The senior sermon of Cynthia Howard, Class of 2007 from the Diocese of West Missouri, given on November 8, 2006, in Christ Chapel

Luke 13:10-17

Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful people and kindle in them the fire of your love. AMEN.

 The story in today’s gospel lesson is one that we in the Episcopal Church don’t hear read aloud very often, because it’s not included in the Episcopal Lectionary for Sundays. But, it is an incredibly vivid and beautiful story, written in two parts

The scene begins as Jesus has “set his face to go to Jerusalem ” and makes the journey toward his own death. It is the Sabbath, and Jesus is teaching in a synagogue along the way.

Try to imagine yourself there in that synagogue on that Sabbath day.

As Jesus is teaching, he suddenly stops and calls to someone that no one else seems to have noticed. Our attention is drawn to the periphery of the room, and there we see the figure of a crippled woman. She is “bent over and…quite unable to stand up straight.” Her figure may seem especially strange to those of us who live in a modern, medically sophisticated world where maladies like the one that might have caused this crippled woman’s condition can be prevented quite easily…simply by taking a prescription medication once a month, like the ever-youthful actress Sally Field tells us in TV commercials, as she lifts weights and stands with perfect posture.

But, not so in Jesus’ time. The woman in the synagogue has been in this bent condition for eighteen years. Perhaps the progressive accumulation of many small fractures in her weak spine have left her with an ever more pronounced hump on her back. It has gotten to a point where she cannot look up at all; she can only look at the ground. She is disfigured in a way that is especially cruel, because her disfigurement means that she cannot look directly at what is happening around her, she cannot make eye contact with those she meets; mostly she just sees her own feet and the ground right in front of her. However tall she used to be, she is not that now. Perhaps this is why most people in the synagogue have missed her entrance on this day.

But, her 18 years of affliction have not destroyed her desire to keep the Sabbath and to worship God. So she has come to the synagogue, just as always, likely not even knowing that this traveling teacher and miracle worker is here.

Jesus sees her as he is teaching, and with no request or supplication or even a word from her, he takes the initiative, stops teaching, calls to her, lays his hands on her, and cures her. Immediately, the woman who to this point has been stooped and silent suddenly stands up straight and begins to praise God.

End of Part 1.

As Part 2 of the story begins, the mood changes abruptly after the woman’s healing is accomplished. The leader of the synagogue, who is angry with Jesus for what he has just done, raises the issue of Sabbath law with the crowd. “If you want to be healed, come back on one of the ordinary, usual weekdays. But, don’t come on the Sabbath, expecting to be healed.” I imagine he might have been thinking to himself, “Goodness me…this crippled woman had been like this for eighteen years. Surely, her healing could have waited one more day.” And again, Jesus takes the initiative, answering the synagogue leader, even though he was not the one who had been addressed.

The leader of the synagogue has shown that he really does not understand the Torah or the true meaning of the Sabbath. For Jesus, the true Sabbath, as God intended it, is a time to teach and to heal, not to treat animals better than people.

And, in the midst of this rather heated dialogue, Jesus calls the unnamed, previously invisible woman, “daughter of Abraham.” A descendent of faithful father Abraham and an heir of God’s promises. Daughter of Abraham. It’s the same title used by the author of 4 Maccabees to praise the faithful Jewish mother who encouraged her seven sons to face martyrdom for their faith.

The leader of the synagogue is put to shame and the crowd rejoices. Happy ending of Part 2.

This is the end of today’s reading. But, is it the end of the story?

A number of scholars and commentators think not. They think that the story continues past today’s reading. They believe there is a Part 3.

When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things he was doing.

 There’s that happy conclusion.

But, Part 3 continues in verse 18…

He said therefore, “What is the kingdom of God like? And to what shall I compare it?”

 There is no indication of any break in the story here. Rather that small word “therefore” provides a logical and seamless link from the story of the crippled woman’s healing to the next part of the story.

And so, where does that link direct us?

…the kingdom of God is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in the garden.

 …the kingdom of God is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into flour to make more loaves of bread than her family could eat in a day or so.

Jesus tells us that the common, ordinary work of a man sowing mustard seed or of a woman baking bread give us glimpses into God’s kingdom. And, what does this reign of God look like? The kingdom of God is a place of hospitality where the branches of the mustard tree give shelter to the birds and bread can be shared with others. It is a place where small becomes big; where the common, ordinary stuff of life is holy; and where all are included and welcomed.

 But, isn’t this what Jesus has just shown us in the healing of the crippled woman? This woman who was hardly seen or heard by anyone, who was on the periphery because of her chronic, debilitating condition has been healed and treated as a person of true worth and dignity. This common, ordinary woman has helped to show what Sabbath holiness is really all about. On the Sabbath Day, she has been brought into the center of the community. She has been included and affirmed as a “daughter of Abraham.”

In our baptisms and in our ordinations, we will continue to be called to be messengers of the kingdom of God . That is a pretty powerful thought. Almost too big to understand, at least for me. But, in my case, it’s a little easier to grasp if I think of examples of when I have seen the kind of kingdom that this healing story and related parables describe for us.

A number of years ago, my daughter Elizabeth and I were newcomers to an Episcopal parish in Alabama . And, even though we lived in the neighborhood, we really didn’t know many people in the parish. We had attended only a few times, when the rector found out that my daughter was going to be a camper at the diocesan camp in a few weeks. He immediately said, “Bring her to the church at thus and such time. She can ride to camp with some of our other young people.” A small, ordinary thing. Not a big deal.

A couple of years later, Elizabeth and I were spending a year in Washington , D.C. , while I completed a sabbatical there. When our birthdays rolled around, mine in December and hers in March, we each had a surprise.

We knew that it was the custom of our parish to pray for each member on his or her birthday at Morning Prayer and then to call during the day to tell that person that they had been remembered that morning. But, we never expected that this would happen to us while we were away from the parish. However, we were wrong. It would be hard for either of us to express, even now - years later, how thrilled we were to return to our tiny apartment in Washington after work and school on our birthdays to find voicemail messages from our Assistant Rector back home in Alabama . We saved those messages for weeks and listened to them again and again. Just phone calls. Small, ordinary…but they became really big and meant more than I can say to two people who were far away from home.

To be honest, I don’t remember many sermons in that parish. Okay, I’m not sure that I remember any sermons in that parish. But, I remember an offer of a ride to camp and phone calls on birthdays. And, I know that the kingdom of God flourished in that place, and the kingdom grew in my daughter and me as a result.

Sometimes small things become big and the hospitality of God’s inclusive kingdom is seen on a scale beyond a single family or a single parish. The Amish community who recently suffered the tragic murder and injury of their beautiful, precious little girls said small words of forgiveness and inclusion to the family of the murderer…but who can doubt how big those words have become? The entire world, even the often cynical media, saw what the kingdom of God was like from the words and actions of these Christian people who live such simple, ordinary, faithful lives.

As priests, we will be called to be in those small, ordinary places with the people we serve and to know that they are truly holy. To show hospitality and to help bring God’s inclusive kingdom wherever we serve and to whomever we serve. God willing, at our ordinations, we will hear our bishops remind us that we are called to “love and serve the people among whom (we) work, caring alike for young and old, strong and weak, rich and poor.” He or she will say that to us before they mention preaching or declaring forgiveness or administering the sacraments.

For me, that foundational call to love and serve those among whom I will work, to understand or even to remember what true holiness and hospitality are all about, can be difficult in a world of paper deadlines, senior sermons, liturgy weeks, and GOEs. Sometimes, it is even possible to rationalize putting that call in second (or third) place while I attend to the seemingly “more important” aspects of my study. But, this call to love and to serve must always be foundational, central to my call, surely perhaps to all our calls.

I cannot forget that now, and if I forget that later… later when I am in a world of every Sunday sermons, leaky church roofs and bad plumbing, protracted vestry meetings, tight parish budgets, and diocesan committee assignments…then I fear my ministry will, before long, become flat, joyless, and pretty unrewarding…for those among whom I work and for myself.

But with an understanding of and commitment to live out that call to love and serve, even when those we serve are sometimes not particularly lovely and when we ourselves may not feel particularly loving, then our preaching, declaring forgiveness, and administering the sacraments will make real sense, and we can be messengers of God’s kingdom.

What is the kingdom of God like? And to what shall I compare it?

The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed that grows into a sheltering tree.

It is like a woman mixing yeast with flour to make bread that can be shared with others.

It is like healing a nameless, crippled, insignificant woman and affirming her as nothing less than “a daughter of Abraham.”

The kingdom of God is where small becomes big; where the common, ordinary stuff of life is holy; and where all are included and welcomed.

AMEN.