Eighteen Years is Too Long

Eighteen years.  It can pass in the blink of an eye or be indeterminable agony.  As we come to the point in the lectionary where we read about one of the Pharisees again challenging Jesus (Luke 13), we often loose sight of the woman Jesus healed.  Her eighteen years was too long…

To live in the midst of pain.

Of struggling with the every day tasks of life that others take for granted.

Of worrying about the future. 

Time passes in seconds.  In minutes.  In hours.  Days.  Weeks.

Eighteen years is too long.

Where will you live?  How will you get by? 

Who will you have to beg a favor from?

To some you seem invisible.

Others you dare not look in the eye.

Eighteen years is too long.

To bear the weight of the burden.

The loneliness, the heartache.

Your heart breaking because you tire of being the burden.

The desire for one day filled with peace, to be pain free.

Eighteen years is too long.

Every day you confess your identity as a child of the King.

You smile through the tears.

Try to bear the burden with dignity.

Dare to love again but as those with the best of intentions break your heart - for your burden is simply too much for them to bear.

Eighteen years is too long.

And so this daughter of the King, this daughter of Abraham, her life becomes the tangible sign of the Messiah.  The promise confessed faithfully throughout the generations of a day longing when God would come and heal the wounds of his people, to set all things right again, to make all things new. 

As the sun rose that Sabbath morning, I wonder if there was a different melody stirring in her soul?  What made this day any different?

It was no accident that Luke tells this Daughter of Abraham’s story the way that he does – first, intent on providing Jesus’ teaching, second Jesus’ parable to illustrate the meaning, and then the tangible way God’s extravagant grace played out before the people’s very eyes.  This is not the first time Luke does this, and it won’t be the last.

The question that has plagued us for eternity was on the hearts and minds of the people.  Two terrible things had happened – a man-made catastrophe and a pure accident.  The people’s hearts questioned – was this punishment for sin?  Was it God’s will?  An accident?  Why didn’t He stop it?  For if something good happens, we take credit.  When something bad happens, we blame God.  Jesus’ response to these terrible happenings of the day is great paradoxical truth that may seem like the most expected non-sequitur. 

And as if to illustrate his words, while teaching in the synagogue on the Sabbath, Jesus sees the invisible woman.   Eighteen years is too long.  But the synagogue leader didn’t see a daughter of Abraham, he saw a distraction and interruption.  He had forgotten that the Sabbath was the wedding ring of the covenant, and not meant to be a heavy weight around his neck, but a gift.  A sign of the covenant of God and his people.  Set apart.  Dearly loved.  Perhaps he was a man that loved systems more than people.  Or perhaps he was exhausted, frustrated and had simply lost his way.  Perhaps he had allowed the weight of his call to become duty and not his delight.  Or perhaps he worshipped the gift and not the Giver.

Did it break Jesus’ heart to see how far humankind had come?  The first day on earth was spent with this gift of Sabbath.  And here it was, twisted, despised and used to hurt rather than heal.  For God had been so careful to show his people how this time was different.  For His people, the animals, the land…  Of all the laws given, this had been twisted so deeply.  So Jesus speaks again in a language that man will understand.  He takes the teaching technique of tza’ar baalei hayim and patiently walks the people step by step so they and we can see what his eyes see in this Daughter of Abraham.  It’s understandable to wrestle with questions in life – for things are rarely cut and dry, easy to distinguish.  Which is the better thing?  Sometimes you say no to a good thing, when weighed, to say yes to a better thing.  Jesus doesn’t operate outside and apart from the law but inside, fulfilling it.

For it was written that you couldn’t untie an animal except so it could get water and wouldn’t die of thirst.  Protecting us from working.  And the animal from death and pain.  “If a donkey could be ‘unbound on the Sabbath to prevent suffering for one day, how much more should a woman be ‘unbound’ on the Sabbath from what has afflicted her all these years.” When a burden demands healing, there is no need to wait.  Eighteen years and one day would be one day too long.

And in this moment, the holiness of God weighs down on our shoulders as the Spirit stirs memories of the people we have passed by, those we have made invisible or require more time than we have.  The words echo over our hearts and we see that we have not born the burdens, walked beside our brothers and sisters, listened in tragedy and cried with their pain.  We have not called out to the Creator who is making all things new.  We have cast blame on them for their infirmities and love the systems we have more than the beloved children of the King.

But take heart!  For the double-edged sword cuts both ways.  For as sure as we see our sinfulness, we see our Savior.  One who tells us that his yoke is easy and his burden is light.  The one who is bound like Isaac, but yet provides the sacrifice so we can be loosed from our sins.  For this woman whose life now speaks for all of eternity was one who suffered greatly.  For she was no worse a sinner than we were.  And yet the tree in the vineyard of the King -from Jesus’ parable–was ultimately cut down, not bringing us death but abundant life.  “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.  But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquties; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed.  All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned – every one – to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” 

Hear these words of hope.  Jesus sees you.  You are not an interruption or waste of his time.  When you hear his voice calling your name, run to the table.  Not with burdens pressing and weighing down on your shoulders.  But healed, whole and rejoicing.   May the bread and wine, his body and blood provide you a true Sabbath rest for “he himself has born our burdens on the tree.”  You are free.