The latest Sermon

“Stand Tall”

Luke 13:10-17

The Presbyterian Church of Coraopolis

August 24, 2025

Our Scripture reading for this morning comes from the gospel of Luke, chapter 13, beginning in verse 10. Hear now the word of God.

Luke 13:10-17

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 to 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 being done by him.

On the Sabbath day, Jesus was teaching in the synagogue when he noticed a woman in the crowd. She didn’t approach him. She didn’t ask for help. Maybe after 18 long years of being bent over, she had stopped asking. For nearly two decades she had carried her burden- her back curved, her eyes downcast. But Jesus saw her. He called her forward. And with just a word and a touch, she was able to stand tall again, her body and her dignity restored.

I wonder what it was life for her all those years? To live with a pain that no one could fix. To watch others move freely while her own body would not cooperate. To carry grief that was visible to everyone around her. It’s not hard to imagine how isolating that must have felt. Many of us know what it’s like to live with a burden that bends us low- not only in our bodies, but in our hearts.

I think especially of women who have longed for a child and faced the ache of infertility. Like the bent-over woman, infertility can feel like a burden you carry every day, a private grief that others may not fully see or understand. It can bend you down with disappointment and shame, leaving you unsure if anyone truly notices your pain. But just as Jesus saw that woman in the synagogue, God sees those who carry the hidden weight of infertility. God’s compassion meets everyone even in the places of our deepest longing.

Of course, not everyone in the synagogue rejoiced that day. Some thought healing should wait until the rules allowed for it. We might shake our heads at the synagogue leader, but if we’re honest, we know how that feels. Haven’t we all been tempted to say, “That’s not the way we’ve always done it!” We get uncomfortable when grace shows up in ways we didn’t expect, or at times that felt inconvenient. Sometimes we want faith to be neat and orderly, predictable and proper. But Jesus shows us that God’s law is not about restriction- it is about freedom. The Sabbath is not about controlling who can and cannot be healed, but about celebrating the God who makes all things new.

Jesus reminded them- and us- that God’s law is always about setting people free, not keeping them bound. What changes everything in this story is not the woman’s determination or willpower. It’s Jesus’ word. He sees her, calls her, and says, “You are set free from your ailment.” And with that word, her body straightens, her back unbends, her life is made new. What no doctor could accomplish in 18 years, Jesus gives in an instant.

Think about the power of words in in your own life. Maybe you can still remember a word of encouragement a teacher spoke to you years ago- one sentence that gave you courage and shaped the way you saw yourself. Or maybe you remember the sting of a cruel word, one that bent you low and stayed with you long after it was spoken. Words matter. They can tear down or build up. And if human words have such power, how much more does the word of Jesus have power to restore? When Jesus speaks, things change. His word is not just advice or encouragement. His word is life itself, strong enough to lift us when we are bent low.

That’s the power of Jesus’ word- it restores dignity, it heals what was broken, it frees us from burdens we thought we’d always carry. His word strengthens weary bodies, but it also strengthens weary hearts. For the woman bent low by years of infertility. Or the family weighed down by grief. Or the person struggling with anxiety. Jesus’ word is not one of shame or dismissal, but of compassion: “You are set free.”

And when Jesus speaks, something remarkable happens. The woman doesn’t just stand straight for her own sake. She stands tall in the community, and the first thing she does is begin to praise God. His word restores her to herself and restores her to her place among God’s people.

Luke says the people were divided- some grumbling, others rejoicing. That’s still true today whenever grace shows up in ways we don’t expect. Baptism is our choice to stand on the side of joy, to rejoice that God is still claiming, healing and making us whole. We proclaim that joy at the waters of baptism, where we affirm “child of joy, our dearest treasure, God’s you are, from God you came/Back to God we humbly give you: live as one who bears Christ’s name.

And today, we got to see that restoring word spoken again- in the baptism of little Philomena. She doesn’t yet know what burdens life will bring her, or what challenges may bend her low. She doesn’t even know the word “faith.” But God’s promise meets her first. Before she can ask, before she can respond, God calls her beloved and sets her in the arms of this community.

She won’t remember this day, but we will. And that’s part of the beauty of baptism. The promises don’t rest on Philomena’s memory or her understanding, but on God’s faithfulness and on this community’s commitment to surround her with love. Years from now, when she takes her first steps into a classroom, or when she nervously walks into youth group, or when she joins her confirmation class, we’ll remember this day. We’ll remember that she was carried to these waters, and we’ll remind her that God’s promise has been hers all along.

In the next year, Philomena will learn to sit, to crawl, and one day to stand. She’ll wobble, fall, and try again, until standing tall becomes second nature. And just as surely as her parents and family will cheer her on in those first steps, her church family will cheer her on in the life of faith- reminding her that she never walks alone, and that God’s word of love holds her steady.

The bent-over woman stood tall because Jesus set her free. Philomena will grow to stand tall because God’s promise is already at work in her life. Shaping her, strengthening her, surrounding her with love. And for all of us who come to this font, baptism is God’s way of reminding us that no matter what weighs us down, Christ calls us to stand tall again. Upright in grace, held in community, and free to praise God with our whole lives.

For those of us who were baptized long ago, baptism is not just a moment in the past- it is a promise that still speaks into our lives today. When we feel weighed down by shame, when life bends us low with grief, when we carry more than we can manage, baptism reminds us that we belong to God. That claim is unshakable. No failure, no disappointment, no hardship can erase the truth spoken over us at the font: You are my beloved child.

To “remember your baptism” is not to try to recall the day itself- especially for those of us who were baptized as infants- but to remember that God’s promise is still active, still shaping who we are. We remember our baptism when we stand tall in the face of injustice, when we lean on God’s grace in times of weakness, when we live as people set free to love our neighbors. Baptism is a daily calling: to walk into the world upright, rooted in the knowledge that God has already claimed us, and that God’s Spirit is still at work, strengthening and restoring us even now.

That might mean standing tall at work, when no one else but us knows we’re cutting corners. It might mean standing tall in a relationship, choosing kindness instead of resentment. It might mean standing tall in the midst of grief, holding on to hope even when your knees feel weak.

Baptism doesn’t erase the struggles we face, but it anchors us in a truth deeper than any struggle: we belong to God. To belong to God means that our deepest identity isn’t defined by what we achieve or what we fail to do, but by God’s steadfast love for us. It means we are never alone, never outside the reach of God’s mercy, never without hope. Because our lives are held in the hands of the One who created us and calls us beloved.

The woman in Luke’s story walked into the synagogue bent low, carrying eighteen years of pain, and walked out standing tall because Jesus spoke a word of freedom into her life. Today, Philomena is carried to these waters, too small yet to stand on her own, and she is met by that same word of promise. What happened to the woman in a single moment will happen for Philomena over a lifetime- as she grows, as she learns to walk in faith, as she discovers again and again that God’s love is holding her upright.

And for all of us, baptism is the reminder that God’s liberating word is still for us. Whatever bends us low- regret, worry, weariness, or grief- Christ has already claimed us, already called us, already given us the strength to stand tall again. So let us rise as God’s people: upright in grace, grounded in love, and ready to praise the One who makes us whole.

Thanks be to God,

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.