Bent Double

Eighteen years stooped over

Like a bowing fern

No real recollection

Of the cause

Only sunny vistas gone

Her Brother’s face

Almost forgot.

Routines doubly daunting.

And a nagging sense

That blame was hers.

Cobblestones became friends

And guides.

The smooth ones to market.

Red ones to synagogue

Overgrown ones to pasture

Where the stream began

And washing of few clothes.

Invisible became strange comfort.

No explanations.

No hopes dashed down.

Just soothing sameness.

From waste level.

But news spread that

The Rabbi had come.

The One with stories

Hope of untarnished Life

And healing hands.

Tempted by novelty

Nothing else

She followed the human flow

To teaching’s fount.

He saw her right away

The one most hurting

And knew in an instant

She could in no wise lift herself up.

But He could.

And did, with but a touch.

“Woman…loosed from thine infirmity

Daughter of Abraham

Target of Satan

These eighteen years

Straightened now to the glory of God.”

And His face was beaming

And delighted.

And without condemnation

Although others tried

And they wore the robes of propriety

Their faces sour and stale.

 

Luke 13: 10-17

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