Pentecost 11C (Luke 13:10-17)

It seems as though Maya Angelou knew what it’s like to be held up by Jesus’ hand  to rise from below: 

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

We Christians are those lifted by the hand of the risen Christ, raised to rise again—not for our own sake alone, but so that we, too, might become that hand for others. Yet, to truly be a healing hand, we must first recognize the places in our own lives where we are crippled, bent over, and unable to stand upright. Without this honest self-awareness, our helping hand risks serving our own need to feel important or indispensable, rather than genuinely empowering those we seek to lift. The hand of the risen Christ initiates the act of raising up, but it is the woman’s responsibility to remain standing. In her ongoing effort to live upright, it is the breath of God that sustains her, reminding us that true healing is both a gift received and a calling to perseverance.

As we embrace this dual reality—being both recipients and instruments of God’s grace—we are invited into a deeper humility and compassion. Our calling is not simply to reach out, but to do so with a heart that understands brokenness because it has been broken and healed itself. In this way, the community of believers becomes a living embodiment of resurrection: hands lifted to raise others, hearts open to receive God’s sustaining breath, and lives transformed by the power of love that restores and sets free.