A Story of a Woman: August 21, 2022

Year C, Pentecost 11                    Luke 13:10-17  & Isaiah 58:9-14           

(This is told from the perspective of the woman in the Gospel of Luke.)                  

          My back was worse than usual today.  It’s always bad. I cannot remember a time when it did not hurt.  But this morning as I attempted to get up off the floor, I felt a stabbing pain, worse than usual.  I confess that I considered lying back down and not coming to the synagogue.  It’s not as if anyone would know if I wasn’t there.  But God would. And so I slowly stood and dressed myself.  It’s hard to get dressed when you are bent over like I am, but I am accustomed to it. It’s been many years like this.  I can’t remember how it happened.   I wasn’t born like this.  It happened slowly. The pain came first.  Then one day I realized I could no longer stand straight.  I could not see the sunrise or the sunset.   The sky was a memory to me.

            I remember the sky. I used to love to gaze at the stars at night and remember the promise that God made to Abraham.  And rainbows, I loved to see rainbows as they reminded me of the promise God made to Noah after the flood.  There are so many reminders of God goodness and mercy in the sky.  I miss seeing those reminders.  Now I see the dust as I walk through the village. I see small rodents and insects.  I see feet and the dirty hems of robes.   But sometimes I see beautiful things, like a stone with brilliant colors, or a cotton thistle with its spiky purple petals, a large puddle that reflects the clouds.  Sometimes, when God is especially good to me, I will see a baby crawling under me.  They look into my eyes and I try not to weep because it is the only time that someone looks into my eyes.  It is a lonely life, but I am never really alone. I know that deep down.  It’s just easy to forget sometimes.

            That is why I go to the synagogue week after week….so that I never forget that I am not alone.  Even if I cannot see reminders of God’s grandeur above me, I can still feel his presence.  I know that I make some people uncomfortable.  They assume that since I have this deformity, that I have sinned or my parents have sinned.  I have sinned, but no more than those who look down upon me, and there are many who do.  Didn’t the great prophet Isaiah tell God’s people to “satisfy the needs of the afflicted?”  I am afflicted, am I not?   I am not saying that all of the religious leaders are bad. Some are wonderful and caring and try to help as much as they can. But there are some who are more concerned about the rules.

            Recently I had heard about a man who was a leader, but also different.  He didn’t wear all the fancy robes.  He prayed at the temple, but he didn’t spend all of his time there.  He was even criticized for eating at the homes of sinners---prostitutes and tax collectors.   There were rumors that he had even healed people.  I knew I would never see more than his sandaled feet, but I hoped, I hoped that I would hear him sometime.  I can tell a lot about a person by their voice. I can tell a lot about a person if they merely bother to talk to me. 

            As I approach the synagogue, I hear a different voice.  It is a voice of someone with authority who is teaching the Holy Scriptures.   This is not unusual.  There are always learned men teaching at the synagogue.  But the way he talks, it’s different.  It is almost like he was talking to me.  Wait, he is talking to me.  I feel hands on my  back as they guide me to him.  I want to cry out in pain as it hurts as they steer me through the crowd, but I try not to.   Finally, I can sense someone leaning toward me, trying to get close to my face, trying to see me.  “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.”

 Those words, they are beautiful, but they can only be words.   Then he puts his hands on my head and slowly lifts my face.  I want to resist as I am afraid of the pain, but as his hands touch me, the pain begins to recede.  It starts with my head, then my neck, shoulders, and then my back and the rest of my body. It happens slowly, gradually, but eventually, I am standing.  And I am looking into his eyes and he is smiling at me.  I see compassion and love in those eyes.

            As I realize the pain is really gone I raise my hands high and throw my head back so I can see the sky, the beautiful sky. I praise God. I am surprised to hear pieces of the prayers that I have come to know by heart in my years worshipping here.  At the time they felt like empty words.  But right now I feel them in a new way.  I am almost embarrassed, but I cannot stop laughing.  I am so distracted I almost miss the synagogue leader reprimanding the crowd, telling us all there are six other days to be cured.  I know I should be worried about his judgment, but I can’t be, because I have been healed.

            Through my laughter and prayers, I hear Jesus respond, “And ought not this daughter of Abraham who Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from bondage on the Sabbath day.”  He calls me a daughter of Abraham.  He recognizes me not by my disability, but by my faith.  He has not merely healed my body, he has set me free from bondage.  He has lifted the burden from my tired back.  Just as Isaiah told the people so many years ago, remove the yolk from the people and satisfy the needs of the afflicted.

            I am healed, but the Hebrew people still carry the yoke of the Roman Empire.  We are not free, not in that way.  Some say this Jesus will free us, but I wonder if that is what he is really here for. I wonder if he heals us, so we can help the others who are oppressed—the outcasts, the forgotten. I know that now that I have been healed, I will do my best to serve those who cannot help themselves.  I know that is what Jesus wants of me. That is how I can use my freedom.

 What is it that Jesus wants from you? How can you bring healing to this broken world and the people around you?  As Isaiah writes, how can we be “repairers of the breach?”

Faith in the Waiting: August 6, 2022

 Year C, Pentecost 9                             Genesis 15: 1-6 & Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16                                

           Before we entered the adoption process, I spent six years going through fertility treatments.  When you are trying to get pregnant, there is a lot of waiting involved.  After I gave up on that and we started the adoption process---that was a whole new waiting game.  The adoption process as a whole took about two years.  After we brought Joshua home, there were 4 more months until the adoption papers came through and he was officially ours.  That was a total of 8 years of waiting for my husband and me.  During that time, there were a lot of desperate prayers, angry outbursts, and times of hopelessness.   The thing about waiting is that it usually involves a loss of control. Because if you were in control, you probably wouldn’t be waiting. 

            But the waiting I experienced, really doesn’t compare to the waiting that Sarah and Abraham experienced.  They waited about 25 years from the first time God promised them children until the day when Sarah gave birth to Isaac.    In our reading for today, we hear of the third time that God made this promise to Abraham.  We don’t know how many years have passed since the 1^st time, but let’s assume it’s been awhile.  We can tell from Abraham’s response to God’s greeting that he’s not delighted about how things are going. 

Notice that God doesn’t bring up the promise of future children.  He simply says, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward will be very great.”  It’s not clear what Abraham is afraid of at this time.  He just took part in a military battle and some commentators hypothesize that Abraham is still afraid that the enemy he just defeated will return. 

It’s hard to say as he and Sarah have been through quite a bit since Abraham first heard the promise.  They left their homeland as God instructed them in chapter 12. They survived a famine and a run in with the pharaoh.  Most recently he had fought a battle and saved his nephew Lot who had been taken captive.  Clearly, he hadn’t been twiddling his thumbs while he waited.  Yet despite all that he had been through, all that he had accomplished, he was not satisfied.  God had promised that he would make him a great nation and how could be possibly birth a nation if his wife could not birth a son.  He had amassed great wealth and land, but there would be no son to leave all of this to. 

            So when God told him not to be afraid, he argued with God.  He told God that without a child he would have to leave everything he had to a slave.  God replied with another promise—that he would give him a son who would be his heir.  Then God did something interesting.  He brought him outside.   Often in the Old Testament, God is perceived as this otherworldly being who cannot be seen or touched-- only heard.  But in Genesis, God is very human like.  In the Garden of Eden, he strolled through the garden and made clothing for Adam and Eve.  He wrestled with Jacob.  Here, God seems to be standing right next to Abraham in his home and then walks with him outside and points to the sky.  I love this image of God accompanying someone from a place of light and warmth into the dark and showing him part of God’s own creation. 

Photo by Yong Chuan Tan 

            Once God does this, he makes the promise again.  Abraham’s descendants will be as numerous as the stars.   This time, Abraham believes.  Why?  Abraham asked God to give him something… presumably a sign.  God didn’t give him that. He didn’t even give him any more information. He didn’t give him a timeline or provide a persuasive argument or pep talk.   Nope.  God repeated the promise and showed him the stars.  Why would that give Abraham the faith he needed to continue to believe in this promise that had yet to be fulfilled?

            Our reading from Hebrews says, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”  Hebrews then goes on to use Abraham as the ultimate example of faith.  It was by faith that he was able to obey God and leave his home for an unknown land.  It was by faith that he could believe that even at the age of 75 (which was when God first made the promise) that Sarah would conceive a child.  God never gave him proof.  He didn’t give him a sign.  Instead, God showed him a revelation, the stars….a reminder of what God is capable of.  And so Abraham believed.

            Did that mean that suddenly Abraham became free from doubt and worry?  No.  Only a few verses later, Abraham was arguing with God again.  A few verses after that, we read: “As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abraham, and a terrifying darkness descended upon him.”   Remember when God first showed him the stars?  It was night. Now we read that the sun is setting.  It sounds like Abraham and God have been talking and arguing for at least 12 hours.  Then, after all of that, there was still a terrifying darkness.

            Faith may be about assurance and conviction.  But it’s also about fear, anguish and lots of long conversations with God.  After this terrifying darkness descended, God continued to talk and he made a covenant with Abraham.  There in the dark, he made another promise.  I would like to tell you that did it for Abraham….from there on out he believed and never doubted. Alas no.  There were more missteps, more questions.  He even had a child with a slave of his house because he and Sarah needed to take control of God’s promise. 

            However, through it all, Abraham never gave up on God.  He continued to obey God, continued to serve God.  He still struggled with the promise, but he never lost that kernel of hope.  His faith wasn’t a roaring flame.  It was more like that pilot light on the stove that never quite goes out. That is what got him through the years of waiting.

            And here’s the thing about waiting.  Waiting in hope is not wasted time.  While I waited for a baby, I started writing about my experience.  I created wonderful fodder for future sermons.  I got into yoga.  I applied to St. John’s to be the rector.  I am not sure that would have happened if things had gone according to plan and I had two children by 2010.  Maybe it would have, but I can’t be sure. I made progress in those 8 years.   So did Abraham.  Abraham and Sarah built a foundation for the nation that they would one day birth.

            I struggle with this definition of faith from Hebrews.  I worry it makes it seem that if your prayers aren’t answered, then that means you must not have enough faith.  Don’t assume that if your prayers aren’t answered, it means that you don’t have enough faith or hope.  Don’t doubt your faith because you lack conviction and assurance.  That’s not what faith is.  Faith is about never giving up even when everything in life is telling you that it’s time to give up.  Faith is what happens in the waiting…what we do when the prayer goes unanswered.  Faith is a never ending conversation with God that sometimes happens in terrifying darkness.  Faith is knowing that even in the darkness, the stars still shine and God wants you to see them and know that not only did he create these stars, but he stands with you in the midst of that creation.