A Sermon for the Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 16C)
August 24, 2025
Text: Luke 13:10-17
Now, O Lord, take my lips, and speak through them. Take our minds, and think through them. Take our hearts, and set them on fire. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
When I was in the second grade at Pinedale Elementary School in Enterprise, my teacher, Ms. Sellers, had a system for keeping us in line.
Maybe some of you remember something like this from your own school days.
On the wall, she had a big chart with every student’s name written on it. Above each name, there was a pocket with a set of colored cards.
Every morning you started out on green.
If you broke a rule—talked out of turn, forgot your homework, maybe pushed someone in line—you had to get up, walk over to the wall in shame, and change your card.
Green meant you were good.
Yellow meant a warning.
And if you ended up on red, that meant you were in serious trouble.
Now, thankfully, I was never one of those students who had to change my card. (At least, that’s how I remember it!)
But even as a seven-year-old in Ms. Sellers’ class, I learned that rules were serious business and that breaking the rules came with consequences.
Rules are rules. That’s what my teacher taught us.
And of course, rules do matter, right?
We teach our children rules so they can learn right from wrong and stay safe.
We have rules of the road so we can drive without getting hurt or hurting someone else.
We have rules in our households and schools to give structure and order.
But, I think most of us have lived long enough to know that sometimes, rules can get in the way of what really matters.
Sometimes rules—or the way we interpret them—can keep us from doing the good that God is calling us to do.
And that’s exactly what’s happening in our Gospel reading for today.
Luke tells us that Jesus was teaching in a synagogue on the Sabbath day.
Now, the Sabbath was holy to the Jewish people, a sacred day meant to be observed and protected.
It was one of the Ten Commandments: “Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy.”
It was meant to be a gift for God’s people—a day of rest, renewal, and worship.
But over time, that gift became buried under layers of man-made rules.
What started as a blessing could feel more like a burden.
By Jesus’ time, rabbis had created long lists of what counted as “work” and what didn’t—a kind of do’s-and-don’ts guide for the Sabbath.
There were rules about how far you could walk, what you could carry, even whether healing someone was considered “work.”
Even helping someone could be seen as breaking the rules.
Instead of joy, the Sabbath could bring anxiety.
People worried more about breaking a rule than honoring God. And religious leaders often used these rules to control people and protect their own authority.
And then, we have Jesus, who sees this woman in a synagogue who’s been bent over for eighteen years.
She couldn’t stand up straight.
She couldn’t look people in the eye or see the faces of those she loved.
She carried not just a physical burden, but the emotional and spiritual weight of being overlooked, diminished, and forgotten.
Jesus calls her over.
He lays his hands on her, and immediately, she is healed.
She stands up straight.
For the first time in eighteen years, she can look people in the face.
She can see the sky.
She can see the light in the eyes of her neighbors.
She can praise God.
But instead of rejoicing, the leader of the synagogue gets angry.
He says, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the Sabbath day.”
In other words: Rules are rules.
The healing was good.
But it broke the rules, and that’s one step too far.
Jesus responds with righteous anger.
“You hypocrites! Doesn’t each one of you untie your ox or your donkey on the Sabbath, and lead it to water? Then 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?”
Love comes first, Jesus says. The commandment to love God and love your neighbor outweighs every other rule.
That is the heart of this story: love—not rules, not appearances, not customs—is what should guide us.
When we love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love our neighbors as ourselves, then the rest of the law begins to make sense.
We begin to see what God really desires for us: life, healing, compassion, and restoration—not rigid rule-keeping.
Rules still matter, of course. But love comes first.
If following a rule prevents us from loving God or our neighbor, then we’ve lost sight of what God intends.
The Sabbath was meant to give rest, not to be a burden.
What greater rest could there be for the bent-over woman than to be set free from her suffering?
The law was meant to guide people closer to God, not separate us.
What greater closeness could there be than standing upright for the first time in eighteen years and giving glory to God?
By healing on the Sabbath, Jesus challenged the religious leaders. He put his reputation on the line. He invited controversy. He stepped into conflict.
But he did it because love demanded it.
And that’s what discipleship looks like.
To follow Jesus is to let love be our guide, even when it’s risky—even when it challenges what others might consider “normal.”
That’s the kind of calling we have here in this church: to let love be our guide.
To risk doing things that maybe other people don’t understand.
To open our doors and our hearts wide enough that everyone knows they have a place here.
That’s why we have ministries like our Rice and Beans Ministry—handing out free bags of groceries every month on the third Saturday, along with a hot breakfast. Because people are hungry, and Jesus calls us to feed them. We feed people’s stomachs, but we also feed their souls because when they come through our doors, they know they’ll be welcomed here, no questions asked.
We host Laundry Love every month on the third Thursday—covering the cost of washing and drying people’s clothes. Because love means honoring the dignity of every person and looking after the small, important things—like having clean laundry.
We offer Community Dinners every year on Thanksgiving and Christmas—providing holiday meals for those who might be alone or unable to cook for themselves. And not only do we serve them here, but we deliver meals to those who are homebound. Because love finds a way to show up at someone’s door.
We provide space for AA groups to meet here every week. Because healing comes in many forms, and love makes room for people to gather in honesty and hope.
And every December we hold a Coat and Blanket Drive, collecting and distributing warm clothes for those in need. Because love calls us to care for the needs of others.
Other churches might not do all these things.
They might say, “That’s not really the job of a church.” Or, “That’s not how we do things here.”
But friends, we should never apologize for who we are or what God has called us to do. The ministries we have to offer—the way we show up in our community and care for those around us—reflect the heart of the Gospel.
And it’s not just in our outreach ministries.
It’s also in the way we welcome people here, every Sunday. We mean what we say when we say, “All are welcome.”
In this church, we believe everyone has a place at the Table.
It doesn’t matter where you come from.
It doesn’t matter how much money you make.
It doesn’t matter if you’re a life-long Episcopalian or if this is your first Sunday ever setting foot in a church.
Here, you are welcome.
Here, you are loved exactly how God made you.
Here, you can find peace in knowing that you are God’s beloved and that nothing can ever separate you from that love.
Friends, Jesus calls us to live by love.
Sometimes that means breaking tradition.
Sometimes it means taking risks.
Sometimes it means stepping outside what feels comfortable.
But when love is our guide, we discover freedom—not just for others, but for ourselves.
Think about it for a moment.
The bent-over woman who was healed by Jesus wasn’t the only one set free that day.
The whole community saw God’s power to heal.
They saw that the Sabbath wasn’t about restrictions—but about life.
They saw that God’s love was bigger than their rules.
And when we live that way—when we let love be our rule—we too are set free.
Amen.
The Rev. Eric Mancil 