The prophet Hosea describes God as one who “bends down … to feed, to lift up and to hold.” Strength and flexibility are both necessary in the act of bending. How grateful we are to have a God who is willing to bend on our behalf and who invites us to bend on behalf of one another.
Dr. George Vaillant, professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, describes resilient human beings as those having “both the capacity to be bent without breaking and the capacity, once bent, to spring back.” (pg. 44, The Leader as a Mensch by Bruna Martinuzzi). This is particularly helpful during times of chaos, change and turbulence. Those who have the ability to bend and to stretch will be more proactive, persistent, compassionate and hopeful.
In Luke, chapter 13, we see the strength and flexibility of our compassionate God in the life and ministry of Jesus Christ. The one who was willing to bend down and join us in our humanity takes the time on this Sabbath to heal a woman who has been bent over for 18 years.
Eighteen years is a long time to be bent over … it is the time it takes a newborn to unfold into adulthood; it is the coming of age in many societies. Luke, the physician, attributes her chronic condition to “a spirit of weakness.” The word for “weakness” can simply mean “illness;” however, her condition can also be indicative of her diminished status within the culture at that time, a culture that continues today in many parts of the world. She is bound by the limitations and the burdens placed upon her through the customs and the laws. Jesus heals her by the laying on of hands, an act of blessing and consecration. Those gathered witness the unfolding of her life as she is raised up to wholeness.
As the story unfolds, we learn that what is almost as important as the healing itself is the fact that Jesus heals on the Sabbath, bending the rabbinic law. In this valiant act, Jesus announces that the suffering of a fellow human being takes precedence over obligations related to keeping the Sabbath. The synagogue ruler who is “bent out of shape” over this healing has turned a religious observation intended to honor the liberation of God’s people into a means of social control and oppression.
What these first century religious leaders lacked is compassion. Compassion is a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another’s misfortune or suffering, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate that suffering. Religion, without compassion, leads to division, conflict, cruelty and even violence. Sadly, compassionless religion is alive and well today.
As I reflect on 44 years of being identified as a religious leader, whether as a chaplain at Memorial Children’s Hospital in Chicago my first year out of seminary or 43 years serving congregations, poignant moments calling forth the need for compassion come to my memory.
This happened recently when I heard Willie Nelson’s song “You Were Always on My Mind.” It brought me right back into the hospital room at Children’s Memorial in 1982 when I was 25. I was called to minister to the parents who stood by their 4-year-old daughter on life support. She had wandered into the backyard unbeknownst to either of them, fallen into their swimming pool and drowned. As she lay dying, I stood quietly nearby holding them in my prayers. When Willie’s voice came on the speakers singing “You Were Always on My Mind,” the father commented that this was their daughter’s favorite song. I cannot hear Willie Nelson’s song without giving thanks for the gift of that little girl, lifting a prayer for the parents who loved and lost her, and wondering how their lives unfolded over the years.
During my ministry some of the most intimate moments I have had the privilege to share with members and friends are those times of losing and leaving and letting go. What I have learned is all people really ask during these times is to be allowed to have their feelings, their sorrow, and their pain. We need simply to be a compassionate and gentle presence, honoring their grief without judgment, platitudes or attempts to deny it, take it away or make it better.
This is what the compassion of Christ looks like: to share the message of mercy and love, to seek to comfort the heart with meaning and understanding, and, when that holds no comforting answers, to be present with tenderness and the unspoken reminder of our common journey and shared humanity. By the grace of God, may we live lives of compassion, willing to be present, to bend and to stretch in the unfolding of our lives.
The Rev. Dr. Blythe Denham Kieffer served as pastor and head of staff at Westminster Presbyterian Church, Springfield, from Oct. 1, 2013, to Oct. 1, 2025.
This article appears in July 16-22, 2026.
