Sermon: pentecost 11, Luke 13:10–17
August 24, 2025
Faith-La Fe Lutheran Church
Pastora Veronica Alvarez
Freedom is a word we love to say, but a reality many people never fully taste. Some are chained by poverty, others by prejudice, others by fear or sickness. Today’s readings brings us into God’s vision of freedom, the kind that breaks chains, restores dignity, and lets people stand tall again.
Isaiah in the first reading calls us to remove the yokes we impose on one another, to stop blaming and being cruel, and instead to feed the hungry and care for the afflicted. Centuries later, in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus shows us what that looks like.
Imagine this woman. For eighteen years she lived bent over, unable to look people in the eye. Imagine what that meant. To most, she is invisible, she was probably overlooked, ignored, maybe even shamed. When she entered the synagogue, no one expected her to be the focus of God’s attention. But to Jesus, she is the very reason he came. He stops, calls her forward, touches her, and declares: “Woman, you are set free.”
In that moment, her body straightens, her dignity is restored, and her life begins again. That is God’s grace, not rules, not empty rituals, but setting people free. And when leaders complain that healing broke the Sabbath rules, Jesus answers: “Shouldn’t this daughter of Abraham be freed from her suffering?” Mercy comes before rules. People come before systems.
Just as it did in that synagogue, freedom today still disrupts the status quo. So what does it mean for us, here and now, to live out God’s freedom and justice in our own community?
Think of the ways people are still crushed, weighed down, or silenced by injustice. Families live in fear of deportation, unable to see a doctor or even walk freely.
Children go to bed hungry while food is wasted.
LGBTQ+ siblings are shamed or excluded in the name of religion.
People are crushed under medical bills, unfair wages, or the weight of racism.
Each of these mirrors the woman’s suffering. And Christ’s call is the same: “You are set free.”
Isaiah names the kind of faith God desires, not empty rituals, but breaking chains of oppression, feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless. In other words, faith that changes real lives.
This isn’t about being “nice.” It’s about dismantling what bends people down in our society, the poverty, racism, sexism, homophobia, broken immigration systems, mass incarceration, and all the systems that keep people from standing tall.
But doing this kind of work; God’s justice, always costs something. Remember Jesus in the synagogue. Instead of everyone rejoicing, leaders got angry because her freedom disrupted their order. The same happens today.
Speak up against racism, and some say we’re “too political.”
Fight for immigrants’ rights, and some say we’re “breaking the law.”
Affirm LGBTQ+ siblings, and some say we’re betraying “tradition.”
The cost is real. It can cost us losing friendships. We can get pushback from neighbors, coworkers, even family. Will be labeled “troublemakers.” We can feel exhausted because the problems are so big.
And yet, following Jesus has always carried a cost. He told us plainly: take up your cross and follow me.
But here is the good news: the cost is never the final word. The promise is bigger. Isaiah says, “The Lord will guide you continually, satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail.”
When we risk standing up for the oppressed, God promises to stand with us. When we pour ourselves out for others, God promises we will never run dry.
even though it costs something to follow Jesus in this way, what we gain is life that is deeper, stronger, and more abundant than anything we could hold onto by staying silent or safe.
The synagogue leaders saw healing as breaking the law, but Jesus saw it as life. That’s the promise: when we choose mercy over rules, justice over comfort, God’s Spirit fills us with life, joy, and strength that no opposition can take away.
Isaiah says our light will rise like the dawn. That means our community, our congregation, becomes a beacon of hope. People who have been weighed down by this world will walk through our doors and find not judgment, but freedom. They will find not exclusion, but community. They will find not shame, but dignity.
Siblings, this is who we are called to be: a church that doesn’t just talk about freedom but practices it, that doesn’t just pray for justice but works for it. Thru us, Christ is setting people free from what bends them down.
And today, we are invited again to Christ’s table. Here Isaiah’s vision becomes real: the hungry are fed, the broken are welcomed, the bent down are lifted up with bread and wine, body and blood, mercy and grace. At this table there are no rules that keep people out, no traditions that silence suffering. Here Christ himself says: “Come, eat, drink, and be free.”
So let us rise with the woman in the synagogue, stand tall in the light of Christ, and live Isaiah’s vision, feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, healing the broken, and building a community where all God’s children can stand tall and live free.
Freedom is not just a word; it is Christ’s gift. It is ours. Amen
