Trinity 17 – The Suppressed Miracle

by Gianluca

Ephesians 4:1-6      St Luke 14:1-11

Today’s Gospel reading, written by the beloved physician St. Luke, contains a unique account of Jesus healing a man with dropsy. It is unique, for this miracle is not found in the other Gospels. When Father David invited me to preach on this passage, I was delighted. Perhaps it is fitting that one physician reflects on the writings of another. Yet today’s reading offers far more than an interesting medical case. It is a passage full of surprises, and these surprises can help us discover its lessons.

The first surprise is that Jesus found Himself a guest in the house of one of the leaders of the Pharisees. This is remarkable, given the many conflicts that had already erupted between them. St. Luke describes nearly ten confrontations up to this point, each more intense than the last. Jesus had gone as far as to criticise the Pharisees publicly, as a group. They regarded Him as a threat. His invitation into the house of one of their leaders is, therefore, wholly unexpected.

I do not think this meal was arranged to entrap Him. Luke makes no mention of any scheme to harm or discredit. In fact, the scene gives the impression that the Pharisees were caught off guard. Perhaps Jesus had joined their synagogue that Sabbath morning, and politeness demanded an invitation. Whatever the case, they were not ready for Him.

We learn this from their response in silence. Although they were watching Him carefully, no one answered His questions. The silence must have felt tense and uncomfortable. Each looking at the other, wondering who should answer. Was it up to the most senior leader to respond? Answering must have felt risky. What if the other Pharisees disagreed? What if Jesus convincingly showed the answer was wrong? What would that mean for the reputation of that person, or of the group as a whole? No one seemed to dare to engage with Jesus. The result is perhaps the strangest description of any healing miracle in the four Gospels.

After Jesus asked, “Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?” and no one answered, St. Luke declared simply: “Then He took him, healed him, and sent him away.” Jesus compared His deed to rescuing a son or an animal who had fallen into a well. He asked if they wouldn’t have done the same. And again, no reaction. Not even from the man who had been healed—no thanks, no praise to God, no amazement from the crowd. No relief or signs of happiness that their friend was healed. But no anger either. No protest. Just silence. This is the only healing in the Gospels where nobody responded, where nobody expressed any emotion or opinion. How uneasy must that have been! This is a second surprise: the ability of those present to suppress their private views and feelings and go on as if nothing had happened.

This strange behaviour makes us wonder why they acted like this; what were they afraid of losing? What follows in the gospel may give the answer. The text describes how Jesus noticed the concern of those present about where to sit. They longed for places of honour beside the most important people. This indicates they cherished their standing in the group. It looks like the behaviours were related: they didn’t respond to Jesus because they didn’t want to risk spoiling their reputation. Instead, they looked for ways to bolster their position. This is a third surprise: those who claimed to be most zealous in serving God regarded the opinions of their peers as most important. I think we can consider this to be a form of pride.

Jesus told them a parable about the places of honour at a wedding and that one should choose a lowly position rather than strive for the best seat. This was not a new teaching, but a reminder of Proverbs 25:5,6, which says: “Do not put yourself forward in the king’s presence or stand in the place of the great, for it is better to be told, “Come up here,” than to be put lower in the presence of a noble.” With this parable, Jesus tried to help them recognise their need for humility. This was necessary because their pride was preventing them from accepting Him. At the same time, He revealed their incomplete obedience to Scripture. Although they prided themselves on following all the rules, the parable served as a reminder that they had forgotten to follow one of the rules of Wisdom.

Our next surprise concerns the clarity we can get of the condition of this sick man. Luke tells us he had dropsy. We no longer use that word, but its meaning is clear. The physician Hippocrates, centuries earlier, described it as the swelling of the body with fluid that developed as a result of another condition. This swelling we now call oedema. In those days, when swollen legs and puffed-up bodies were seen, people recognised dropsy. Many of you will have seen it too. The most common causes are heart failure or kidney disease.

Imagine that man before Jesus. His clothing covered much of his body, so for anyone to recognise his illness, he must have been severely afflicted. I have seen patients like this. In its worst form, fluid also fills the lungs, leading to respiratory problems such as coughing and shortness of breath. When the person breathes or tries to speak, and you listen carefully, you can hear the fluid bubble in the lungs. Left untreated, death follows. And yet—ironically—such patients suffer from great thirst, though drinking only worsens their condition.

Could such a man wait for help until the Sabbath ended? Of course not. Jesus asked the question, yet they stayed silent. So He healed him—without checking whether he had faith or desired to be healed. Then He turned to the Pharisees: “Which of you, having a son or an ox that has fallen into a well on the Sabbath day, will not immediately pull him out?” In this response, Jesus stressed the urgency of the matter. You don’t wait to pull anyone drowning out of a well.

At first, we might think the argument about rescuing an animal on the Sabbath was one that Jesus used often. Yet that is not the case. He used it only twice, and in two very different ways. In one instance, when He healed a man with a withered hand, He compared it to an animal that had fallen into a pit—an animal that could not climb out on its own and needed to be lifted out. But here, Jesus spoke not of a pit but of a well full of water. The Greek text makes this clear. That detail helps us understand the man’s condition, even two thousand years later. His swelling was so severe that he was, in effect, drowning from within, in his own bodily fluids. Yet although the Pharisees would have allowed someone to rescue an animal from a well on the Sabbath, they refused to admit that it was just as right to heal this man. They would rather let him die than publicly accept the reasoning of Jesus.

This brings us to a fifth surprise: the hardness of heart of the Pharisees. Where was their compassion for their fellow human being? They prided themselves on meticulous obedience to God’s law, but in practice they prioritised on the outward display of obedience to their traditions. At those moments they forgot that God’s commandments were given to preserve life, to enable humans to flourish and worship God with joy and holiness. The Sabbath embodies this principle, for it is given to unburden and liberate people, making joyful worship possible without distractions by the cares of this world. The Pharisees’ interpretation of the laws, however, suffocated people, even literally, as in this case. It was they who transgressed the law, not Jesus.

When we picture this suffocating patient before us and imagine the Pharisees would rather let him die than risk burning their fingers, I feel deep indignation. I hope that we will never fall into the same trap. The Pharisees claimed to love God above all, yet when He stood among them, they felt deeply uncomfortable. Though constantly quoting Scripture, their traditions and group pressure had become a closed system that left no room for fresh revelation. Their culture suppressed honest individual thought and prized outward conformity.

And that brings me to my final surprise: the unity of the Pharisees. They were perfectly united—but in silence, in hardness of heart, and in rejection of Jesus. That’s important to notice, because I believe this seventeenth Sunday after Trinity is all about our bond and unity with all believers. As we ascend toward God, we are not only adopted as His children, but we also become part of His household and family. Today’s gospel shows us the wrong kind of unity, that of the Pharisees, while the Epistle reveals the right, heavenly one.

St. Paul wrote: “I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”

Here lies the contrast. The unity of Christ’s Church is not man-made; it is born of the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. Because the Spirit is One, we, who have received Him, are bound together as one. We are not, therefore, called to create the unity of the Church, but to protect and maintain it. Our ascent to God cannot be seen as something separate from this, because our unity with our brothers and sisters is an essential means and goal of our growth.

The world, then and now, seeks unity through uniformity. It judges and labels people by their opinions. We’ve all seen it during the debates about the coronavirus, for example. One differing view can be enough to brand someone a threat or an outsider, to call them liberal or conservative. But the unity St. Paul speaks of isn’t built on sameness of opinion. We weren’t adopted because we ticked the right boxes for every opinion, or because we were perfect. Our unity is built on His gracious decision to adopt us into the body of Christ, through faith and baptism. In His body, there is room for honest inquiry, for showing your true colours, but we are also challenged to grow and change into Christ’s image.

The Pharisees sought unity in a narrow orthodoxy, enforced by group pressure.

We must be careful not to fall into that same trap. I’m not suggesting that truth doesn’t matter, or that adhering to creeds and Articles of Faith are unimportant—far from it! St. Paul himself reminds us: there is “One hope, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all.” Yet even when we share the same Lord, trust the same Word, and confess the same creed, differences of opinion will still arise. That can be due to our human weakness and life’s complexity, but also because the Spirit grants us helpful insights in this rapidly changing world. When we reject our brothers or sisters or are tempted to keep silent for the sake of appearance, we run the risk of suppressing the work of the Spirit. And when we put too much weight on matters that go beyond what God’s Word requires, we may rob others of the freedom God gives. Therefore, we need to be cautious.

That’s why St. Paul urges us to preserve the bond of peace through humility, patience, and love: virtues that wouldn’t be needed if we all thought and acted alike. Our openness to see others’ needs, and willingness to show compassion, to bear with one another patiently, and to hold our personal views with humility— these are the true signs of God’s Spirit at work in us. They show His presence far more clearly than any strict outward religiosity ever could.

And so, as we prepare for Holy Communion, let us remember where our true unity is found: in being baptised into His death and resurrection, in receiving His Body and Blood, and in sharing His Spirit. We do not partake of these gifts alone, but as brothers and sisters—joined with those gathered here today, and with all God’s children throughout the ages. We may have our differences, but we share one Spirit, one Lord, one hope, one faith, one baptism, and one God and Father of all. So as we come to His table, let us give thanks for the family He has placed us in, and above all, for His Son, who unites us.

Amen.