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10 Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. 11 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. 12 When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, "Woman, you are set free from your ailment." 13 When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. 14 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." 15 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? 16 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?" 17 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 NRSV)
Eighteen years. Let that number settle in your heart for a moment. Eighteen years of looking down instead of up. Eighteen years of seeing feet instead of faces, dust instead of sky. This unnamed woman carried not just physical affliction, but the accumulated weight of social invisibility, religious exclusion, and daily humiliation.
Yet something remarkable happens in this passage: Jesus sees her. In a culture where women, especially disabled women, were often overlooked, Jesus notices. He doesn't wait for her to cry out, to push through crowds, or to prove her worthiness. He simply sees her need and acts.
But here's where the story gets uncomfortable for us. The religious leaders are indignant—not because a woman suffered for eighteen years, but because Jesus chose to heal her on the Sabbath. They had grown so attached to their interpretation of God's law that they couldn't celebrate God's mercy when it appeared right before them.
How often do we find ourselves in the same position? How often do our rigid expectations of how God should work blind us to how God is actually working? We can become so invested in our theological boxes, our denominational boundaries, our cultural preferences, that we miss the very presence of Christ moving among us.
Jesus calls the religious leaders "hypocrites," pointing out that they would untie their animals to give them water on the Sabbath, yet they begrudge freedom for a "daughter of Abraham" who has been bound for nearly two decades. The logic is devastating: if compassion for livestock is acceptable, how much more should we celebrate the liberation of a human being created in God's image?
This challenges us to examine our own hearts. What have we allowed to become more important than human dignity and freedom? What rules, traditions, or comfort zones have we elevated above love? Where might we be hindering rather than helping God's work of healing and restoration in the world?
The woman's immediate response to healing is profound—she stands up straight and praises God. There's something beautiful about the connection between physical healing and spiritual worship. When we experience God's liberating power in our lives, praise becomes as natural as breathing.
But notice that her healing doesn't just affect her—it affects the entire community. The religious leaders are put to shame, and "the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing" (v. 17). Freedom is contagious. When one person is liberated, it creates ripple effects that can transform entire communities.
We all have our bent places—areas where we've been curved inward by pain, fear, shame, or simply the weight of living in a broken world. Some of our ailments are visible, others hidden. Some we've carried for eighteen years, others for eighteen days. But the same Jesus who saw and healed this woman sees us too.
The question is: Are we willing to let him straighten what has been bent? Are we ready to stand tall and praise God, even if it makes others uncomfortable? And perhaps most challengingly, are we prepared to celebrate when others experience the same liberation we long for ourselves?
PRAYER: Gracious God, like the woman in this story, we come before you carrying the weight of our bent places—the areas where pain, fear, and brokenness have curved us inward and downward. Open our eyes to see your presence among us, even in unexpected moments and places. Give us the courage to stand straight when you call us to freedom, and help us celebrate liberation wherever we encounter it, even when it challenges our expectations. May we be people who see others as you see them—beloved children worthy of dignity, healing, and hope. Through Christ our liberator, Amen.
Have a great and blessed day in the Lord! OUR CALL TO ACTION: This week, look for someone who has been "bent over"—perhaps by circumstances, systemic injustice, or simply the weight of daily struggles. Practice the ministry of seeing: notice them as Jesus noticed the woman in the synagogue. Then ask yourself: How might God be calling you to participate in their liberation? It might be through advocacy, practical help, a kind word, or simply the gift of being truly seen and valued. Let the healing of this ancient woman inspire contemporary acts of compassion and justice in your own community.
I love you and I thank God for you!
Pastor Eradio Valverde, Jr.
