Sabbath is for Liberation
One of the uncomfortable truths that we, as Christians, need to wrestle with on a regular basis is that our faith has long been used and continues to be used to support anti-semitism. Hopefully we have not been ignorant of the ways in which the gospel message of liberation has been twisted and abused to justify bigotry, forced conversion, and genocide against our Jewish siblings. Each time a passage comes up in the lectionary in which Jesus is seen going head to head with the Pharisees, this history of anti-semitism floats to the surface of my mind, and I get defensive. Remember we’ve talked in weeks prior about how it’s ok to not be entirely comfortable with what we read in the Bible. But, as I’ve said before, the solution to our discomfort is not to ignore or simply discard the parts that seem harmful or that give us the ick. Rather, we ought to wrestle with them, to be in dialogue with them, and to re-examine them through different lenses to see if we can find grace in their midst. So, how can we find grace in this passage, which appears to show Jesus casting aside the Jewish laws regarding the Sabbath, the day of rest?
I don’t think Jesus in this passage is going out of his way to break a rule, a part of Jewish law, simply for the sake of breaking a rule. It’s pretty clear, I think, that he breaks this rule for a particular reason—to unburden a woman who is bent over. What isn’t entirely clear, though, is why this particular act is apparently so offensive to the leader of the synagogue, who grumbles to everyone BUT Jesus about what Jesus has done. In her new translation of the gospels, scholar Sarah Ruden points out that it would have been permissible in Jewish law to break the Sabbath in order to save a life—though she does point out that this exception would not extend to non-humans. So why not offer that same exception to the woman in this story? Perhaps the religious leaders preferred to ignore her. Perhaps they didn’t see her as worthy of help, or as in need as others. Perhaps the Sabbath was their excuse for not helping, for keeping her on the outside of the life of the community. Maybe they had another excuse for each day of the week, so that they would never run the risk of feeling obligated to welcome her into the center.
Or who knows, maybe the synagogue leader was just looking for something to complain about when it came to Jesus.
I certainly don’t claim to be an expert in Jewish law, or in rabbinic teaching for that matter. But it seems to me that Jesus might have been trying to make a point about how we use the Sabbath, and what the Sabbath ought to mean. It seems to me that the very concept of Sabbath is inextricably linked to the idea of liberation. It becomes a part of Jewish law during the exodus from Egypt, the narrative that epitomizes the idea of liberation in biblical tradition. Sabbath came down the mountain with Moses, a commandment that would have God’s people imitate God, the Creator. It was a recognition of the image of God that the Israelites bore, a recognition of the body’s need to rest, and a recognition of the inherent worth of humanity. Sabbath was a radical shift from the slavery from which they had just been delivered, and a sign that God places greater value on people than on endless productivity and ever-increasing profits. Sabbath is a part of the liberation story of Exodus, an act of resistance against dehumanizing economic systems, and an affirmation of the image of God which rests within each of us.
When Jesus sees this woman in the temple, he sees someone who had not been allowed to partake in the liberative aspects of the Sabbath because of her disability, and so he takes it upon himself to offer her liberation. Now, a more traditional—what some might call “plain” reading of the text—might take the position that liberation from disability means returning to the default or the correct state that our bodies should be in. And perhaps for many disabled people, liberation would mean not being disabled anymore. But it also means having access to healthcare to treat chronic illness and pain. It means having spaces and infrastructure that are accessible, and that don’t push people with disabilities to the edge of society. For this woman at the synagogue, it was not her disability alone that prevented her from partaking in the fullness of sabbath rest and the life of the community, but also the passive and active rejection of her disabled body by the worshiping community. Christ calls out this rejection, and continues to call us to examine the ways in which our spaces, our worship, our community of faith are inaccessible.
There are others, too, who are excluded from Sabbath rest. There are workers for whom Sabbath means fewer meals on the table, a missed rent payment, or no heat. There are caregivers, disproportionately women, for whom Sabbath means that no one is looking after children or parents. What does Sabbath look like for them? What does Sabbath mean for the unhoused, for those living in fear of deportation, for queer and trans folks constantly looking over their shoulders? For our Jewish and Muslim siblings living in fear of targeted attacks? In this world where it seems like evil never tires, never takes a day off, never slows down, it is more important than ever that we remove as many yokes from the burdened as we can, and it is especially important that we not contribute even more to one another’s burdens. True, liberative Sabbath can take place only when we recognize the ways in which others are barred from experiencing rest, and choose to do something about it.
All this isn’t to say that we shouldn’t take time to rest. I hope you’ve learned by now that I highly value taking time to rest and not work. What I am saying is that the ability to rest is a part of God’s liberating vision. You may notice that this story is nestled amongst Jesus’ series of mini explanations of the nature of the Kingdom of God. Just before this story, Jesus talks about the fig tree, and just after he compares the Kingdom to a mustard seed and some yeast and so on. This act, this demonstration of the relationship between liberation and Sabbath, is a further exploration of the nature of the Kingdom. It argues that in God’s Kingdom there is room for all—all those who have been pushed to the side, all those who have been told it would be too expensive or impractical to accommodate them, all those carrying burdens both seen and unseen. It proclaims that in God’s Kingdom there is room to find rest—from our work, from our fear, from the evil of this world— simply because we are made in the image of God, and that makes us worthy. And it does not let us off the hook. It calls us out for the ways in which we allow others to go on working, completely unaided, even when they are working just to survive.
The Kingdom of God is a place of rest, a refuge in the midst of a world shaken by sin and bursting with breaking hearts. But it is not a shelter for our complacency and our excuses. It’s a challenge. How can we help others to encounter the liberative rest offered to us through Sabbath? How can others help us do the same? I know I tend to ask a lot of questions from my position in the pulpit, some of which are rhetorical—these are not. We are called to make this world a place where the weary may find rest. May our moments of Sabbath, our days of rest, strengthen us for that task which lies ahead. Amen.