Ep. Mark 3:1–6 Stretch Out Your Hand

“And He entered the synagogue again, and a man was there who had a withered hand. So they watched Him closely, whether He would heal him on the Sabbath, so that they might accuse Him. And He said to the man who had the withered hand, ‘Step forward.’ Then He said to them, ‘Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?’ But they kept silent. And when He had looked around at them with anger, being grieved by the hardness of their hearts, He said to the man, ‘Stretch out your hand.’ And he stretched it out, and his hand was restored as whole as the other. Then the Pharisees went out and immediately plotted with the Herodians against Him, how they might destroy Him.” Mark 3:1–6 NKJV

The Storm Before the Synagogue

By the time we reach this scene in Mark’s Gospel, the storm is already gathering. Jesus has healed lepers, forgiven sins, sparred with scribes, and even declared Himself “Lord of the Sabbath” after the grainfield controversy. Each act of mercy has met resistance. Each confrontation with the religious elite has turned the pressure up another notch. So when Mark says He entered the synagogue again, we shouldn’t imagine a calm Sabbath in Galilee. The room is already wired with tension.

A Man in the Middle

Whenever I read a passage like this, I try to set aside the comfort of modern church pews and imagine myself back in the first century. The dust, the heat, the smell of sweat and stone. The synagogue is crowded, stone benches filled, voices low as the Torah scroll is brought out. Off to the side stands a man everyone knows. His right hand dangles shriveled, dried up, useless. You can see the shame in his posture. No ability to work. No ability to bless.

In our world, he’d be the man at the back with a disability everyone whispers about but nobody really helps.

But on this day, all eyes aren’t on him. They’re on Jesus. The Pharisees are watching, poised like lawyers with notepads, waiting for evidence. In modern terms, think of denominational watchdogs or internet “discernment bloggers” ready to pounce if someone colors outside the lines. They aren’t asking, “Can this man be helped?” They’re asking, “Can we trap Jesus?”

Jesus doesn’t wait for a quiet moment. He calls the man into the middle. “Step forward.” Now every eye swivels — not just to Jesus, but to the broken man standing exposed in front of the community. In our world, that’s like dragging an issue everyone avoids out onto the platform where no one can ignore it.

The Question That Cut Through Silence

“Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?”

Notice how He reframes it. For the Pharisees, the question is technical: is healing work? For Jesus, the question is moral: if you can do good and you refuse, you are doing evil. That’s still the question today, isn’t it? In churches that argue over procedure while needs go unmet, in families that preserve appearances instead of facing pain, in communities that hide behind policy while people suffer. Silence is complicity.

Anger and Grief in the House of God

Mark says Jesus looked around with anger, grieved by their hardness of heart. That would have stunned the first hearers. The Messiah, angry in the synagogue. And yet His anger wasn’t cold; it was mingled with grief. Their hearts were calloused, like skin so thick it can’t feel anymore. That’s what religion does when rules matter more than mercy — it numbs us.

Then the miracle: “Stretch out your hand.” And he does. The shriveled hand becomes whole, strong as the other. In a healthy community, this would have sparked celebration. But instead, rage erupts. The leaders storm out, not to rejoice, but to plot His death.

Enemies Who Should Never Have Been Friends

And here Mark adds a detail his readers would not have missed. The Pharisees joined forces with the Herodians. To us, that sounds like a footnote. But to them, it was shocking. The Pharisees were purists, determined to keep Israel free from compromise. The Herodians were political loyalists to Herod Antipas, Rome’s puppet ruler. They hated each other.

Imagine firebrand revivalists suddenly teaming up with corrupt politicians — enemies in every way except for their shared hatred of Jesus. Nothing shows His threat more clearly than when enemies who loathe each other suddenly find each other useful.

When Rules Matter More Than Mercy

And here’s where the mirror turns back on us. This isn’t just about Pharisees in Galilee. The same hardness of heart has echoed through history. Jesus taught His followers to love their enemies, yet by the eleventh century, Christians were slaughtering Muslims in the Crusades, sometimes even forcing conversions at sword point. What began in devotion hardened into zeal that looked nothing like Christ.

I’ve seen it in quieter ways too. A Presbyterian preacher I once knew told me how his church began praying for the sick in the 1970s, and people were being healed. The board threatened to fire him. He asked, “Is it unbiblical?” Their answer was chilling: “It’s not that it’s unbiblical. It’s just not Presbyterian.”

And then there was Bob. He told me how, in the 1970s, he attended a large, affluent Methodist church. Some of its members got involved in charismatic meetings and came back claiming to have received spiritual gifts. The leadership wasn’t having it. They told them to leave. So Bob and others found a small country Methodist church, whose pastor was more open to the things of the Spirit. But it didn’t last. Soon denominational officials told that pastor to shut it down or lose his job. And he did. He folded. Fear of losing position outweighed courage to embrace mercy.

In both cases, the issue wasn’t whether God was moving. The issue was the system. Just like in that Galilean synagogue, compassion was set aside because it didn’t fit the rulebook.

The Question Still Hangs in the Air

“Is it lawful to do good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?”

That question pierces through every generation. We can dodge it with tradition. We can hide behind denominational labels. But the moment God puts someone in front of us in need, the question returns.

The man with the withered hand had to step forward. That’s the challenge for us too. To step into the middle of our communities, even when it’s risky, and trust that Jesus still restores. And when we’re the ones watching from the benches, the challenge is just as sharp: will we celebrate mercy, or will we harden our hearts?