What a scene we have in our gospel text today! I love it!
Jesus is teaching in the synagogue on the Sabbath, and everything is going great.
The leader of the synagogue seems to be on board—it’s nice to have a guest speaker who brings a little prestige to your local congregation.
But then a woman in need shows up to spoil the party.
Can we be honest with ourselves for a moment here? Have we ever felt uncomfortable when someone clearly in need, someone who definitely doesn’t fit in with our crowd, shows up at worship?
I’ll confess to my shame that I have.
But Jesus, instead of dismissing or marginalizing her, or even waiting until after the sermon to take her aside and care for her, brings her right into the heart of the worship service and heals her.
The crowd loves it.
The leader of the synagogue is furious. But notice that he doesn’t quite have the guts to confront Jesus himself.
Instead, Luke says, “the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the Sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, ‘There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the Sabbath day.’”
Rather than reminding Jesus of the rules and thus risking a confrontation with a clearly powerful spiritual leader, he tries to intimidate the vulnerable people seeking out Jesus’ care.
Jesus creates the confrontation anyway.
He calls the man out as a hypocrite, and “when he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing.”
Okay, so here’s the thing you should know about me. I am a professional Goody Two-Shoes.
I spent the entirety of my childhood, teenage years, and the vast majority of my adult life following the rules.
I’ve always been a good girl. I’m on time, I’m nice, I never wear white shoes after Labor Day, and I always send thank you notes.
If there is a box to be checked to get approval, I check it.
If there is a social custom to be followed to adhere to etiquette, I follow it.
The best I could do for my rebellious phase as a teenager was cop an attitude with my parents every now and then. I was so boring I never even drank before I turned 21.
I’m the prim and proper, teacher’s pet, snot-nosed Goody Two Shoes you loved to hate when you were in school.
But the thing I’ve begun to realize as I’ve studied the gospels over the years is that Jesus is not a Goody Two Shoes. Jesus is a red-hot rebel.