or hospice wings of our hospitals, and says, “I know the pain of the cross, and I know how cruel and wicked powerful people can be. And I know you...I see you. And I love you.”
A Jesus who choses God's love over our hate, respect over taunts, courage over fear, relationship over outrage.
A Jesus who lived – and still lives today – for a live-giving, resurrecting kingdom of God, supplanting the darkness and sourness and pettiness of our earthly kingdom today.
Imagine being that woman. To see nothing but the ground beneath the feet of others, and to have felt their scorn for years weighing down on her broken back, for so long. Imagine suddenly finding yourself looking into the eyes of God, and he's kneeling before YOU!
And imagine living into our call to be like this Jesus. Imagine kneeling before the homeless on the curb. Imagine talking to the person with Alzheimers, and going with them wherever their story takes you. Imagine holding onto the chain links of a fence of a detention center and praying with people there. Imagine simply holding the hands of a friend who has been bowed down by the weight of her troubles.
Imagine looking into their eyes, and saying, like Jesus, “God loves you, period. And I will go with you, period. As far as you want. Even if it means breaking a rule or two.”
Amen