The Bent Over Woman

The story of the bent over woman can be found in Luke 13:10-17. Of all the unnamed women in the Bible, this woman's story is possibly my favorite. It speaks to me of charity and justice. It reminds me that as long as one person remains bent over, we all do. It reminds me that we all have a responsibility to reach out and help those who cannot help themselves. Let me share her story with you as it was shared with me by Helen Bruch Pearson in Do What You Have The Power To Do.

"Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem when he stopped at one of the local synagogues. It was his custom to preach and teach wherever he could, and this Sabbath day was no exception. Word had spread that Jesus was in town - the very same Jesus who had cast out demons and made the blind to see, the deaf to hear, the lame to leap, and the oppressed to sing and dance with joy. It was this Jesus who was to preach and teach at their synagogue on this sabbath!

Every Jewish community had a synagogue. It was used as a meeting place for prayer and worship services. It also had an area for the study of and discussion about the Torah - God's laws by which they lived. People gathered from the town and the surrounding villages. They found their way into the synagogue and claimed their rightful places - the men in the main area of the synagogue and the women separated and hidden behind a kind of grill work with the children and the slaves. They gathered to witness the presence of the one whom others claimed to be a miracle worker. Perhaps this day they would see and hear for themselves what Jesus was all about.

At the very back of the room behind the grill work and close to the women's entrance could be seen a grotesque shadow. Nothing but a shadow - or so it seemed - gave shape to the figure of a woman bent double. Curved and folded in upon itself, the deformed body had been her burden to carry for eighteen years. And worse, it was said that she was demented - possessed by a demon and bound by Satan. Surely she must have transgressed God's law and sinned mightily to have been afflicted with such a terrible, ugly visible sign of her disobedience.

Cast out to exist on the edges of her community beyond any companionship and contact, this woman was treated as a 'no thing'. This crippled, bent over woman reminded too many people that God might someday find them out and visit them with affliction, laying bare before the townspeople all the hypocrisies they had spent a lifetime covering and masking. This woman represented the incarnation of their secret sins and the culmination of their worst nightmares. If the people had not been so preoccupied with Jesus's visit, they would have noticed her and denied her entrance into the synagogue. She certainly had no business being where she was on that day!

All was quiet. Anticipation hung in the air with the incense. Jesus stepped forward and held up the Torah to read God's word. He paused long enough to look at the faces watching him. Here was a man who would teach them with authority and not like their own scribes - or so it seemed. Perhaps all that they had heard about Jesus was really true.

But what about that shadow of a woman - the one with the misshapen body who slouched and leaned against the wall? She could not see Jesus, yet she knew he was looking at her. She could feel the congregation turn toward her. In their turning, she knew she was no longer invisible. At the same time, it was frightening, but since she had nothing to lose, she gave herself over to whatever was about to happen.

Jesus called her. Out loud. In public. In the synagogue. It was strictly forbidden by rabbinic law that a man give any public recognition to a woman - let along speak openly to one. But here was Jesus - this unorthodox preacher - calling her to him. Surely there must be some mistake. He should not be addressing her. Not the hunchback possessed with a spirit of infirmity. Not the one from whom people recoiled and for whom they stepped aside to avoid the risk of her touch. But there was that clear voice again. Jesus was calling her to come to him.

Jesus's speech parted the crowd, and there she was! This time people moved away not to avoid her, but to look at her. It was as if for the first time in eighteen years, she really existed. Above the murmuring of the assembly, the shuffle of her sandals against the hard floor echoed throughout the synagogue. Each step seemed an eternity of slow, awkward, painful motion, but Jesus was in no hurry. In that long moment between where she had been and where she was going, she knew it was not the ruler of the synagogue who was in charge. It was Jesus who was Lord of the sabbath in this place. This was Jesus' holy time to do with as he wished. And Jesus had chosen to devote it to her.

She stood in front of him. Bowed in upon herself - just as she was. Because she could not lift her head, she could see only his hands and his feet. She wondered what his face looked like - this teacher, who through the power of his voice parted the crowd and made her feel whole. Everyone was waiting to see what would happen.

'Woman,' Jesus said, 'Woman, you are freed from you infirmity. Rid of your ailment. Set free from this disease. You are no longer bound. Woman... you are free!'

Those words spilled over her like sweet perfume and baptized her with new possibilities. They anointed her lonely, parched heart. They loosened the vicious pain of bone and tissue and sinew that had for days and years turned in upon her body.

'Woman," Jesus was saying again to her, 'you are free from your infirmity.'

This was the awful terrifying moment of decision. Did she really want to be free? The infirmity that possessed her - it was familiar. She knew its name. She knew her limits. She knew the predictable responses of the community. She had come to accept that she was to blame for her ailment. And strange and foolish as it might seem, there was comfort and security to be found in the familiarity of it all. She occupied a place that demanded little from her. She could exist day by day without much risk - as long as she stayed in her place and kept away from people. What had seemed like powerlessness, when confronted with the awesome responsibility of freedom, began to take on a power of its own.

In that moment between sickness and health, between brokenness and wholeness, the woman knew the decision was hers to make. She was held between the tenacious grasp of a familiar past and the dreadful promise of a future yet unshaped by the demands of healing and peace and justice. While she knew she could not make herself well, she did know that she could refuse the gift of healing offered by Jesus. She could choose to remain bound and unfree.

Jesus waited. He waited until he knew her heart had decided, and then he reached toward her and laid his hands upon her. It was like awakening from a cramped position in a long hard sleep. No longer bent over, her body still ached from all those years of being folded in upon itself. And it ached from the unspeakable goodness and joy of the miracle that lifted her upright once more. For the first time in eighteen years, she could see straight ahead of her. She could look people squarely in their faces. A simple thing most people never think about, but this woman knew it to be a miracle. It was into the eyes of Jesus that she first looked, and in the looking, she knew the source of her healing and her salvation. And she praised God!

There they were - all the critics of Jesus circled together around the synagogue ruler. They were indignant, frustrated, and deeply angered. They had been publicly humiliated and chastised. How dare Jesus cause this kind of commotion among the people - and in their synagogue! How dare he take the sabbath away from them - and all at the cost of their self esteem! The rumors were right. He was a dangerous man - this Jesus! Not only had he healed a worthless woman but he had gained the confidence and support of the entire congregation. He held them spellbound with his words and his actions. This man would have to be destroyed.

But I need not repeat this story to you. you have been in the synagogue from the beginning of this story until now. You watched the responses of those in the congregation. Perhaps you were even surprised at some of your own responses. Old prejudices and broken relationships that keep you bent over still reside in the dark places of your heart. And yes, Jesus saw you. He held you in his glance as he looked over the congregation - for what seemed like forever. When he named some in the congregation 'Hypocrites!' you could not escape the cutting edge of his accusation. And when Jesus proclaimed release and freedom for the bent over woman, you participated in that healing. When Jesus touched her, he touched you. When she stood up, you were lifted. When she praised God, your doxology was raised. And it seemed like you stood tall and straight for the first time in many years. If one of God's sons or daughters is bent over, we are all stooped and diminished. No one stands upright alone!

Like the bent over woman who had to choose between freedom and bondage - between brokenness and wholeness - you have the opportunity to write the end of this story, for it is your story, too. How will you choose? What will you do?"

What Were Their Names?

Helen Bruch Pearson, in her book Do What You Have The Power To Do, reminds us that it is important to reclaim the memory of those who have gone before us. So many of those stories from the Bible that speak to me are about women who remain nameless. Do you ever wonder what their names were? I do.

Like Ms. Pearson, "I wonder still...what were their names? I wish I knew the names of the women who brought their children to Jesus for a blessing. Or the names of the women disciples who ministered to Jesus. Or the names of the widows in the early church. I wonder what name the woman at the well answered to - that one who lived on the edge and moved from one crisis to the next? When she received the life-giving water, this woman left her water jar in the dust by the well, and she went to testify to others. It is out of the dust clouds left by her determined footsteps that our hopes arise. But what was her name?

Or the woman who was found in adultery and was told to go and sin no more. What was her name? Or the woman who anointed Jesus with costly ointment and baptized his feet with her tears. Did she have a name? What do you suppose was the name of Jairus's daughter who Jesus took by the hand and raised from the dead? Or the name of the woman who pushed through the crowd to touch the hem of his garment? And the bent-over woman, her body crippled and ugly. Did Jesus call her by name when she stood tall and straight? What was her name?

Or the name of the widow who gave her last mite. Or the bride at the wedding for whom Jesus performed his first miracle. Or the names of the women at the cross who waited through the night. Ah...I wonder...what were their names?

What were their names?"

I could go on and on listing and remembering these brave, unnamed women, but we are called to do more than remember. One of our responsibilities is to make visible in our own time those who are without name, those who are out of our sight and hearing distance. We are called to give voice to those who know only silence and imprisonment. We must find ways to carry the burdens of those who are bent double so that one day we all can stand upright.

In order to reach out to others and give them a voice, we must also take the time to know ourselves. What is your name? A name means that a person has a beginning and a history of relationships. Take a few minutes to recall what you know about your name. From where did it come? How did you get your name? From it's earliest form, has it been changed? Why? Do you know what your name means? Were you named after someone? Who chose your name for you?

Think of the women in your life, named and unnamed, who have been an example to you. Become a conversation with them. What gifts have they given you? What did you learn from them? What would you want to tell them?

Find a friend to share these thoughts with. I would be honored if you would like to leave a comment and share your thoughts with me. If you would like for me to pray for you by name this week, leave a comment. All I need is your first name. God will know your needs.

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine." Isaiah 43:1

I have called you by name

Recently, I have been re-reading Do What You Have the Power to Do by Helen Bruch Pearson. It is a study of six New Testament women and I think it is one of my favorite books. Several years ago, I led a retreat based on this book and it remains one of the favorite retreats that I have had the privilege to lead. The book truly challenged me to think about what I believe and then to take action on those beliefs. These empowering stories challenged me to step out and do what I had the power to do to address the wider issues of oppression in today's society.

Over the next several weeks, I would like to use this book as a basis for my weekly devotionals. I hope that you will find these stories to be as empowering as I did. I hope that reading about these women will be thought provoking and life changing for you. If you know someone who might like to share in this study, please pass this link along. I think these stories are significant and the more people with whom we can share them, the better.

Today, I would like to begin by sharing a meditation from the book that reminds us of just how precious we are to God. Beginning next week, we will look at these special women of the New Testament.

MEDITATION

Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
When you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
...you are precious in my eyes,
and honored, and I love you.
Isaiah 43:1b-2, 4 (RSV)

The good news, proclaimed across the ever rolling streams of time through a thousand ages of space and echoed by an endless cloud of witnesses is this:

God has redeemed us.
God has called us each by name.
We belong to God.
We are precious in God's eyes.
God sees us and honors us.
And best of all,
God loves us!

A Funeral for "I Can't"

I recently had the opportunity to read a chapter from Sharon Jaynes new book I'm Not Good Enough. In the book, Sharon tells the story of a teacher who lived and worked in a small town in Michigan. One day she decided that she and her students would have a funeral for "I Can't."

On the appointed day, she instructed her class of ten year olds to fill sheets of paper with every "I Can't" statement that had ever plagued them. They were told to use as many sheets of paper as necessary to get them all down.

"I can't kick the soccer ball past second base."
"I can't do long division with more than three numerals."
"I can't get Debbie to like me."
"I can't do ten push ups."
"I can't eat just one cookie."

The students lists went on and on. Some students needed more than one page to complete the lists. Even the teacher was busy writing out a list of "I Can'ts." When everyone was finished, the teacher asked each student to come forward and place their list in an empty shoe box. When all the lists had been collected, she put the lid on the box, tucked it under her arm, and headed out the door and down the hall with all the students in tow.

Halfway down the hall, the procession stopped and the teacher entered the custodian's room. She quickly returned with a shovel and proceded to lead the students to a far corner of the playground. The students took turns helping to dig a hole for the box. When it was big enough, the box of "I Can'ts" was placed in the hole and covered with dirt. Each student had at least one full page of "I Can'ts" buried in that box, as did the teacher.

At this point, the teacher had the students gather around, join hands, and lower their heads. She delivered a befitting eulogy for "I Can't."

"We have provided "I Can't" with a final resting place and with a headstone that contains his epitaph. He is survided by his brothers and sister, "I Can," "I Will," and "I'm Going to Right Away." They are not as well known as their famous relative and are certainly not as strong and powerful yet. Perhaps someday, with your help, they will make an even bigger mark on the world. May "I Can't" rest in peace and may everyone present pick up their lives and move forward in "I Can'ts" absence. Amen"

Following the funeral service, the students returned to their classroom where they celebrated the passing of "I Can't" with cookies, popcorn, and fruit juice. They prepared a large tombstone from butcher paper with the words "I Can't" at the top and the date of death at the bottom. They hung the tombstone in their classroom for the remainder of the year.

On those rare occasions when a student forgot and uttered the words, "I can't," the teacher simply pointed to the tombstone and the student was reminded that "I Can't" was dead. They were encouraged to rephrase their statement.

I frequently find that the words "I can't" creep into my conversation. Perhaps I need to have a funeral service for "I Can't." Perhaps we all do. This week why don't you try making a list of all your "I Can'ts" and then bury them. Write an obituary and place it where you will see it often.

Eliminate the words "I can't" from your vocabulary. I can't? I don't think so. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.