Stand Therefore: The Unbending of the Soul
A Reflection on the Twenty-Seventh Sunday after Pentecost (within the Nativity Fast)
Twenty-Seventh Sunday after Pentecost – (Ephesians 6:10–17 / St. Luke 13:10–17)
Beloved in Christ: Today the Apostle Paul pulls back the veil and tells us plainly what life in this fallen world truly is. It is not a playground. It is not merely a career path or a marketplace. It is, as he says, a wrestling match.
“For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood.”
This sentence is essential. If we forget it, we will fight the wrong battles and harden our hearts against the wrong people. If we imagine that our enemies are merely other men, our neighbors, our political opponents, our cultural rivals, then we have already lost.
The true enemy, Saint Paul tells us, is deeper and darker:
“The rulers of the world of this darkness… principalities and powers.”
These are not simply political actors or social institutions, but spiritual forces, patterns of deception, fear, domination, and hypocrisy, that move through societies and tempt men to mistake power for righteousness and control for virtue.
And in today’s Holy Gospel, Our Lord shows us exactly what this tyranny looks like in lived human form.
I. The Woman Bent Earthward: The Binding of the Soul
We see a woman in the synagogue with a “spirit of infirmity.” The Evangelist tells us:
“She was bowed together, neither could she look upward at all.”
For eighteen years her gaze has been fixed on the dust. She cannot see the sun. She cannot see the horizon. She cannot lift her eyes heavenward.
This woman becomes an image, an icon, not only of physical suffering, but of a deeper spiritual condition. Christ Himself names it plainly:
“Whom Satan hath bound.”
This is the enemy’s aim: not merely to cause pain, but to lower the soul, to bend human beings toward the earth until they forget heaven, forget prayer, forget eternity, forget who they are.
It is not difficult to recognize this condition today. We live in a world that constantly pulls our eyes downward: toward screens, toward appetites, toward anxieties, toward purely material concerns. We are told, implicitly and explicitly, that reality consists only of what can be measured, consumed, or controlled.
But man was not made to live with his face in the dust. He was made to stand upright, with eyes lifted toward God.
II. The Ruler of the Synagogue: Authority Without Mercy
Christ sees the woman. He calls her forward. He touches her. And with a single word, He breaks the bond that held her:
“Woman, thou art delivered from thine infirmity.”
She stands straight and glorifies God.
And here the Gospel turns sharply.
The ruler of the synagogue is not moved to joy. He is indignant. Not because the woman was harmed, but because she was healed outside his control.
He claims devotion to the Sabbath, but Christ exposes the deeper truth: this is not love of God’s law, but fear of losing “authority.” This is piety reduced to procedure, religiosity stripped of mercy, order treated as an end rather than a servant of life.
This spirit does not belong to one time or one place. It appears wherever institutions and the people who make them up begin to value control over compassion, appearance over truth, authority over healing.
Christ does not condemn order itself. He condemns hypocrisy: the use of moral language to defend systems that leave people bent and bound.
III. The Ox and the Ass: When Compassion Serves Power
Our Lord’s reply is devastating in its simplicity:
“Doth not every one of you loose his ox or his ass from the manger on the sabbath day, and lead him to water?”
He exposes the hidden calculus of false compassion.
The ox is valuable.
The ass is useful.
Economic assets receive mercy without hesitation.
But a suffering human being – one who is fashioned in the image of God – can be postponed, managed, regulated, and dismissed.
This inversion has appeared many times throughout history. It appears wherever “compassion” becomes a slogan or a buzz-word rather than a virtue; wherever human beings are valued primarily for their utility; wherever the language of care masks systems that keep people perpetually dependent and powerless.
Christ will not allow this hypocrisy to stand. He insists on genuine dignity over utilitarianism, personhood over quantifiable productivity, healing over control.
IV. The Armour of God: Learning to Stand
So what are we to do in such a world?
Saint Paul does not tell us to panic, nor to lash out, nor to surrender. He gives a single command:
“Stand therefore.”
And because standing is difficult, he gives us armour.
Truth – to keep us from being bent by lies.
Righteousness – to guard the heart against compromise.
Faith – to extinguish despair.
Salvation – to protect the mind.
The Word of God – to cut through deception.
This armor is not aggression. It is resistance. It is the quiet and faithful refusal to be bent out of shape by the spirit of the age.
Conclusion: Standing Toward Bethlehem
Brethren, the Nativity Fast is our training ground. We are not merely counting days until a feast; we are learning again how to stand upright.
We are walking toward Bethlehem, and there we will not find a bureaucrat or a manager. We will find a King.
A King who humbled Himself, Who bent down from heaven to earth, so that we might be raised up. A King who unties the knots Satan has tied in the soul. A King who reminds us that we are not livestock to be managed, but sons and daughters of God.
So do not let the world bend you. Do not mistake feigned piety for righteousness. Put on the armor of God.
And stand upright, with your eyes fixed on the dawn, awaiting the arrival of our Lord.
Amen.
14 December 2025