By Andrea Lingle

Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, "Woman, you are set free from your ailment." When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But 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." But the Lord answered him and said, "You hypocrites! 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 Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?" 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. Luke 13:10–17

From my point of view the world has no horizon, a person is known by her feet, the road is a slow rolling river of dust. I see fellow things left along the roadside: a broken water skin, olive pits, frayed bits of rope, a scattering of wheat hulls. Discarded things. Broken things. Things too twisted to be of use. 

I am a cripple. I cannot stand any higher than a child though my tunic, well-belted to my curved form, was my mother’s before it was mine. They say my body is twisted by sin, but I do not remember the sin my body pays for. Perhaps it was the rebellious thought of a toddler or a stolen fig? I do remember the sin my heart pays for—it hangs like a millstone around my neck. Had I known that those scornful words would be the last I spoke to her, I would have bitten off my tongue before speaking.  

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.” Jeremiah 1:5a

My hair is long and straight. It hangs before me like a shield. On Sabbath, I am careful to twist it into long braids and tuck it away so that I can catch glimpses of the rabbis in the synagogue. I love to come and hear the reading of the Torah as I sit quietly near the walls. On Sabbath, I can listen for the whole day, shifting with the shadows. No one bothers me much, not on Sabbath, because everyone is sitting and listening. If I am bent, surely it is in prayer. If I am quiet, surely it is in reverence.

On Sabbath, I take my offering to the Altar. The most beautiful of the things I have gathered from the roadside. No one sees me as I bring a broken tassel or lost charm and wave it low. The rest of the accumulation I lay before me to sell in the marketplace each day. I get by, broken bit by bit. I have a quick hand for melding frayed ends into solid rope and patching what seems irreparable. I understand broken things.

If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. The LORD will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in. If you refrain from trampling the sabbath, from pursuing your own interests on my holy day; if you call the sabbath a delight and the holy day of the LORD honorable; if you honor it, not going your own ways, serving your own interests, or pursuing your own affairs;  then you shall take delight in the LORD, and I will make you ride upon the heights of the earth; I will feed you with the heritage of your ancestor Jacob, for the mouth of the LORD has spoken. Isaiah 58:9b-14

His feet were dusty and dark. He was a road-dweller. When he called to me, I could not see his face, bent as I was, but turned to him without hesitation. His hand on my shoulder sent warmth down my back. He bent and whispered to me. “Sister, I see you.” His voice sounded like cold clear water on a hot day. “God loves you. Do you want to stand?” I reached my arms up to his waist and pulled. He called my name, and I reached for his elbow. He stood, rooted to earth, as I clambered to his shoulder. When my back was straight, I looked him in the eye.

“No. I want to be forgiven.”

As I walked away, back bent and heart light, I could not help but sing. 

In you, O LORD, I take refuge; let me never be put to shame. In your righteousness deliver me and rescue me; incline your ear to me and save me. Be to me a rock of refuge, a strong fortress, to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress. Rescue me, O my God, from the hand of the wicked, from the grasp of the unjust and cruel. For you, O Lord, are my hope, my trust, O LORD, from my youth. Upon you I have leaned from my birth; it was you who took me from my mother's womb. My praise is continually of you. Psalm 71:1–6