Withered

I creep into the synagogue. Take my seat. Back corner. Out of sight. The rough bench worn smooth, cradled to my body. Where I had sat since childhood. In the corner. Out of sight. Where my parents had displaced me. Withered hand from birth—from birth soul withered.

Today, I creep in early. The corners of the little building are full. Excitement. Chatter. Heads bending. Looking. Talking. Bobbing in excitement. Hands flying. Debates. Questions. Who? Here? Him? A rabbi? Who? Jesus? Coming? Today? Here? Our little synagogue? Tongues keeping beat with excited hearts. Word spreading. And there—I hear the crowd. Feet. Coming.

From my back corner, in the dark, I watch. Silent in the noise. 

And

he

pauses

when he comes in.

And

looks

at

me.

I shrink back. Wrap my withered hand tighter in my cloak. Duck my head in the dark.

The people part to allow him to go to the Moses’ seat, and he opens the scroll. I bend forward. Never has the Torah come so alive. The prophets’ voices ring out again, the lion of Amos roars, the wooing of Hosea sings.

But.
The Pharisees and scribes are there. Jittery. Anxious. Glancing around the room, looking at the people’s eager response. 
I see.
So does Rabbi. He pauses, looks at them.
Then. 

Then he said to me, “Come and stand here” (Lk. 6:8).

Me.

In

front.

No. Please. I’ve never been. Front. Seen.

But

his

voice has

authority.

I pause.
He looks at me.
I see his eyes.

Up. Front. I go. 

“I ask you, is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, or save life or destroy it? Stretch out your hand” (Lk. 6:9-10).

I glance up, fearful. Panic. Catch in throat. Wind knocked out. Head down. Fixated on my wrapped up hand, hidden. Thoughts racing: “Rabbi, don’t you understand? Shame. What I have tried to hide for all the years of my life. Parents ashamed. Community ashamed. Unable to go to temple to worship as I’m deformed; isn’t God ashamed? Now? Stretch out? In front of all these people? You are asking me to expose the very thing I have strove to hide for all these years. I don’t have the faith to do so.”

Panic racing. Lift my eyes.

His

eyes.

I do so. Stretch out. Expose to Jesus.

My hand restored.

My soul restored.

Healed.

Rabbi Jesus. Rabbi!!!! Jesus!

And we. Me. You. I. We fear to expose our “withered hands.” Whatever has or is causing shame. To others. To self. To God. Fear.

But faith sees Jesus. Faith will “risk” exposure of our shame in light of his love. Faith knows Jesus is worthy of our trust with the deepest, most shameful areas even when all else/everyone else has failed and is failing and will fail. Jesus is worthy.

And it is in our exposing to Jesus that shame is healed. It is Jesus’ call, his command, the look in his eyes, his love by faith that we can leave our dark corners. Reach out. Stretch out your hand. He calls.