How to Better Read the Bible With Women: Jesus and the Bent-Over Woman ~ Luke 13:10-17

 

There is something beautiful and painful about the story in Luke 13. A woman walks into a synagogue bent over. Luke tells us that she has been this way for eighteen years. And Jesus sees her and sets her free.  Praise God! But the story isn’t over and not everyone is happy. The religious leader is upset. He doesn’t see a person healed. He only sees a Sabbath command to defend and a Savior to oppose. And I think that difference is really the heart of this story and the true battle of the Bible.

Because this story isn’t only about healing. It's a story about how we can read the Bible to heal or to harm. It asks, How do we read Scripture faithfully? How do we read difficult passages? How do we read a command when it seems to put someone else in a smaller place? And that’s why I want us this morning to watch Jesus read the Bible when a woman is bent over in front of him.

But first we need to slow down and read this story carefully. Because Luke is a masterful storyteller and there are important literary tricks that we might miss. The NIV says that this woman was “crippled,” but Luke's language is more mysterious. He doesn’t use the word “crippled” but says she had a “spirit of weakness” or “frailty,” and that she was bent over and unable to straighten herself. The Greek word Luke uses, astheneia, Paul will use for human weakness, possibly from oppression (see 1 Cor. 15:43 and 2 Cor. 13:4). So we shouldn't imagine that Luke is giving us a simple medical diagnosis or disability but a more complicated diagnosis of embodied trauma and disempowerment. Jesus himself says her condition was bondage by Satan.

And notice something else. Luke doesn't simply say that Jesus “healed” her. Jesus says, “Woman, you are set free from your weakness.” The Greek verb there is apoluo, a word that helps clue us into the nature of her affliction. The phrase “set free” isn’t normally used for healing or even exorcisms. It often means “liberate,” like a political prisoner (Matt. 27:15, 17, 21, 26) or can refer to releasing someone to do commissioned work (see Luke 8:38-39). So Luke is surrounding this encounter with rich and symbolic language that is deeper than disease or demons and more descriptive about freedom and release from domination.

All of this implies that the story is not merely about Jesus fixing a woman's body. Jesus is setting a bent-out-of-shape woman free in a male-dominated religious space. It’s more than the healing of a bad back. It’s the healing of a broken story. It’s a picture of the liberating kingdom of God.

Jesus sees her, calls her forward, touches her, and releases her. And then Jesus names her. And he does all of this in a religious world in which women were easily treated as secondary. A world where his own disciples could be “surprised to find him talking with a woman” (John 4:27). And Luke wants us to notice Jesus and this woman and consider our own response.  Because some people see liberation and praise God. Others are indignant and say God doesn’t allow it. Some “were delighted,” and others “were humiliated.” Some see a woman set free and others see a command broken. And the question is, “Which one will we be? Which crowd will we join? Which way of reading will we employ?”

Because Luke 13 gives us a remarkable contrast between two ways of approaching Scripture. Jesus practices Scripture principles on real people, experiencing real oppression. And we see its fruit. She stands tall and praises God. And the angry synagogue leader quotes Scripture, one of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:9), and wonders aloud why she simply can’t wait. Why Jesus can’t go slow. With Scripture in hand, he opposes Jesus and seeks to keep her bound.

He's got a biblical command. He's got a religious conviction. He's got a sincere concern for obedience. And yet Jesus says, in effect: You are using Scripture harmfully. And then Jesus makes the accusation even more serious. Jesus says that Satan has bound this woman for eighteen years. The synagogue leader thinks he is protecting God's command. But Jesus says his interpretation is preserving a bondage that God intends to break. I can’t read this passage and not hear Jesus saying, “You are reading the Bible and helping Satan.”

And that’s a frightening possibility for anyone who takes the Bible seriously. Because sometimes the most dangerous way to misuse Scripture is not to ignore it. Sometimes the most dangerous way to quote it in a way that keeps somebody bound. Your Bible can be open. Your doctrine can be orthodox. Your motives can be sincere. And yet you bend people out of shape. You tie people up in knots.

So here's the question I want us to sit with: What happens to women when we read the Bible? [BTW Feel free to change out “women” in that question for anyone of the following: divorced, the poor, LGBTQ+, the disabled, etc.] Do they become more free? More able to stand? More able to hear the voice of God and offer praise? More able to use the gifts God has given them? Or do they become smaller? Quieter? More afraid? More ashamed? More bent out of shape?

This is one reason I think learning about women and women's role in Scripture is such a good way to learn how to read the Bible like Jesus. Because there are stark passages in Scripture that would seem to suggest that women should be silent (1 Cor. 14:34). That women should be subordinate (1 Peter 3:1-7). That women should occupy a lesser role (1 Tim. 2:11-12). Those passages exist. We don't have to pretend they don't. The question is: What do we do with them? How do we read help people in the freeing, unbinding way of Jesus?

Because Jesus isn't afraid of Scripture. But neither does Jesus read Scripture as though every command exists independently of the God who gave it or the people God gave it for. Jesus doesn’t read the Sabbath command as a rule to protect but reads Scripture with a Sabbath mind, in a Sabbath way, for a Sabbath purpose.

And Jesus reaches back to the heart of the Sabbath tradition itself where God  commands the Israelites to rest in order for them to remember that they once were slaves and God freed them. Because Sabbath is about more than stopping work. Sabbath’s purpose is stopping slavery. So Jesus looks at a woman who has been enslaved and oppressed for eighteen years and essentially says to the people: If your interpretation of Sabbath prevents this woman from experiencing freedom, you've missed the point of Sabbath.

The synagogue leader reads the Sabbath command and sees a violation. Jesus sees a woman in need and reads Scripture with Sabbath freedom. The synagogue leader cares about the command. Jesus cares about the person. The synagogue leader knows how to read the Bible in a nuanced way that is conveniently merciful only to himself. Even on Sabbath, Jesus says, he knows his animals need to be untied and led to water. And Jesus doesn’t correct this nuanced reading. He affirms it. Instead, Jesus asks why that same mercy doesn't extend to the woman standing in front of him. According to Jesus, bad Bible reading isn’t the nuanced one but the hypocritical one.

Being nuanced is not less biblical. That's Jesus reading Scripture toward its deepest purpose. Jesus reads the Bible sabbathly. He reads the Bible in ways that privilege compassion and flourishing over and above literal readings which hurt people. This is precisely the reading strategy he promotes when he says, “The Sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27). He reads Scripture in a way that remembers what God is doing in the world: liberating people, restoring people, making room for people to flourish. He’s not less concerned about the Bible than the synagogue leader. He doesn’t take it less seriously. Jesus is concerned about what Bible reading is for – “for humankind.”

And this is where the story becomes particularly uncomfortable for the church. Because some Christians imagine that faithfulness is reading Scripture literally, practicing it woodenly, and protecting God defensively.

A woman says, “I believe God is calling me to preach.” Someone says, “But 1 Timothy 2 says women shouldn't teach men.” A woman says, “I believe God has given me gifts of leadership.” Someone says, “But Ephesians 5 says the husband is the head.” A woman says, “My husband is abusing me.” Someone says, “But the Bible says you're supposed to submit.” A woman says, “Something is wrong.” Someone says, “Are you sure you're not being rebellious?” And a woman says, “I've been harmed by a man in religious authority.” And suddenly the first question isn't, “How do we protect this person?” The first question is, “How do we protect the institution?” That's when biblical interpretation bears poisonous fruit.

And this doesn't mean that everyone who holds a complementarian interpretation hates women. They don't. The issue is deeper than that. What happens when a system of authority becomes more important than the bound person standing in front of us?

Look again at the woman in Luke 13. Her bondage isn’t a theological abstraction but one that involves real pain. Jesus doesn't debate whether she deserves freedom. He doesn't ask her to prove that she is worthy of being released. He sees her and says: You were not made for this. That's what flourishing looks like.

And then Jesus makes the argument almost humorous. He says, “Every one of you unties your ox or your donkey on the Sabbath and leads it to water.” In other words: You already know how to practice mercy when the creature in front of you is an animal you care about. You know how to make sure your ox isn't suffering. You know how to make sure your donkey gets water. You have figured out how to interpret the Sabbath in a way that serves the needs of your animals. So why can't you extend that same mercy to this woman? That's the ironic tragedy of the story. They have enough theological flexibility to water their animals, but not enough theological imagination to free a person in need. And then Jesus uses those extraordinary words: “Shouldn't this woman, a daughter of Abraham…be set free?”

That phrase “Daughter of Abraham” deserves our attention. It’s what New Testament scholars call a hapax logemena, a word or phrase that appears only once in all of Scripture. In fact, we know of no instance in any Jewish literature of this phrase ever being used. Through this one-of-a-kind phrase Jesus encourages the woman in a distinctly female way that recognizes her as both a commissioned actor in God’s redemeptive drama and a full recipient of its promise. Her identity prior had been wrapped up in her infirmity and a bent-over-theology that privileged men as “sons of Abraham.” But Jesus widens the circle: “Daughter of Abraham.”

Not a problem to be solved. Not a temptation to be managed. Not somebody's wife. Not somebody's daughter. Not a body that needs to be controlled. Not a woman who needs to know her place. A daughter of Abraham. A person who belongs. A bearer of the promise. A member of the covenant family. Someone through whom God is at work. That is what it looks like to read Scripture with Jesus.

When we encounter a difficult passage, we can ask: What is happening in the original context? What is this text doing? What interpretation moves toward human flourishing? What kind of fruit does this reading produce? And perhaps the most important question: Who is standing in front of me? How can I join Jesus and set them free?

So when we come to Scripture, let's bring more than our questions. Let's bring the woman who was told she couldn't preach. Let's bring the girl who learned to apologize before she learned to speak. Let's bring the woman who was told, “Know your place.” Let's bring the person who has been told that submission means enduring something Jesus never asked them to endure. Let's bring the person whose life has been damaged by religion. Let's bring the person who has been made smaller by someone else's interpretation of the Bible. And then let's stand beside Jesus and ask: Does this reading set people free?

Because when Jesus opens Scripture, bent people stand up. When Jesus opens Scripture, prisoners are released. When Jesus opens Scripture, daughters are named. When Jesus opens Scripture, people discover that they belong.

Because if we’re going to read the Bible with Jesus, we already know where the story is supposed to lead. Toward freedom. Toward love. Toward dignity. Toward life. Toward flourishing. Toward the delight of the kingdom of God. And toward a woman standing upright in the middle of the synagogue, praising God.

A daughter of Abraham. A child of the promise. A kingdom partner. A child of love who stands, unbound by a Savior with a Bible that sets them free. Amen.

Cut Off Your Own Hand, Not Hers: Jesus on Lust, Masculinity, and Blaming Women ~ Matt. 5:27-30

 

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, so I want to begin by naming the context in which we live. More than 1 in 4 American women have experienced sexual abuse, physical violence, or stalking by an intimate partner during their lifetime. That is more than 43 million women. And the church is not immune to this. Sometimes the church has confronted this violence. Sometimes it has been silent. And sometimes its own leaders have tragically helped create the very culture that allows it to flourish.

 

There is an entire Christian vocabulary built around this culture: “Don't tempt men. Don't cause men to stumble. Dress modestly. Don't make yourself an occasion of sin.” And here's the problem: The woman is being asked to control her body because the man can't control his. And I want to ask this morning: Is that what Jesus says?

Because listen to Jesus. “If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out. If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off.” And notice something almost painfully obvious. Jesus doesn't say, “Women, don’t wear shorts.” He doesn't say, “Women, stop enticing men.” He says to the person doing the objectifying: Deal with yourself.

Jesus uses some of the strongest language in the New Testament to make a clear and painful point: “Men, cut off your own hand. Not hers. Gouge out your own eye. Not hers.” Jesus puts responsibility for what we do with our desire squarely on the person who possesses the desire. And that is a profoundly different vision of masculinity.

 

Christian culture has spent an extraordinary amount of time motivating women to prevent men from sinning. Jesus spends his time teaching men how to become people who take responsibility for themselves. Because there is often a straight line from the familiar Christian warning, “Girls, be careful how you dress,” to much more dangerous questions, “Why did she make him do that?” “What was she wearing?” “Why didn't she leave?” And suddenly the man who committed the act disappears from the center of the story. The woman is on trial. And Jesus will have none of that.

And for those of you who have lived through that kind of blame, I want to say this plainly: you were not responsible for someone else's violence, coercion, or abuse. Your clothing did not cause it. Your body did not cause it. Your sexuality did not cause it. You did not make someone hurt you. Jesus does not put you on trial here. He places responsibility where it belongs.

Because Jesus' teaching is not about identifying women as lustful problems. Jesus’ teaching is about making men more responsible for their lustful problems. So what does Jesus actually mean by “lust”? The Greek word, epithymeō, translated “lust” in many English Bibles is bigger than mere sexual desire. Jesus isn't saying, “If you notice that someone is attractive, congratulations—you have committed adultery.” He's talking about something much deeper: coveting, possession.

That's why this passage is about more than sexual attraction. It’s about objectification. The negative movement is from, “I see you,” to, “I want you,” to, “I am entitled to you.” And that last movement is where things become dangerous. Attraction says, “She’s beautiful.” Entitlement says, “She owes me access to her beauty.” Desire says, “I am drawn toward her.” Possession says, “I want her for me.” Jesus isn't saying, “Stop being a sexual person.” He's saying, “Stop turning people into things.” In the patriarchal society Jesus lives in, where men have all the power, that’s radical.

And then comes the cutting part – the pointed part: “If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out. If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off.” Jesus is using outrageous hyperbole. He's not giving instructions for self-mutilation. He's saying: Take this seriously.

This is where the passage becomes prophetic. The history of patriarchy has often involved men trying to control women's bodies in order to manage men's desires. Jesus reverses the direction. You don't get to perform surgery on somebody else's body because you haven't learned how to deal with your own. Cut off your own hand. Not hers. Gouge out your own eye. Not hers. Take responsibility for yourself.

And there's another layer here. Why the “right eye”? Why the “right hand”? In the biblical imagination, the right side was associated with strength, honor, power, and authority. So Jesus' shocking imagery points beyond sexual self-control toward something larger. If your power is causing you to harm somebody else, surrender your power. If your authority makes you entitled, surrender your authority. If your privilege makes you incapable of hearing “no,” surrender your privilege. If your masculinity requires somebody else to become smaller, cut off that vision of masculinity.

 

This is where Jesus gives us a different vision. Toxic masculinity says that a real man gets what he wants, doesn't take no for an answer, is sexually dominant, controls women, doesn't show weakness, and is always in charge. And Jesus says “no.” “Whoever wants to be first must be servant of all” (Mark 9:35). Jesus redefines strength, leadership and power. The greatest person becomes the servant. And eventually Jesus takes a towel and washes the feet of his disciples and says, “This is my example for you.” That is Christian masculinity. Not, “How many people can I control?” but, “Whose feet am I willing to wash?” Not, “Who owes me?” but, “How can I serve?” Not, “Who has to submit to me?” but, “How can I use whatever power I have to make another person more free?”

And that brings us back to abuse. Because this isn't merely about lust. It’s about what happens when distorted desire combines with power. What happens when attraction becomes entitlement. What happens when entitlement encounters rejection. What happens when a man has been taught that his authority is something a woman must honor. And then we discover that the theology we teach about men and women has consequences in actual human bodies.

This is why we have to take domestic violence seriously. Abuse is about the misuse of power. And Christian communities have sometimes made that worse by giving men theological support for domination. That’s why we have to be willing to say that some Christian teaching about masculinity has failed. Not Christianity. Not Jesus. Us.

Brothers, what does “cut off your own hand” look like? It looks like men who can hear “no” without becoming angry. Men who can be corrected by women without becoming defensive. Men who can apologize without mansplaining. Men who don't confuse sexual attraction with entitlement. Men who correct another man when he crosses a line. Men who believe survivors rather than immediately interrogating them. Men who can say, “I did that.” “That’s wrong.” Or “I need help.” Men who seek counseling when their anger is becoming dangerous. Men who don't hide sexual misconduct behind the phrase, “She made me.” Jesus says: Take responsibility for what happens inside you.

 

And none of us becomes Christlike through secrecy. That's why confession matters. That's why accountability matters. That's why friendship matters, counseling matters, community matters. And perhaps this is where we need to rethink the whole language of “stumbling blocks.” For generations, women have been told, “Don't make men stumble.”

But a woman is not a stumbling block. A woman's beauty is not a moral emergency. A woman's confidence is not seduction. A woman's leadership is not a threat. A woman's freedom does not diminish a man. A woman's “no” is not an offense. Women are human beings, sisters, full-fledged partners.  And Jesus demonstrates what that looks like. Women learn from Jesus, follow Jesus, support Jesus' ministry. Women sit at his feet as disciples, challenge him, and become the first proclaimers of the resurrection.

 

Jesus doesn't spend his ministry protecting men from women. He spends his ministry liberating women and men from systems that prevent them from becoming fully human. He’s forming a radically different kind of community: a community where women aren't objects, where men aren't trained to dominate, where power is exercised for the sake of others, where the vulnerable are protected, where repentance is possible, and where nobody has to become less human so somebody else can feel more powerful.

Brothers, you don't have to be afraid of this conversation. This is not an accusation against every man in this room. It’s an invitation: Become the kind of man Jesus is making possible. A man who can be strong without being domineering, sexual without being predatory, a partner without controlling, apologize without collapsing, receive correction without becoming defensive, and use power without abusing it. Become a man who can see a woman and see a person. Not an object. Not a temptation. Not a possession. A person. An image-bearer. A beloved child of God. A sister. A neighbor. A fellow disciple.

So what is Jesus not teaching us? Jesus isn’t teaching us to hate our bodies. He's teaching us to surrender our entitlement. He's not teaching us to fear sexuality. He's teaching us to stop confusing desire with possession. He's not teaching us to control women. He's teaching us to control ourselves. He's not teaching us that strength is domination. He's teaching us that strength can look like surrender.

 

And that’s why Jesus' words are ultimately liberating. Because the man who blames women is not free. The man whose masculinity depends upon controlling others is not free. But the man who can say, “I don't have to possess you to love you,” is free. The man who can say, “Your freedom doesn't threaten me,” is free. The man who can say, “I was wrong,” or “I need help” is free. The man who can kneel down and wash feet—is free.

So this October, as we remember the victims and survivors of physical and sexual abuse, the church's prayer should not simply be, “God, protect women from dangerous men.” Our prayer should be: “Jesus, make us into people who refuse power without love.” Teach us to notice, to listen, to repent, to protect, to surrender, and to serve. Help our sexuality to become something more beautiful than possession.

The good news is that Jesus doesn’t simply tell us what to stop doing. He shows us what we can become. We can learn a new way. We can become safer people. We can become freer people. And I want to say one more thing to anyone here who has survived abuse: your story does not have to be finished today. You don't have to forgive before you're ready. You don't have to reconcile with someone who has harmed you. You don't have to pretend that what happened didn't matter. Jesus is not asking you to carry more. The good news is that Jesus meets you with love, dignity, and freedom—and you’re allowed to receive that love at your own pace.

When women become freer, men do not become weaker. When women rise, the kingdom of God rises with them. So sisters and brothers – rise, rise, rise! Amen.