Shakespeare’s Juliet asks the famous question: “What’s in a name?”

And the short answer is: “A lot!” Think about it -- your name distinguishes you from everyone else. It singles you out as a unique individual, not to be confused with any other. When you are given a name, you are being told, “You are someone!”

When I was expecting my children, I remember spending hours poring over baby name books, looking at their meanings, saying possible choices aloud to see how they worked with the name “Sangster,” and trying to avoid the possibility of unfortunate nicknames.

One’s name is a sacred thing. But so often, instead of names, we use labels. Maybe some of us remember how painful it was as a child to be called “fatso” or “slow learner.”

In this morning’s Gospel passage, we read the story of a woman who has suffered with a terribly contorted back for eighteen years. I looked up this passage in a number of different translations and editions of the bible, and the paragraph heading in most of them call this the story of the “bent” or “crippled woman.” Her infirmity has become her identity; her disability has become her name. She has nothing to distinguish her other than her deformity. She is the one who is stooped over, bearing upon her shoulders an invisible yet heavy burden -- the burden of being different, the burden of not looking like everyone else, the burden of not being able to do what everyone else does.

And she represents all of us who get labeled, pigeonholed, or categorized by some part of ourselves which is most notable or noticeable. She is the kid who gets labeled “loser” or “geek.” She is the adult who gets labeled “felon,” “welfare mom,” “drunk.” And the question, the challenge for us, is how can we get beyond the labels, beyond stereotypes and prejudices, and see people as Jesus sees them?

This passage from Luke takes place on the Sabbath, and we can picture the people crowded into the synagogue to hear Jesus. As he preaches, Jesus notices the woman enter. He interrupts his sermon, calls her forward, and puts his hands on her, saying simply, "You are set free from your ailment." Perhaps he squats on his haunches before speaking so he can look into her eyes -- because Jesus comes not as an overpowering authority from above, but as one of us, wanting to speak to us on our level, face to face.

Jesus reaches out to her, and he sees so much more than her infirmity. He views her not as disabled, or hindered, or a victim of life's unfairness -- though from most points of view, she is. Nor does he go along with the common attitude of the time that her affliction is God’s punishment for some kind of sin – either hers or her parents’. Instead, he calls her “a daughter of Abraham.”

Abraham was the one to whom, one starry night, a promise was given. God promised to make a great nation of his descendents through whom all the nations of the earth would be blessed. In the eyes of Jesus, the woman is an heir to the blessings promised by God, and by calling her a “daughter of Abraham,” Jesus tells her and all those around her that she is a blessing to the world.

When Jesus touches her and calls her a daughter of Abraham, she stands up straight as befits all children of God’s promise, because finally – perhaps for the very first time – she has been called a star in the heavenly firmament of God’s creation. No one but Jesus could see the twinkle in this star, this bent woman; no one but Jesus could see that she was worth far more than superficial, cruel, limiting labels allow her. And by his words and actions, Jesus restores this daughter of the covenant to wholeness; a bent over, crippled soul is unconditionally loved and healed by a gentle Lord, who comes to us even before we ask to be straightened up and made whole.

She is a beloved child of God, and so is each one of us. The love of God revealed in Jesus can set us free from all the kinds of burdens that bend us over. What keeps you from standing full and free in the light of God? What hobbles you? What has taken the proud stature out of you and pushed you down?

Just as the bent woman sat in her house of worship almost 2000 years ago, we sit here today in this beautiful outdoor sanctuary. And with us is the spirit of Christ, unseen but wondrously present just as he promised, and now is the moment when he wants to share his love.

Jesus knows what your deep needs are. Jesus knows what fears or shame or hurt or anger may be weighing you down. His compassion flows even as we sit here, and his hands want to rest on you, on the very spot where you most need love and healing.

Jesus calls out to each one of us here, just as he did to that woman one long ago day in the synagogue. Jesus calls to each one of us who is bent over, stooped by the crush of life, beaten down by others. And so let us respond. Let us take a few moments right now to let him into our hearts and souls. Let him come to the place of your deepest need, your deepest pain, your deepest longing. Let him come to you and heal you… [Silence.]

This week as we go about our lives, let us remember that we are beloved children of God, daughters and sons of Abraham, recipients of divine promise and blessings to the world. And so are those you meet. May we stand up straight so we can see others – and ourselves – for who we really are: stars in the heavenly firmament of God’s creation. Amen.

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