When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.”
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Everybody's a critic. An Olympian on the medal stand overwhelmed in the moment forgets to assume the posture for the national anthem, critics erupt and more critics erupt against those who erupted. A victorious accomplishment is splattered in a barrage of word fire. To what end? I can't throw stones. I am not without sin. I have brandished the arsenal of my vocabulary on occasion for the sole purpose of causing pain. The leaders of the synagogue could not heal that woman even if she followed the rules. Powerless against Jesus, they chose to abuse those who were already in pain. Jesus stands between the critics and the suffering and calls out the critics for their lack of compassion. A word can heal. A word can hurt. Silence is cowardice. The best word to brandish in this war of words is Jesus.
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Teach me how to speak with compassion, Lord. Amen.
Deb Grant, resilient child of God, creative tinker of paper, ink, wood, shiny things, paint and words. The human amusement of a parrot and a dog.
Writer, poet, artist, human, citizen, learner, scruffy, goof.
Word Food by Deb is randomly published. More than weekly, less than daily at the following media sites: