Released!

Luke 13:10-17

A woman, bent over by her load of burdens, wanders into church. 

She may be one of our area’s homeless—one of the thousands of wandering souls, pushing the entirety of their possessions before them in a grocery cart and strapped to their backs in overstuffed packs—wandering into a worship service, drawn by the music, the murmur of a crowd, or, bless my soul, the preaching. 

She may be any of us trekking to church with our invisible bundle of care—tons of emotional baggage piled on by life itself—our relationships, our children, our work, our bills—they all pile atop one another until we are bent double. We come to church seeking release, comfort, or simply an assurance that everything’s going to be all right. 

She may be any of our number who arrive looking like we got run over on the way here, but who in truth have been flattened by illness. We feel too weak to lift our heads up, pulled down by a failing body. We come to church seeking hope, healing, and solace in our friends.

We suddenly find the woman is any of us on any given Sunday.

An elder, though, speaks the unspeakable—Not today, come back tomorrow. 

He may any of us suddenly overwhelmed by the load of care another presents. He can do nothing to end the plague of homelessness, so he chooses to send them away—out of sight, out of mind. He is not a therapist. There are those that exist to heal emotional pain. He cannot deal with his own emotions, let alone someone else’s. He is no physician or nurse. He can offer no healing. Better to send the sick away to be tended by those who can. He will not have his helplessness compounded by the problem’s presence. Come back tomorrow—be someone else’s problem to deal with, not mine. At least I gave you an option—I do not have to feel guilty about not doing anything—someone else will.

He may be someone who knows there are reasons for protocols and procedures. Randomness is not something tolerated. We made the systems we have to care for the problems we have. Come back tomorrow when we receive someone like you. There are forms to fill out. There are rules to be kept. Follow the rules, and all shall be well. It is not a fit of uncaring; it is simply using the mechanisms we have for such care. You can wait one more day.

He may be someone who believes in a religion that explains suffering. It is the answer to wickedness. The homeless are homeless because they have chosen to live in such a way that they end up on the street. So be it. If someone’s home-life is a shambles, then someone doesn’t know how to run a home. If a heart is broken, then someone broke it. You get in life what you deserve. You no longer deserve help. Come back tomorrow when someone else might care. 

We shudder at the callousness and the coldness. We claim it would never be us. Then we feel another brick added to the load we already carry. 

The truth is that all of us are burdened in one way or another. We find ourselves with the woman, bent over double by life. We ourselves with the elder, also bent over double, trapped in our own rules for living, unable to live freely. 

Jesus meets us.

First thing to do is unburden the burdened, so he releases the woman. She is free. She is ecstatic in her liberation. She at last can walk with a spring in her step and joy in her stride. She lives!

But Jesus sees the frown on the elder’s face. So, he unburdens him, too. Yes, keeping the sabbath is a rule of faith. But there is a purpose behind the rule. Can we see that? Do we recognize the purpose? God ordained the sabbath so we could rest, take a break, and relax right into the being of God. Enforcing rules for the rules’ sake is not relaxing into God. It takes a lot of work to enforce the rules of religion, so let them go if they interfere with the whole point—being in God, freely and fully, enjoying God forever, as the old catechism reads. Apparently, though, the elder missed the point. There is no hymn of praise, celebratory dance, or even a smile. 

Why?

That is a very good question, and Jesus lays it in our lap right here, right now, in yet another Sunday gathering. Why are we here? Are we not here to feel the lightness of burdens lifted, to see the light of day bold and bright, and to experience the newness of life, fresh and free?

Faithful worship is a lot more than simply following the procedures and protocols for worship. It is feeling the joy of God and letting that joy run wild within us. To do that, realize the worship service may not be exactly perfect. Someone will flub their lines. The preacher may fall asleep in his or her own sermon. But if we feel that ineffable presence of God lifting us, then we succeed.

And that sort of worship can happen any time we unburden someone. As the burdened stumble into worship, we cannot meet them with, Tomorrow—instead, we should meet them with an exuberant, TODAY!

The more we help lift the burdens of others, the more our own burdens cease to trouble us. We find that alleviating suffering goes a long way toward the alleviation of our own suffering. We realize burdens can be lifted, our struggle diminish, and life become a bit easier. 

And that celebration of liberation becomes the truest worship of all and the best manner of keeping sabbath we can imagine.

Try it and see.