How Can Anyone Think God Is Like That? Part TWO

This is not a large story in the Gospels. Only Luke tells it. But as I read it this morning—and I read it through several times—I kept asking why it bothered me so much.

Then I realized that, on occasion, I've been there, done that. I have known, experienced, perhaps even, regrettably, contributed to this kind of dead, out-of-touch kind of religion. Not always, but sometimes.

I thought about how the kind of institutionalized religion in this story slowly loses all of its humanity, its compassion, its ability to flex in the moment of great surprise. And that is exactly what Jesus brought through the door of the synagogue that day: humanity, compassion, and flex. What bothered the ruler was that the woman's healing wasn't done his way, according to his theological understanding, at a time that didn't interrupt his Sabbath. But for Jesus, even a sermon was "interruptible" if a person like this woman was in the room.

The story is also about systemized thinking, a kind of logic that takes on a life of its own over a period of time. It is demonstrated in the reaction of a religious leader who is so trapped by an analytical way that he can actually bring himself to believe that her healing is an unfortunate thing. It leads me to ask how does a mind get so locked into a system of thinking that it can take in the specter of a healed woman—bent over for eighteen years—and call it a violation of God's rules?

A friend of mine who is very sick right now once served on a pastoral team that I lead. In a phone conversation just a few days ago, I reminded him of a time in a staff meeting when a colleague blurted out an opinion that was about as illogical and ridiculous as the comment made by the synagogue ruler. At the time all of us at the table sat in a state of shock wondering how to respond to what had just been said.

But my friend didn't hesitate. He was a much older, more mature man and simply had no reluctance to label the misguided opinion for what it was. With some force, he said, "Oh, baloney!" His protest broke the spell in the room and brought us all to laughter and a better conclusion.

I see Jesus looking the synagogue ruler straight in the eye and saying the equivalent of "Oh, baloney!"

I need to circle back to what is said about the crowd in the synagogue. "When Jesus said this (the "baloney" comment), the people were delighted with all the wonderful things he was doing" (italics mine).

These people showed their true colors when they were "delighted." You get the feeling that they'd been silent far too long, that they'd heard this kind of "baloney" from their synagogue ruler before and come to ignore it. Result? I suspect that they'd did their church-thing on Sabbath day and then went out and lived in a way that made more sense … like watering donkeys on the Sabbath.

But now someone had said what they'd long thought. "Baloney!" And they were delighted.

I brood on the following questions. Do leaders and boards of churches and organizations spend the necessary time critiquing their thinking processes? And do they ever scour their menu of programs and "ministries" to make sure they are designed to spot and engage with people like the woman in this story? And would a man like my friend who knows "baloney" when he sees it be welcomed to their company? Would, for that matter, Jesus be welcomed if you knew that he might pull stunts like the one in this story?

So if you called me on the day I read this story and found that I was a bit terse and withdrawn, it's because I've known people like that. Blame what I read. It got under my skin.


Gordon MacDonald is editor at large of Leadership and lives in New Hampshire.