One day years ago, over coffee, a friend and I came up with a youth ministry program that we thought might be great. It would use music as a means of gathering kids together, but the method would be to let them self-organize. We were thinking about all the kids we knew who were in bands, or who aspired to be in a band, and would love to have a place where they could gather together and play around with their music. These kids were at a vulnerable stage, trying to figure out who they were. A safe, stable, and caring community that encouraged and affirmed them in their creative endeavors was what they needed, we firmly believed. Neither my friend nor I was a musician, but we were hoping we could just provide the safe place to gather and the freedom to play and learn from each other.
My friend was the Christian Education Director at the church where we both worshiped, so we put the proposal out on the congregation’s newsletter, and just waited to see if we would get a reaction. We got a reaction.
The Church Music Director hit the ceiling. She was furious that we had done this without even consulting her – which we should have done. She was, after all the Director of Music. This was her domain, and she felt deeply wounded that we had done things completely out of order.
So a meeting was called with the pastor, the music director, the organist, my friend, and me. We apologized for what we had done. We had been blinded by our enthusiasm and felt terrible about the mistake we made. The music director wanted to handle any new program that might come about, and she had some ideas about how it should be done. My friend and I said, yes, please do. We want to do things in an orderly fashion. We never meant to break the rules. We would be so grateful if you would take this on.
So that’s where we left it. And that was the last we ever heard of it. Nothing. Ever. Happened. But at least we can say that nothing was done out of order, right?
Honestly, I have no idea if we would have had any success with that plan. I don’t know if it would have brought kids together in any kind of meaningful ministry. But it always did bother me that things were handled the way they were. It seemed to me like excuses were made in place of actually doing anything, and in the end, nothing was done.
And that is how I feel, too, about this synagogue leader.
“There are six days on which this type of work can be done,” said the leader of the synagogue. There are six right ways to do this, and some people insist on choosing the wrong one.
He directs his disapproval to the crowds, in case any of them came expecting Jesus to heal them on this day when healing is, evidently, prohibited.
There are a lot of things we don’t know about this incident. We don’t know if this bent over woman was a regular at the synagogue – if she came every day or if she just happened to come this day. We don’t know if there was a crowd of people who were there specifically for the intent of asking Jesus to heal them of their sickness and brokenness. We don’t know what town they are in or how long Jesus and his disciples have been there. All we know is they are in a synagogue, it is the Sabbath, and there is at least one person there in need of healing.
The gospel tells us that she was afflicted with an evil spirit that kept her bent over. What could that possibly mean? It might have been arthritis; someone who suffers from arthritis might agree that the term “evil spirit” is a fair description. Her affliction might have been osteoporosis; it might have been the result of a bad accident years ago that never healed properly. It could have been many things. But no matter what the precise diagnosis, one thing we can be sure about: she was suffering.
They are in God’s house, there is a clear need, and there is someone who has the ability to help. What is to stop him from this act of mercy? The rules.
The basis of this particular rule is the 4th commandment: remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy. But the interpretation of the commandment was built on layer upon layer of secondary law, spelling out every one of the possible activities that might be classified as work and therefore prohibited on the Sabbath.
Healing certainly can be classified as work, a vocation for many people. But healing is also an act of mercy, and the healing Jesus practiced was a means of showing the glory of God – something which is kind of the point of synagogue worship. So where does one draw the line between work and glorifying God?
The synagogue leader erred on the side of the rules, perhaps because that felt safer to him. But in doing so he may have broken another commandment, the one about idols. Because I want to say he turned the rules into an idol.
We all have to deal with these questions at times, figuring out the best solution when we are faced with two competing values. We don’t know what the fallout might be if we bend or break the rules. We don’t know what opportunities will be missed, what sins of omission might be made if we choose to stick by the rules.
This is not only a problem that faced first-century Judaism, it is a problem that plagues the organized church because we all have rules. Presbyterians, particularly, are quite fond of rules. We wave the banner of decency and order. We spend tremendous amounts of resources of time, energy, and money tending to our rules – debating them, refining them, updating them, testing them.
The rules are good. You’ll not hear me trashing Presbyterian Church polity because I believe that our rules go a long way in helping us be the best we can be. We need to have order, certainly. But don’t we also need to also make sure our order is always accountable to the gospel?
For example, when we are presented with an opportunity to do some kind of ministry, something new, something that might take us beyond our comfort zone, we might say, “Well, what about the liability? If something happens we could be sued.” And then we drop the whole thing, as though the question of liability were the trump card. When we do that, are we holding our order accountable to the gospel? or are we making the gospel accountable to our order?
Have you ever been in a situation when someone argued that we cannot do some potential ministry because of concern about the rules? Something that would serve the ones in need – feeding, healing, sheltering them – but would not happen because of the rules?
Can we hold our rules lightly enough to allow the Holy Spirit to break through?
At the General Assembly that took place earlier this summer, there was an instance of this. At the General Assembly there are Young Adult Advisory Delegates. They are affectionately called YAADs. The YAADs are elected to participate with voice but not vote. They are there to learn how participatory church governance works, and also to help the church hear the voices of their generation.
There was a story I read from one of the participants that involved a question of the rules. It was about 10:00 pm one evening, about halfway through the 9th plenary session, and the assembly was debating a motion regarding the church’s response to gun violence in our nation.
One of the YAADs was acknowledged to speak. But when he stood to speak, he asked the moderators to recognize another person – another YAAD whom he felt had something to say that should be heard.
The moderators explained to him that the rules did not allow for him to yield his time to someone else. To do so was out of order. Why? I have no idea. That could have been the end of it, and for a lot of people I think that would have been fine. It was late, they were tired, they wanted to go to bed. Let’s let the rules save the day. But the moderators decided in the moment to ignore the rules and allow the young woman to speak.
She spoke from her personal experience, from her heart. She spoke to the hearts of all who were gathered, and when she sat down the assembly was shaken. The moderator, sensing the Spirit in the room, led the group in prayer.
And this, I believe, was just the kind of order that was needed in that moment.
I’m no anarchist. I like rules. But God help us if we allow our rules to shut the door on the Holy Spirit.
Perhaps we should conduct our activities in such a way that we say these are the rules we will follow, unless God has a different plan.
When Jesus was asked what is the most important rule, of all the hundreds of rules God had given them, we know what he said. There are two. The first is to love God. The second is to love your neighbor as yourself. In fact, he said, you really cannot separate these two rules from one another. They are really one and the same.
Love God. Love your neighbor. Care for the ones in need in whatever ways you are able to care for them. Let this be the foundation of our order.
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