Patrick Comerford
We are continuing in Ordinary Time in the Church Calendar and tomorrow is the Tenth Sunday after Trinity (Trinity X, 24 August 2025) and the feast of Saint Bartholomew the Apostle.
Before today begins, I am taking some quiet time this morning to give thanks, for reflection, prayer and reading in these ways:
1, today’s Gospel reading;
2, a reflection on the Gospel reading;
3, a prayer from the USPG prayer diary;
4, the Collects and Post-Communion prayer of the day.
Luke 10: 13-17 (NRSVA):
10 Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. 11 And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. 12 When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, ‘Woman, you are set free from your ailment.’ 13 When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. 14 But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, ‘There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.’ 15 But the Lord answered him and said, ‘You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? 16 And 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?’ 17 When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing.
Today’s Reflection:
Today is both the Feast of Saint Bartholomew the Apostle and the Tenth Sunday after Trinity. The Gospel reading for Saint Batholomew’s Day is Luke 22: 24-30, and my reflections on Saint Bartholomew’s Day last year are here.
In the Sunday lectionary readings, the Gospel reading is Luke 13: 10-17. This reading reminds me too of the Kahal Shalom Synagogue, the last surviving, functioning synagogue on the Greek island of Rhodes, and an elderly woman who gave me a guided tour of that synagogue, not just once but twice during a hot summer’s week in Greece.
The interior of the synagogue follows the traditional Sephardic style of having the tevah or reading platform in the centre, facing south-east towards Jerusalem. Behind it and above is the balcony, created in 1935 as a women’s prayer area.
Before that, women sat in rooms beside the south wall of the synagogue, and could see into the main body of the synagogue, through curtained openings. Those rooms now house the Jewish Museum of Rhodes.
The woman who showed me around, Lucia Modiano Soulam, was bent over and then in her 80s. She was a woman of exceptional bravery with an extraordinary story. She was a survivor of Auschwitz and she spoke Greek, Ladino, Italian, a little French and Turkish and very little English.
Because there are only seven Jewish families left on Rhodes, the synagogue depends on tourists to make up a minyan and to lead public prayers.
I attended a sabbath service in the synagogue as her guest, and she sat with me and my sons who were then small children. There were two women among a congregation in which the minyan was made up thanks to Israeli and American tourists.
I think of her as being captive to Satan in Auschwitz for many years because of the sins of so many men. Now she was old and bent over, but taking her place in a synagogue where once she was seen only in the balcony above and behind the tevah, or behind the screens and curtains in the women’s rooms. In her suffering, Lucia had become, truly, a Daughter of Abraham.
Lucia was never invisible. She insisted on staying in Rhodes and during her years in the synagogue, she shared stories with visitors who were charmed by her kindness and honesty and the fact that she was always smiling and joyful despite all the hardships she had endured. She died on 2 April 2010 at the age of 87 (May her Memory by a Blessing, זכרונה לברכה).
The woman in this morning’s story is unnamed … but then, so too are the town in which the synagogue is located, the leader of the synagogue and the protagonists too. Apart from Jesus, the only other human name used is that of Abraham.
Not even the ox and the donkey in verse 15 are named. I am only half-jesting, because the ox and ass may also remind us of the ox and ass at the manger at the first Christmas – even though they do not appear in either Gospel account of the Nativity. Or they may remind us of the colt who is untied so Christ can ride into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday (see Luke 19: 30, 33).
This woman is unique, for no other woman in the Bible is referred to as a daughter of Abraham. Indeed, Genesis records no named daughter of Abraham, and the rabbis argue whether Abraham had any daughters.
There are two men in Saint Luke’s Gospel that she might be compared with:
1, The unnamed rich man in the story of ‘Dives’ and Lazarus (Luke 16: 19-31), a Gospel reading for later next month [28 September 2025, Trinity XV]. This man addresses Abraham as ‘father’ or ‘Father Abraham,’ and he in turn is addressed by Abraham as ‘Child.’ But in this morning’s Gospel story, the child of Abraham is the outsider who has been left waiting on the margins for too long and is brought in. So the woman is more like Lazarus than ‘Dives.’
2, The description of the woman as daughter of Abraham is matched later in this Gospel when Christ insists that Zacchaeus is ‘a son of Abraham’ (Luke 19: 9; 2 November 2025), a point that is also made before of a crowd, a crowd that rejects Zacchaeus the tax collector as a sinner. Think of how this woman’s physical position of being bent over is symbolic in the same way that Zacchaeus is short in stature.
In this morning’s story, Christ shows what it means to be a citizen of God’s kingdom – through his actions. He heals this woman and calls her a ‘daughter of Abraham’, which makes her, remarkably, a full member of society. Christ is saying the Kingdom is open equally to women and to the sick and to the disabled and to those on the margins.
This woman does not ask to be healed, and no one asks for healing on her behalf. Christ notices her himself (verse 12), and this means he has to turn around when she enters the synagogue while he is teaching. She is behind him, either above in the balcony or hidden behind a curtain. She is invisible to Christ until he turns around.
Christ turns around, calls her down or calls her over, tells her she is free, and gives her a place in the centre of the community where she joins the men in praising God.
This story continues the story in Luke 4, where Christ reads from and teaches from the scroll in the synagogue. He is now putting into action in the synagogue what he has already taught in the synagogue.
Christ sets her free, he unties the woman. But what was she tied to? To her disability and her infirmity? To Satan? To her community’s refusal to accept her? To one interpretation of what could or could not be done on the sabbath?
Christ says to the woman, ‘… you have been set free’ (ἀπολέλυσαι, apolélusai) ‘from your weakness’ (verse 12). It is translated here with the present tense, ‘you are set free.’ This word (απολουω, apoluo) is not usually associated with healing. Its general meaning is ‘to loose,’ to unbind, to release, to send away, even to divorce (see Matthew 5: 32; 19: 3, 7, 8, 9).
It can refer to the bandages used to tie a woman to her husband. It is closely related to a word used twice by Christ in this story (λύω, luo) – to ‘untie’ an ox or donkey (verse 15) and to ‘set free’ from bondage (verse 16).
Is this a story about divorce after 18 years of an abusive marriage?
Is this is a story about controversy and division?
Is this a story about healing, wholeness and restoration?
Or – given the two synagogue settings I have referred to this morning – is this a story about the practical relationship between what we believe and what we do – getting the balance right between believing and doing, between being and doing?
There is one other possibility in this story, a perspective that is not offered by commentators, perhaps because many are not familiar with customs within Judaism, yet one that I believe may be possible and perhaps even profound.
Jewish law or halakhah considers converts to Judaism as spiritually adopted into the lineage of Abraham and Sarah, the first Jewish patriarch and matriarch. Converts are often called ‘ben Avraham Avinu’ (son of Abraham, our father) or ‘bat Sarah Imenu’ (daughter of Sarah, our mother) during liturgical ceremonies such as being called up to Torah readings in the synagogue.
This custom serves to emphasise their connection to these foundational figures and signifies that converts are spiritually adopted into the Jewish lineage, becoming part of the covenant established with Abraham and Sarah. This practice is a way to acknowledge their entry into the Jewish people and their spiritual connection to the foundational figures of Judaism.
A number of major halakhic authorities ruled that for a female convert, one should write in the ketubah and in the get: bat Avraham Avinu, ‘daughter of Abraham our forefather’. There was an insistence among the halakhic authorities to list names exactly in the ketubah, so that in the event of divorce, they would also be as exact as possible in the gett.
On the other hand, there are those who write plonit hagiyoret, ‘so-and-so the female convert’, in the ketubah of a female convert, so that if she should become widowed, she should not marry a kohen, since a convert may not marry a kohen.
The custom of referring to a woman who is a convert to Judaism as ‘bat Sarah’ is not as ancient as the custom of referring to her as ‘bat Avraham’. In any case, Jewish law also forbids Jews to mistreat a proselyte, including reminding them that they were once not a Jew.
There is a possibility here that this woman, or her long deceased husband, were converts to Judaism, but were constantly reminded of this, and her suffering for 18 years that left her bent over and unable to stand up straight was merely an excuse for denying her the place that was rightfully hers in the community. In calling her ‘daughter of Abraham’, Jesus restores her to her rightful place in the community, calls on her, as it were, to stand upright in the midst of the community that for too long has denied her that place.
One of the areas I used to teach in is Patristics. In other words, I enjoy reading old sermons and letters from the East Mediterranean, especially when they are written in Greek. These include a sermon preached in Caesarea about 16½ centuries ago by the great Cappadocian Father, Gregory of Nazianzus, ‘On Love for the Poor’ (Oration 14, ‘On Love for the Poor’).
It was the late 360s, and the city was in the midst of an outbreak of leprosy. Gregory describes a ‘terrible,’ ‘pitiable’ and ‘unbelievable’ sight of people, dead and alive, with mutilated bodies that made them ‘scarcely recognisable.’
In claiming, in demanding recognition, they called out the names of their fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, the names of their families, friends and homes. Gregory noted: ‘They do this because they cannot be recognised by their former shape; they are truncated human beings, deprived of possessions, family, friends and their very bodies.’
But their calls fell on deaf ears. Fathers drove their children away, and those who were physically unrecognisable became morally unrecognisable too. They became non-people, with no human rights, with no recognition of their shared humanity.
Gregory responds by invoking the doctrine of the imago Dei. The lepers can no longer care for themselves or look after themselves. They have lost their human form, yet he declares they have not lost their divine likeness. He tells the people of Caesarea in his sermon:
‘This is how they are suffering … our brothers and sisters before God (even if you prefer not to think so) who share the same nature with us, who have been put together from the same clay from which we first came, who are strung together with nerves and bones in the same way we are, who have put on flesh and skin like all of us … Or rather, if I must speak of greater things, they have been made in the image of God in the same way you and I have.’ (Brian E Daley, Gregory of Nazianzus, Oxford: Routledge, 2006, p 83.)
But Gregory does not stop there. He argues that because these people ‘have been made in the image of God’ the community is obliged to do something. He tells the people listening to his sermon that they must offer relief, give them money, give them gifts, including food, clothing and medicine, dress their wounds, and speak up for them.
From start to finish, his sermon is a call to action. The Church is to include those who have been excluded by society. When we recognise that someone is made in the image of God, then we must include them. In other words, recognition of this truth involves a moral obligation towards those one the margins.
Who are on the margins for me today, those I would rather not see?
• Muslims?
• Women in hijabs?
• The refugees in cheap hotels surrounded by baying mobs?
• A child in a burial shroud in Gaza?
• Emaciated hostages ib Gaza?
• The migrants in the Mediterranean?
• The farm labourers deported by ICE?
• The children in Calais?
• The homeless?
• The long-term unemployed?
• Families in direct provision?
• The outsider who has been denied her/his rightful place as an insider?
• Those who are bound to dehumanising relationships because of bad or broken marriages?
• Those whose humanity, being in the image of God, is denied by my Church because of their sexuality?
• Those in debt?
• Those from the north side?
• Those from the south side?
• Those with whom I have profound and deep differences, religiously, politically and socially?
Once I recognise one of these as a child of God, once I recognise one of these as a brother or sister, once I realise that they too are made in the image and likeness of God, then there is no longer us and them. Then my compassion has to stop being sentimental and has to turn to action. Then it stops being a choice and starts being an obligation. For in Christ there is no ‘us’ and ‘them.’
Let me conclude this morning by asking some questions:
When should we do things in the church we believe are right, and only deal with the repercussions afterwards?
When do we need to discuss and come to an agreement before taking action?
What holds people in bondage?
In what ways does legalism bind them?
How are we held in bondage to past successes, defending our habits by saying: ‘This is the way we’ve always done it’?
Does the way we behave in our churches on Sundays free people or keep them tied up?
An icon of the Nativity of Christ … the ox and the ass are inseparably linked with the manger, but are not mentioned in the Gospel accounts of the NativityToday’s Prayers (Sunday 24 August 2025, Saint Bartholomew, Trinity X):
The theme this week (24 to 30 August) in Pray with the World Church, the prayer diary of the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel), is been ‘From Strangers to Neighbours’ (pp 32-33) This theme is introduced today with a programme update from the Right Revd Antonio Ablon, Chaplain of Saint Catherine’s Anglican Church, Stuttgart, Germany:
Migration is a journey of hope and struggle. Migrants in Europe have left their homes for survival, seeking opportunities, safety, or freedom. Yet, the journey is filled with enormous challenges — separation, discrimination, instability, and rejection. Political refugees, in particular, endure deep uncertainty, forced to rebuild their lives in unfamiliar lands.
Scripture reminds us that God cares for the migrant. The Israelites were once strangers in Egypt, and Jesus Himself was a refugee, showing us that God walks with those who are displaced. Faith becomes the anchor in times of struggle. Though migrants may feel unseen, they are not forgotten in God's eyes. He is present in moments of need, in the kindness of strangers, and in the strength to persevere.
As followers of Christ, we are called to welcome, support, and stand with migrants. We are all pilgrims on this earth, and true faith is lived out in love and solidarity. May we embrace this call, listening to the cry of the displaced and walking with them in their journey toward dignity and justice.
Thanks to the support of USPG, Saint Catherine’s ministry to refugees and migrants has extended to include an accompaniment programme and German language classes with the aim of helping with bureaucratic processes and facilitating integration into German society.
The USPG Prayer Diary today (Sunday 24 August 2025, Saint Bartholomew, Trinity X) invites us to read and meditate on Deuteronomy 10: 18-19, reflecting on God’s love for the migrant.
The Collect of the Day:
Let your merciful ears, O Lord,
be open to the prayers of your humble servants;
and that they may obtain their petitions
make them to ask such things as shall please you;
through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.
The Post-Communion Prayer:
God of our pilgrimage,
you have willed that the gate of mercy
should stand open for those who trust in you:
look upon us with your favour
that we who follow the path of your will
may never wander from the way of life;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Additional Collect:
Lord of heaven and earth,
as Jesus taught his disciples to be persistent in prayer,
give us patience and courage never to lose hope,
but always to bring our prayers before you;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Yesterday’s reflection
Continued tomorrow
Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995, National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org
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