An audible gasp spread throughout the sanctuary as the sound of shattering crystal reverberated from the back of the room. Wine seeped through the tunneled pathways created in tile grooves, and the little girl who accidentally dropped the communion vessel backed away in horror and embarrassment at her mistake. Without a second of hesitation, the priest silenced the shock with a stern and compassionate correction, “It’s fine. Everybody–I’m serious. It’s fine.” People looked to her as the leader, but minds clearly rehearsed personal worries about the cost of the crystal, the value of the wine, the interruption of Eucharist, and the sovereign symbol being spilled out on the floor. The priest directed her eye contact to the small child and assured her, “Honey, it’s fine. We’ll clean this up and get some new wine. You’re okay.” The little girl stepped boldly over her mess, approached the front of the altar to receive her basket, and confidently walked up to each row to receive money. Though her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, she trusted what the priest had said. Her identity was not defined by this mistake; she needn’t hide. The priest redirected her assurances to the rest of the congregants, “Remember what we just learned: our God is always recreating. It’s fine; I assure you.”
This snapshot of a moment so clearly illustrated the homily that wrapped up mere minutes before we were given an opportunity to nestle its concepts. We read the gospel passage about a woman who had been bound up for 18 years with some sort of torment that caused her to hunch over. The text isn’t clear about whether this is a physical ailment or a serious case of fear or shame that had festered for almost two decades. Honestly, it doesn’t matter, because Jesus saw her, approached her, told her she was free, and she stood up for the first time in years.
In typical religious fashion, the surrounding onlookers were upset. How did Jesus have the audacity to unbind a woman on the Sabbath? This is a day for holy observance, not service–even to others. But Jesus quickly reminds them of his character by asking a question. “Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom the accuser bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?” If it was acceptable to unbind an animal and offer it water, how much more acceptable was it for a daughter of Abraham to be unbound from years of torment that left her head hanging low? Jesus was declaring her true identity; she was a daughter of freedom. He was inviting her to stand up into that heritage. And in its truest form, that is the essence of Sabbath. Time to remember and remind one another of our inheritance.
The Old Testament passage in Isaiah tells us about the character of God. He makes darkness turn to light. He guides us continually. He satisfies in parched places. He makes our bones strong. He makes us like a well-watered garden whose waters never fail. He rebuilds our ancient ruins. He repairs breaches. He restores the streets on which we dwell. He makes stronger foundations for future generations. And He asks us to take one day a week to remind ourselves of these facts. It doesn’t change a thing about His faithfulness if we choose not to; his urging is for our own benefit. The Sabbath is not about refraining from work to obey a command. It’s about stepping into a truer identity. It’s about taking a day to rehearse the truth that God is always recreating. He is always rebuilding. He is always inviting us out of bondage and into freedom. The Sabbath is about taking time to recount the ways He has done this before, so we have the courage and perseverance to trust Him in the here and now.
Throughout Scripture, we see God continually offering a different economy. Where the situations of life seem to subtract, He steps in to multiply. I don’t understand it. But as I take time to pause on this Sabbath, I realize that the trend has been true in my own life. In the face of the biggest losses that I thought might kill me, I couldn’t have imagined feeling anything other than heartache. However, I stand further down my life’s timeline with newer freedoms and confidences that I could not have anticipated would birth from such gut-wrenching pain. And yet they always seem to do just that.
There is not a guarantee of a time-frame, so as each new heartache rears its ugly head, the old fears inevitably resurface: Will this be forever? Are things ruined? Can I get through this? What will people say? Before I know it, those questions can spiral into a new form of a hunched posture that needs unbinding. To circumvent new bondage, I have to hear the Isaiah passage with urgency. Because right after the list of all those beautiful things that define the Creator, he offers this advice: IF you refrain from trampling all over the Sabbath, then you shall take delight… and God will make you ride upon the heights of the earth.
We need time each week to revert our focus to the truths of who God is. This isn’t about religiously avoiding all work-related tasks. This is about consciously choosing to reorient our inner compasses back to due north. For if I take time to remember who God is, I start to feel reminded of who I am. Then I can more easily rehearse the ways in which we’ve overcome in the past, which restores my hope for the future. Soon, this all starts to relieve the pressures that seem to bury me on this earth and offer a glimpse at rising above.
So when the crystal is shattered on the floor at our feet, wine has stained our shoes, and the audible gasps seem to lace our dreams with shame, we must pause at least once a week and hear the calm and confident voice of Love saying, “It’s fine. You’re okay. I am always in the business of recreating. Remember what is true of Me. Remember how that redefines you. Stand up, Daughter of Freedom; you’re no longer bound.”
this wordy world 