The Bent Woman

Last Sunday’s Gospel told of the woman who had been bent over for eighteen years (Luke 13:10–17). Many imagine her as physically crippled. But what if her bent form was not her spine, but her faith — burdened, restrained, oppressed by the weight of secular values and the blindness of those who could not recognize the feminine face of God within patriarchal language and imagery.

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This post is not for the faint of heart — it is X-rated, not in the worldly sense, but in the way of the Cross. 

It's for mature readers ready for the meat of the Gospel, not the milk.

The Orthodox have long called themselves the “straight” believers; by that measure, all others are bent. I first glimpsed this out near Jericho Beach in Vancouver, where Orthodox voices rose in worship — at the tent, in the plenary, and even at the noonday meal — standing upright in their tradition as though posture itself could keep faith alive.

I came, instead, from a church shaped by modernity — bent in their imagination of God, with prejudice against evangelical believers and, by extension, Orthodox voices. Yet a certain Orthodox theologian saw me differently. In speaking with me face to face, glancing at my name tag, he recognized what others missed: that I stood alone, willing to speak out against the compromises of my church, while still advocating for the feminine face of God I glimpsed through the veil of patriarchal grammar and imagery.

The image of the Woman Jesus called bent is bound up with the number eighteen. For numbers in Scripture are rarely incidental. Seventeen marks the fullness of the womb — the sum of 1 through 17 being 153, the number of the great catch of fish. But eighteen is the turning point — the moment of re-birth, when what was long secreted in the comforting womb of Abrahamic faith is brought forth, standing straight and upright before those who see.

This is why Jesus (the Orthodox Teacher) calls her forward: not to heal, but to redeem her identity and to save that identity from being lost. What was bent is now revealed as straight. What was trapped is broken free.

And as the Woman Jesus herself declares — though patriarchal grammar veils it — “Wisdom is vindicated by all her children” (Luke 7:35).

In this, Jesus speaks as a full citizen, and this is why she is named “he” and portrayed as male — yet still unseen by the blind who cannot recognize her unveiled face.

This is the same summons we hear in the story of Zacchaeus — for Zacchaeus is not just a man up in a tree, but the bent one herself. Zacchaeus in Hebrew means “pure, clean.” It carries the same meaning as Linda in Italian, and in Spanish, Linda means “beautiful.”

Pay attention. The Bent Woman, the Madonna, the Bride are not three separate women. They are the same woman, given different names — the Gate called Beautiful, the almond branch, the Nazar.

As I wrote in What Defines You, one’s name seems to define a person, but families often give nicknames and titles of affection. So it is with the Gospel writers: the many names given to the Woman — like the many names given to Jesus the Teacher and to Simon the Rock — help the disciples glimpse the Bride’s true identity: pure and clean. The Advocate unveiled.

Don’t let patriarchal grammar snare you — “Son of Abraham” names her not as male, but as a full heir of the covenant, male and female together, as pure as newborn babes.

What was bent is not only raised, but reborn — like the waters of the womb breaking open, breaking babes free and giving them life.

Born of water and Spirit (John 3:5), what was hidden is revealed, what was bent is summoned forth to break free.

Last Sunday’s lectionary made this connection clear: the Bent Woman passage (Luke 13:10–17) was paired with Jeremiah’s call, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you” (Jeremiah 1:5), and the psalmist’s cry, “The Lord is my rock and my fortress” (Psalm 71:3). Together these two readings stand as pillars — the womb and the rock — anchoring the covenant promise that is now revealed in the Bent Woman, she who now stands straight and upright.

The womb bears life; the rock secures it. Together they steady the soul — as the old hymn sings:

“We have an anchor that keeps the soul,
steadfast and sure while the billows roll;
fastened to the Rock which cannot move,
grounded firm and deep in the Savior’s love.”

Out of that steadfast love, divine love unfolds: like the sea breaking safely on the shore, the dear Lady too is borne forward in hope. The spray carries her until, from the beach, comes the Friend’s call — like the horn that signals safe harbour, at that first breakfast. At last she breaks free — redeemed, claimed by the Rock.

For what a friend she has in Jesus the Teacher, the Friend of the Bride and Bridegroom, who first finds her bent and bound to a man not her husband. Then, broken free, he calls out like a horn blast, sounding like an old Greek rooster, to Simon as he was singing down by the sea — so that he would leap into the water, don his wedding garment, and declare his love, as loud and clear as thunder: “Let there be love,” echoing that first command, “Let there be light.”

Recall how Moses the Teacher of Israel, spoke with God in thunder (Exodus 19:19). For surely it is this thunder that sings the psalmist’s song here in Psalm 71: 17.

“O God, from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds” 

Had the lectionary included this seventeenth verse, perhaps ears would have perked up — as if a thunderclap from heaven, were jolting the hearer awake. For this is the very thunder of Simon the Rock, whose voice resounds with love — and in the very number of the song itself, a pattern thunders.

Seventeen is itself a prime — indivisible, whole — yet it does not stand alone. For in the mystery of numbers, it is paired with nineteen, its spouse, differing by only two. And just as thunder answered Moses in Exodus 19:19, so too this pairing echoes with covenant power.

Pay attention: the prime number pairing acts as a gate, opening the way into covenant mystery. Seventeen flashes as lightning — prime, indivisible and whole. Nineteen answers as thunder, echoing the lightning’s call — “On the morning of the third day there was thunder and lightning, and a pall of smoke, for there was fire… Moses spoke, and God answered him in thunder” (Exodus 19:16–19).

In Roman numerals, nineteen is written XIX — a palindrome, read the same forwards and backwards. The number itself mirrors what it proclaims: distinct yet joined, two becoming one. Spiritually, this difference of two reveals the mystery of covenant. When a man and a woman unite, their exact difference — the two becoming one — defines them as a new creation: “one flesh” (Genesis 2:24). Just as 17 and 19 are distinct yet forever paired by their difference, so too are Bride and Bridegroom forever paired and graced with covenant love.

Before she was called Paul, this crucified Bride was known as Saul — a name that whispers of the shawl that comforts, the pall that covers with dignity, the mantle of the Advocate  interceding for the poor and covering the Bride.  In time, that mantle was glorified in her, as her Spirit’s Gift revealed her true covenant identity. And so Paul could also write of herself as a nursing mother (1 Thess. 2:7), tending her children in faith.

Paul’s teaching partner, Apollos, confirms this mystery. Born in Alexandria, his very name marks him as Apollo, the light-bringer, whom the Romans nicknamed Phoebus. His wife, remembered as Phoebe in Romans 16:1–2, personifies the name Anna — Grace — the Lady of the House of Grace. By naming her, Paul also nods toward her sister of Bethany, the one who once fretted as she sat at the Teacher’s feet, thus acknowledging that household as part of the covenant story.

Together Apollos and Anna water the seeds Paul plants — I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth (1 Corinthians 3:6). Without the Rock — the source of life, full of carbon — there would be no foundation, no building block of Creation.

But it is Cephas — the Black Rock, God the Father made manifest — who gives the increase.

The Gospel writers sometimes called this Father of Jesus, Joseph, a name that in Hebrew means “may he add, may he increase. Thus, Cephas, named also Joseph ( by the Gospel writers, is revealed as the Bridegroom who belongs to the Bride: the living stone the builders rejected is the living cornerstone revealed. His faith in her and the encouragement of his songs may seem like black magic to some, yet his love for her lets her light shine — “…for no one lights a lamp and hides it under a bushel, but sets it high so that all may see and be guided.”

Thus when Jesus the Orthodox Teacher calls the bent woman to stand from a tangle of oppression, it is not only her release from bondage, but the unveiling of this union: womb and rock, Bride and Bridegroom, joined in covenant love and grace. Here the bent woman herself is revealed as the crucified Bride — the one Paul names in her own flesh, “I have been crucified with Christ” (Galatians 2:19).

As Kazantzakis dares to imagine in St. Francis — a work once charged with blasphemy — the amygdala cries: “forgive me, my sisters, for blooming too soon.” For Bethany is the House of Anna, where the Lady of the House (Martha, in Aramaic, meaning “lady”) welcomes her sister, the Woman Jesus called Mary, who is the Magdalene, the Amygdala. As noted in What Defines You, the names given to these figures reveal Christ —not as separate characters, but in covenant roles of Bride and Bridegroom, in communion with the Orthodox Teacher and his housewife in Bethany — the House of Anna.”

The womb and the rock hold together the covenant plan of love and grace — as steadfast as the household in Bethany, where the Lady of the House opens her doors in welcome.

And it is the Orthodox Teacher — the Forerunner, the Friend of the Bridegroom — who, like a faithful old Greek rooster, alektōr, crows when the light appears.

He heralds both crucifixion and resurrection.

He anchors the soul of the Bride and her children to the Rock.

And he restores hope both inside and outside the Holy of Holies (Hebrews 6:19–20).

As I wrote in From Tangle to Covenant, the net that had become a tangle and a snare — in Peter’s hands — personifies faithfulness. It rests upon her like a prayer shawl, full of grace and transformative power. In humility, modestly covering her as she prays, it dignifies her with new authority.

From bent to breaking free — the Jesus Woman, Christ the Bride, pledges her troth into Simon Peter’s hands, her promised Rock and Fortress.

She sends the disciples out with the authority and encouragement he gives her.

With the words of the Great Commission:

Go therefore and make disciples of all nations

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From bent to breaking free — the Jesus Woman, Christ the Bride, breathes out: —“Into your hands I commit my spirit, Father — for You are my Bridegroom.”