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| Our ancestors had very special ways of making sure we didn't skip church. |
When did church-going become a chore? Back
in Exodus 20:8-11 the Sabbath was supposed to be a day of rest and a time to be
with God and get refreshed. I mean, isn’t that a good thing? Gathering with a Christian community is supposed to be
what any family gathering is supposed to
be—a happy time to share a meal, get connected with folks who make us feel safe
and valued, catch up on what’s important, and come away feeling better than you
had when you were dragging your butt all week.
I’ll bet those early Christians in the
Roman Empire really looked forward to Sunday. That’s when slaves and free folk
could break bread together and be equals. They could sing together and hear God’s
promise that they were loved by God even though their lives tended to suck. They
also might’ve had the joy of knowing they were doing something really wild,
dangerous, and troubling to the folks who were in charge of making their lives
suck. But then along came Constantine, Christianity became legal, and church was
on its way to being mandatory.
Recently one of my faithful parishioners
told me her grandson protested that he could be a Christian without going to
church. I’ll admit to having felt that way myself once. Ironically, I was in
Seminary at the time. As senior Lutheran seminarians are not required to do
field work, I often found myself with a Sunday morning free when I wasn’t
scoring some cash by doing pulpit supply. On those Sundays I’d lie in bed and
think, “Gosh. I can sleep in today. After all, I’ve been to chapel five times
this week, so I think I’m good.” Besides, the local Lutheran church, although racially
diverse, seemed to have an unhealthy division between the African American and
Caucasian members. It just didn’t feel cozy to worship there. Also, the interim
pastor was a manuscript preacher whose interminable sermons and brain-numbingly
dull delivery were enough to make me envy the dead.
But every Sunday, feeling guilty about
breaking the third commandment, I’d drag myself out of bed and attend that
church. And every Sunday, God would speak to me in some way. It would be the
music or the liturgy or the readings or the Eucharist, but Jesus would always show
up, and I would always leave feeling glad that I’d come to worship. Jesus, you
see, heals on the Sabbath.
The Gospel lesson for Pentecost Fourteen
in the Revised Common Lectionary (Luke 13: 10-17) contrasts Jesus’ ability to
heal and bring mercy and glory to God with the religious leaders’ insistence on
turning a joyful experience into a legalistic act of drudgery. The woman with
the crippling spirit illustrates to me why our public gathering is so necessary.
I don’t know what actual physical malady is being described here, but I do
think it’s interesting that the scripture diagnoses her inability to stand
upright as the result of a spirit.
Jesus will say in verse 16 that this spirit is Satan. Maybe this isn’t a
physical condition at all, but an emotional or spiritual affliction. Maybe this
woman is bent over because of shame. Maybe she’s been an abused wife for
eighteen years. Maybe she suffers from self-esteem issues. Maybe she’s an
addict or an alcoholic. Maybe she’s burdened by the memory of past abuse or
family trauma. Maybe she’s bent over by the weight of her children’s problems.
Whatever has crushed this woman’s spirit
has not kept her from Sabbath worship. There she encounters Jesus who declares
her freedom and actually touches her—actually
acknowledges her as a child of Abraham and a beloved, valued person before God.
Then the power of God’s truth straightens
her out. (In the Greek, the verb is
anorthothe. It literally means
“she was made straight.” The King James Bible actually translates this very accurately.
I personally wouldn’t have figured this out if I hadn’t read it in a commentary.
Now I feel really smart for quoting Greek!)
That’s what Jesus does for us. He heals us
on the Sabbath. He straightens us out, because we probably wouldn’t get
straightened out on our own. He calls us to know him through the word and the
sacraments and the music and the fellowship. His touch and proclamation change
us from being curved into ourselves and make us able to stand straight, see the
world, give God glory, and become agents of healing ourselves.
Now, nobody’s going to put you in the
stocks and throw rotting vegetables at you for missing church like they used to
do in colonial New England. Most of us believe that God’s grace is merciful
enough to excuse a summer Sunday at the shore void of any religious observance.
Our culture just doesn’t make church-going into the legalistic burden it was in
the past.
No. I think we do that to ourselves.
Perhaps we bring to our place of worship our own pre-conceived idea that
Sabbath is a stuffy obligation to be endured. Perhaps we should enter the doors
of the church with the joyful expectation that we are going to be healed,
renewed, and used by our very presence as an instrument of God’s community. Maybe
we should take some time to understand liturgy, you think? Maybe we should
rejoice that we can share an experience which gives us gladness with our
children, and teach them to expect blessings from the Sabbath.
We spend a lot of our time getting bent
out of shape. We need to approach the Sabbath with the understanding that Jesus
will be there to straighten us out. As the Psalmist says, “I was glad when they
said to me, ‘Let us go to the house of the Lord!’” (Psalm 122:1) Jesus will be
there. And he heals on the Sabbath.
A good Sabbath to you all! Thanks for
visiting this week.
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