"Christ's outstretched hands haven’t stopped working" Wednesday of Trinity 21 2025

12. November 2025

Wednesday of Trinity 21

Luke 6:6–11

“Now it happened on another Sabbath, also, that He entered the synagogue and taught. And a man was there whose right hand was withered. So the scribes and Pharisees watched Him closely, whether He would heal on the Sabbath, that they might find an accusation against Him.”

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

It’s the Sabbath again. The people have gathered in the synagogue. They’re there to hear the Word, to rest, to remember what God has done. And there walks in Jesus — the Lord of the Sabbath Himself — to teach, to restore, to make right what has gone wrong.

But not everyone in that room wants restoration. Not everyone wants healing. The scribes and Pharisees are watching Him. They aren’t there to listen or to believe. They’re there to catch Him, to accuse Him, to justify themselves by condemning Him. They’re religious professionals, always watching for a mistake in others because they can’t face the corruption inside themselves.

And there’s a man standing there with a withered hand. We don’t know his name. We don’t know his story. But we can imagine the shame, the limitations, the dependence. He can’t work. He can’t fight. He can’t even grasp the hand of his wife or child. He’s broken, visible proof that the world isn’t right, that sin has bent and twisted everything. He’s what happens when creation decays under the curse.

And the so-called holy men don’t see him as a person. They see him as bait. He’s a setup, a trap. Because if Jesus heals him on the Sabbath, that’ll be their proof that He’s a lawbreaker. They’ll have something to use against Him. They’re using this man’s suffering to make a theological point. That’s what false religion always does. It treats people as props in an argument, pawns in a system, data points in a moral equation. It never loves. It only judges.

But Jesus doesn’t play that game. He never does. He knows their thoughts before they whisper a word. He calls the man forward. “Come and stand here.” The whole room goes silent. Everyone’s watching. The tension thickens. And then Jesus asks the question that unmasks all their hypocrisy: “Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to destroy it?”

That question pierces through all the religious theater. The Sabbath was never about control. It was never about protecting man-made traditions. It was about rest in God — the rest that only He can give, the rest that comes from forgiveness, mercy, and faith.

The Pharisees won’t answer. They can’t. If they say “to do good,” they justify Him. If they say “to do harm,” they betray their own wickedness. So they sit there — silent, stiff, proud.

And Jesus looks around at them all, the same eyes that once looked upon creation and called it good now burning with grief and anger over what sin has done to human hearts. Then He turns to the man and says, “Stretch out your hand.”

And he does. He stretches it out — the very thing he couldn’t do before — and it’s restored. Whole. Clean. Alive. Flesh and blood proof that the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath. Good is done. Life is saved. The Sabbath fulfilled.

And what’s the reaction? Fury. Not faith. Rage. Not rejoicing. The scribes and Pharisees begin to conspire — “What are we going to do with this man?” Because the greatest threat to false religion isn’t immorality or chaos — it’s mercy. Mercy exposes the fraud. Mercy doesn’t need their systems. Mercy doesn’t submit to their rules. Mercy shows that their piety is a mask and their power is a lie.

The whole story is a mirror. You’ve got the man with the withered hand — that’s you. That’s me. Broken, powerless, unable to grasp God, unable to hold onto righteousness, unable to do the very thing the Law demands. We’re the ones who can’t stretch out our hands.

And you’ve also got the Pharisees — that’s us too. The self-righteous, the respectable, the ones who want Jesus to behave according to our expectations. The ones who think we can control God with rules and appearances.

But Jesus won’t fit in your system. He won’t play by your religion. He came to save sinners, not to polish saints.

So He stretches out His own hands — not toward grain fields this time, not toward a man’s shriveled arm, but toward the cross. And there those hands are pierced. The hands that healed the sick and raised the dead are nailed down in death. His flesh is torn open. His blood runs freely. The One who spoke “Stretch out your hand” now stretches out His own — not to destroy, but to redeem; not to accuse, but to forgive.

On that cross, the Law is fulfilled. The Sabbath is completed. The Lord of the Sabbath rests His head in death to give eternal rest to the weary. His hands are destroyed so that yours might be restored. His life is taken so that yours might be saved. That’s the pattern of the Gospel: He takes the harm so that you receive the good. He suffers so that you are healed. He is broken so that you are made whole.

And those outstretched hands haven’t stopped working. They still reach out today — from font, pulpit, and altar.

At the font, His hands pull you out of death. You were a corpse — withered by sin, helpless to move, unable to lift a finger toward God. But He reached into the water and claimed you. His hand washed you clean, clothed you in His righteousness, and joined you to His death and resurrection.

At the pulpit, those same hands hold the Scriptures open and deliver the truth — the brutal, saving truth — that you cannot save yourself, but Christ has done it all.

At the altar, His hands feed you with His own body and blood — the very flesh once pierced for you now given into your mouth for the forgiveness of sins. His hands are still working, still giving, still saving.

So what do we do? We stretch out our hands too. Not to take, not to grasp for control, not to clutch at the idols of comfort and mammon, but to receive and to give. Stretch out your hand to your brother, to your sister, to the sinner, to the one who’s still trapped in shame and unbelief. Say to them what Jesus said to that man: “Come and stand here.” Come to the place where mercy is given. Come to the place where the withered are restored, where the guilty are forgiven, where the weary find rest.

Whatever has withered in you — your courage, your faith, your marriage, your hope — Christ restores. Whatever guilt still weighs you down, His blood cancels. Whatever shame still clings to you, His mercy covers. Whatever sin still chains you, His outstretched arm breaks it open and pulls you into His embrace.

The Lord of the Sabbath hasn’t changed. He is still doing good. He is still saving life. He is still destroying the works of the devil. But don’t think for a moment that the world will applaud Him for it. The same rage that filled those Pharisees still fills the hearts of unbelievers. Real grace still offends fake religion. Mercy still exposes hypocrisy. Truth still provokes fury.

The world hates a Christ who actually heals because a Christ who heals makes their idols worthless. The world hates a Christ who forgives because forgiveness removes their leverage. The world hates a Christ who rises from the dead because that means He can’t be managed or silenced.

But this is your Lord. He isn’t tame. He isn’t manageable. He isn’t fake. He’s real flesh and blood, crucified and risen, stretching out His hands even now to save. And when He returns in glory, those same scarred hands will reach for you again. Not to accuse, not to expose, but to welcome — to lift you up from your grave, to pull you from death into everlasting rest.

So don’t fear the fury of the world. Don’t hide your faith. Don’t keep your hands folded while your neighbor suffers. The Lord who restored the man’s hand is restoring you — piece by piece, week by week, by His Word and Sacrament. Stretch out your hand. Receive His gifts. Do good. Forgive. Live.

Because the Lord of the Sabbath has spoken, and His Word does what it says. The same voice that said, “Let there be light” now says, “Be forgiven.” The same hand that healed the withered now blesses you. And one day, when this weary world is done and all our work is finished, those hands will close your eyes in peace, and you will finally rest in the eternal Sabbath — whole, restored, alive forever in Him.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin