So, when I was at St. Paul's Kingsport, 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 for 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 easy 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. I don't get to see them without straining to look up. And I miss Eleanor's eyes so much.”
And he strained as he twisted his muscles in his neck to finally look up at me. And with a little tear, he said, “See, I didn't know you had hazel eyes. Now I do.”
I think about Bill today 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 heard this story many different times in all the Gospels. 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 rules and regulations 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 the crowd, who won't toe the line.
And frankly, I think we SHOULD be crazy Christians, radically loving a hurt and damaged world. Standing up to powers and systems that want us to follow them instead of Jesus, follow them into dark places of hatred and vengeance, of fear and oppression. Hoarding 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 out of terror of the world rather than engaging it, looking for ways to live together in peace.
We should do those things. And if it takes breaking a rule here or a tradition there, well, there are worse ways to be.
But, y'all, as much as I agree with that interpretation of this Gospel, I think I might be missing the point altogether. I don't think this story about the Sabbath is about the Sabbath at all. I don't think it's about putting law and tradition in perspective at all. I don't even think it's about standing up to those who want us to create a new Sabbath to worship earthly powers and principalities.
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.
And Jesus healed her, and she was able to stand up straight and tall and confront the world on new terms. But 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 the image of Jesus we are supposed to take from this.
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 with a severe disability or has suffered some terrifying loss or who is dying or who has Alzheimers or a thousand other things that scare us to death and says that death has no power here – only love. A Jesus who sits in detention cells on the border, or death row cells in our prisons, or mental health wings or hospice wings of our hospitals, and says, “God loves you, period.”
A Jesus who chooses love over hate, respect over taunts, joy over anger, 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 have seen 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 to suddenly find yourself looking into the eyes of God, and he's kneeling before YOU!
And imagine living into our call to live like Christ. 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 chainlinks of a fence on the border and praying the the little ones held there. Imagine holding the hands of a friend who has been bowed down by the weight of her troubles.
Imagine looking into their eyes, and saying, “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