08.07 | Religious Education
Luke 13:10-35
‘But the ruler of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had healed on the Sabbath, said to the people, “There are six days in which work ought to be done. Come on those days and be healed, and not on the Sabbath day.”’
Luke 13:14
One of the things that really irritates me is hearing how Religious Education is taught to my kids.
Don’t get me wrong, I love that they get to learn about the customs and teachings of other religions. I love that they’re encouraged to name points of difference, to test and weigh ideas. I love that we live in a city where they get to see Christianity in contrast to and in interaction with the religions of the world.
And yet, the thing that really bugs me is how Christianity is communicated.
Because, sooner or later, every R.E. teacher (expect, in most cases, for the Christian ones) will tell the kids how Christians have to follow the rules.
Christians have to keep the Ten Commandments.
Christians have to love their neighbour.
Christians have to go to church on Sundays.
Christians have to read the Bible.
Christians, they say, have to.
Now this is, at one level, understandable. It is the way that religion works. Religion teaches that there are certain rights and wrongs, rules to be kept, things to do or not to do, and in obeying these religious obligations a person either pleases or fails to please God.
This is what is taught.
And yet, it so very deeply misses the heart of the Gospel.
Today we have this stunning story that cleaves the difference between Kingdom life and dead religiosity. It puts before us a stark picture of how the Way of Jesus and the way of religion are completely different things.
And it starts with this woman, bound by an evil spirit that bends her double, as she has been for eighteen years.
Eighteen years.
Eighteens years of being unable to stand up straight. Eighteen years of staring at the floor. Eighteen years of pain and obstacles. Eighteen years of this disabling spirit, speaking dark words to her soul. Eighteen years, suddenly transformed by a word from Jesus. She walked home that day, able to look at the sky and birds, the trees, breathing freely, with a life of possibility open to her again.
But his isn’t just a story about a healing. It’s also a story about religiosity. Because the ruler of the synagogue, we read, is indignant. He’s angry. He’s offended. Jesus has done something that contravenes his rules. The Sabbath, he thinks, is about synagogue and resting. It’s not for working and healing. That doesn’t fit his categories of behaviour. That doesn’t keep the rules. The ruler of the synagogue has fallen into the primary trap of the religious: where rule-keeping becomes more essential than re-creation.
The beauty of the healing is maybe surpassed by the beauty of what is being shown to us. Because the Way of Jesus is not a limiting set of rules to follow, but the most expansive way to truly live. Christianity is not about keeping the rules; it is about becoming more alive. Any ‘rules’ that we have are so very secondary to the endeavour of life and freedom, and are subservient to the things of love and justice. Religion teaches that life is about the rules; Jesus’ teaches that the rules were only ever meant to lead us towards life.
We need this too. We need this every time we think God is looking to limit us with restrictions, rather than release us into true liberty. We need this every time we find ourselves making the rules more important than re-creation, or boundaries more important than beauty. We need it every time we find ourselves trying to squash the Almighty God of freedom, love and life, into the miserable little boxes of the religious, missing the glorious truth that His every intention looks vastly beyond every rule, daily working instead to restore us into His brand new world of wholeness.
Reflect:
Think over your motives. What drives your choices before God right now?
Rules? Or the invitation of His love that leads you to life?
Pray:
Father,
I see myself in this story.
I’m the woman, bent double and heavy-laden—
The dark words of the enemy messing with my mind.
I know what it feels like, to feel like an alien among the religious—
And yet with a vague sparkle of hope
That you may be greater than this.
In these places, Father of love,
Heal me,
Deliver me,
Restore me,
And set me upright again.
And Father,
I’m also sometimes the synagogue ruler:
Indignant, offended, counting and critiquing.
In these places, Father of love.
Set me free.
Expand my heart
To the true and greater vision of purity,
That comes not from legalistic rule-keeping,
But renewal and love and glory—
Where this heart is transformed
In the stunning freedom
Of irreligious liberty
And transforming love.
In Jesus’ Name,
Amen
Old Testament:
For those also reading the Old Testament this year, your additional readings are here:
Isaiah 46:1-49:7 | Psalm 83