You are home
“Home is where you hear love within the stillness.” Thank you, Raquel Franco.
In Luke’s Gospel, there is a life-giving story about a “bent woman.” We don’t know her name. Just the label that has been given to her. A label she has carried for 18 years. A woman “imprisoned” by her name.
Have you ever felt “bent,” bound or restricted in some way by a label given to you?
Have you ever felt weighted by such a label (or doubt, or shame, or even despair?)
Have you ever felt invisible? To those around you? Or to God?
This is an amazing story. Luke writes simply, “When Jesus saw her, he called her forward and said to her, ‘Woman, you are set free from your infirmity.’”
In other words…
I can see you.
You matter to me.
I love you for who you are.
This story could have gone another way. Jesus could have finished his lesson, and moved on to the next town, and no one—literally, no one—would have known, or even given any thought to this woman. She was invisible.
But Jesus didn’t move on. He stopped.
Not because this woman asked him to.
Not because she offered a reward.
Not because she believed.
Not because he felt coerced, or pressured, or needed brownie points.
He stopped. Because he saw her.
Which meant that he saw more than a superficial, cruel, limiting label. He saw not just a “bent woman,” but a “daughter of Abraham, and an heir to the blessings of God.”
Which meant that he saw a woman now free to pass those blessings on to anyone she touches. It is no surprise that he said this on a Sabbath. He invited this woman, even bent, to rest. He said, in effect, “Now that I see you, you are safe. You are home.”
My friend, I hope you hear the voice of Grace today. You are home.
You see, here’s the deal: When I miss the sufficiency and abundance in Grace, I see only scarcity, missing the fact that every single one of us has been gifted with creativity, heart, love, passion, gentleness, helpfulness, caring, kindness, tenderness, restoration and a shoulder to lean on (for crying or for dancing, depending on the mood at the time).
Grace calls something—invites something beautiful—from each one of us, and grace never leaves until the invitation is heard and embraced. It may shake up our life, there’s no doubt about that.
We’re not used to being unconditionally loved. (Okay, my confession; it was not at all easy to believe, that I was unconditionally loved.)
I do not know where you see Grace in your life. I do know we don’t cut ourselves enough slack, and I do know that when Grace appears, it’s best if we don’t analyze it, but just… pause, and let it seep into the core of our being. The reality of true Grace is that it does not waiver or diminish. It does not depend upon our response, performance, attitude, faith or checkered past. It just is.
Why? Because Grace heals not by taking shame away, but by removing the one thing our shame makes us fear the most: rejection.
What does it mean to live from wholehearted vulnerability, embraced by Grace?
Let us choose to eliminate the question, “What did you accomplish today?” It makes my head spin, as I’m never sure if I get the answer right. Instead, I hope that somewhere we hear the voice, “Look at my eyes. You are seen. Free from your label, you are valued. You are loved.”
Let’s just say that not everyone in the crowd that day was thrilled with what Jesus did. I’ve learned the hard way, that as long as there are overly-religious people (you know, people whose blind unquestioning devotion to rigid and dogmatic rules eclipse kindness and compassion every time; you know, people who clear their throats a lot, just to let you know you’re on the wrong side of the issue); there will be disgruntlement, even in the presence of mercy and grace. These are people who prefer to use labels. It’s easier to know where others fit. And easier to keep those who are different, in their place.
I don’t think Jesus was itching for a fight, but he gave them his two cents. Saying, “Dudes… you are definitely missing the boat here. I don’t really care how religious you are. This isn’t a contest. And the sad thing is, you suffer a form of blindness, because you are hypocrites.” Hypocrite—from the Greek hupokrites—relates to the practice when ancient theatrical performers hid behind the masks of a particular character. Sometimes the mask keeps us from seeing. And sometimes it keeps us from trusting.
So. What did the bent woman do? She recognized that she was more than the label. And she began to do a boogie, right there in the street. (Okay, that may be a minor free translation, but I’m sticking with it.)
What I do know, is that she ceased striving to be someone she was not.
To be blunt: she was at home.
“Finding a place where you can feel at home is something I think we’re all searching for… I believe we are all seeking a resting place of sorts—a place of meaning, a place of acceptance, and a place of relief where we are known and where performance isn’t required.
When you welcome someone home, you are saying to another human being: I’m so glad to see you. You belong here. You can rest here. You can be yourself here, exactly as you are.” (Thank you, Maria Shriver.)
Now, back to labels for a minute. They are a resigned choice. And when they define reality, we live stuck. Boxed in. And sorrowfully, with labels we ignore the people and systems, that hurt people.
In a recent conversation with someone I’ve known for some time, about a family we have known well for some time. “They’re just illegals.”
I stopped. And my heart skipped a beat.
No. They are human beings. Parents. Neighbors. Friends.
And they are suffused with dignity, and the Imago Dei.
What does it mean to practice Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s legacy of Ubuntu? A person is a person through other persons. My humanity is bound up in yours. Ubuntu does not ask whether we are connected. It tells us that we already are. And allows us the invitation and freedom to give, or receive, or apologize, or forgive, or love, or set right, or grant mercy, or receive mercy.
And to know that my choice is empowered by the gentle sovereignty in that voice, “I see you. You matter.”
Savor the moments on your Labor Day. And hats off to all who give, and work, and toil, and care. And please take a moment to say “thank you” to those in your life and world who give you the gift of Grace.
Quote for our week… “Humanity is not lost; it is buried beneath fear, greed, and noise. But every time you choose compassion over indifference, empathy over apathy, you bring us one step closer to remembering who we are. The world does not need more wealth or weapons—it needs people willing to be brave enough to care.” Cleo Wade
I write Sabbath Moment to create a space where we feel community—as we are walking one another home—and a place where, for a wee bit, we can put down the load we may be carrying. To be embraced by the gift of sanctuary. Welcome home indeed. I’m glad you are here. Please invite a friend to join us with Sabbath Moment.
And join us for Sabbath Moment Daily Dose (Tuesday through Friday). Go to the Sign up, and choose Daily under The dropdown menu.
BULLETIN BOARD
Today’s Photo Credit: “Terry, Steve and I just came back from Star Island which is off the coast of NH. So beautiful everywhere you turn. (This is sunrise from East Rock). It is my Spirit’s Home and although the conference required a lot of extroverting there was plenty of quiet time too. A true sanctuary. I did a lay led chapel service on Wednesday evening and mentioned the Sabbath Moment blog and yourself, as I quoted from one. The topic was ‘Be the light!’–lots of great material! Loved the Wendell Berry poem in today’s ‘daily.’ Take Good Care Terry, Blessings Always, Beth Hayward… Thank you Beth… And thank you to all, I love your photos… please, keep sending them… send to tdh@terryhershey.com
Yes, your gift makes a difference… Donation = Love…
Help make Sabbath Moment possible. I write SM because I want to live with a soft heart; to create a place for sanctuary, empathy, inclusion, compassion and kindness… a space where we are refueled to make a difference. SM remains free.
(Address by check: PO Box 65336, Port Ludlow, WA 98365)
POEMS AND PRAYERS
“Holy Ground, barefoot”
This people had no temple,
no worship-place.
This people built temples
for others,
for gods they dreaded,
rising in terrible power
over them, having
no regard for
their misery.
They prayed under
the weight of their burdens.
They cried out in
the unprayer of pain,
and God, having no need
of temples, heard,
as God always hears.
And God, leaning to the
brokenhearted, saw,
as God always sees.
For the very earth is holy.
The ground under our feet.
Take off your shoes and feel it,
feel the dry-ground-powder
and the sharp stones,
the infinite tiny beings
that call the earth home.
Take off your shoes.
Know you are part of
all this, part of the
the glory that fills
all things, as the waters
fill the seas.
You will be heard,
wherever you are.
You can listen,
wherever you are.
You are home.
Andrea Skevington
Music for the Soul…
New–
Amazing Grace — Dolly Parton
