St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church

Rev. Gary Paterson

September 6, 2009

It is a worrisome thing to find oneself trapped in a room, a church perhaps, with someone who has just recently returned from holidays; who carries a particular gleam in his eye… you can see that he is tempted to tell you everything, day by day by day by day, from Berlin to Prague to Budapest, and back again. You mentally cringe; you cough discretely; you look for escape possibilities; your eyes glaze over, though subtly; you offer up a small prayer to God, …”Dear Lord, please grant this man the gift of EDITING, so that me might select no more than three stories, though preferably only one, or maybe two; give him the ability to decide what is important… and what isn’t. And by the way Lord, if it’s not too much to ask, please get me out of here in time for lunch.”

Now, hold that prayer. I know it’s out there…. so I will switch gears, and I will talk about Jesus. Are you ready…? According to the chronology structures of the gospels, it would appear that Jesus began his ministry around the age of thirty, and he went about the teaching, healing, worshipping in synagogue; giving sermons, exorcizing demons, feeding lots of people. For three years, filled with parables and miracles, and a whole lot of just ordinary everyday eating and walking and sleeping. Three good years; and then Jesus was killed. A thousand days of ministry!

However, when you start to sort out the details of Jesus’ life that are presented in the gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, you discover that Jesus could have said and done everything that was recorded in about three months of time; only ninety days of good ministry. An awful lot was left out; only ten percent remembered, chosen, and recorded. Somebody had a very good…. well, yeah, a very good …editor. The gospel writers themselves, for sure; but sometimes I think that the Holy Spirit might well be called the Divine Editor.

Who knows, but what is clear is that the stories that did get included were important. These were the stories that held the key memories of the life and ministry of Jesus; they were stories that needed to be heard by the community, both then, and in future times. That’s the Divine Editor again. The stories that come to us in the gospels were chosen for a reason; not in a higgledy-piggledy manner… as if starting the morning out on Facebook… got up late, went to Starbucks, ordered a latte… blog, blog, blog. No, these stories demand your attention… you want to know something important about Jesus… then listen to this story. Then think about it; let it get under your skin. And see what happens. So… only ninety days get written up; but maybe that means a thousand teachable moments.

All of which is by way of setting the stage for today’s gospel story of the Syrophoenician or Canaanite woman.. (same thing, different words)… who came to Jesus and asked that her daughter be healed. Important enough to make into two gospels -- Mark and Matthew, two editors with a purpose.

I don’t much like this story… well, no, actually I do. But it is unsettling… now there’s a nice word for you… unsettling; disturbing, challenging,… maybe even exciting.

Some background…. the encounter takes place near the cities of Tyre and Sidon, key centers in the country of Phoenicia, just to the north of Galilee; also known as the Roman Province of Syria. This was Gentile territory… non-Jews, foreigners.; unclean, unwanted, unwelcome. Jews back then didn’t much like Syrophoenicians; they didn’t mix with folk like that if they could avoid it. And if paths crossed by force of happenstance, well, they took a deep breath, looked the other way, offered a thin smile… you know what I mean; you know what to do. Perhaps like a modern-times Israelite taking a stroll through Gaza; or a Hindu Brahmin, forced to rub shoulders with a Dalit garbage collector; a Shaughnessy matron walking through the Downtown Eastside…

So you need to imagine Jesus and his disciples walking along, very definitely minding their own business. There’s almost a suggestion that maybe Jesus was looking for some down time. He needed a break, and so went off to where nobody would know who he was, and even if they did, they wouldn’t be bothering him. Like going to a city of strangers, maybe like taking a holiday in Berlin.

But of course, that’s not what happened. Just when Jesus was taking a deep breath, beginning to unwind maybe… this person comes out of nowhere and starts shouting… a Syrophoenician, of course. Unclean, unwanted, unwelcome.

And naturally… it’s a woman. Remember, this is first century Mediterranean society… women are loved within the home, with their families. Women wandering around on their own, in the streets … that’s trouble; and if they’re shouting, making a scene… well, even worse; then, finally talking to a strange man, to a rabbi, in fact…. well talk about unclean, unwanted, unwelcome.

But that’s what happened in this story… a Syrophoenician woman accosted Jesus, and began shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” Jesus acted as if he hadn’t heard her: “And he did not answer her at all,” says the story. You know that technique… the one you use to avoid eye contact with the panhandlers and beggars of Vancouver; because you’re on a tight schedule; or you feel guilty; or maybe frustrated… at the person, at the situation. Jesus did not answer her at all.

But she was pushy, this woman, and she didn’t stop… “Have mercy on me… my daughter is tormented….” Over and over, until it drove the disciples crazy. “The disciples huddled around Jesus [can’t you just imagine that… twelve huddlers, all saying, ] ‘Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.’”

She is making a spectacle of herself, bowing down at his feet, the story says. And I wonder, did she grab his feet, right there in the dust. So improper; so not done; so uncool. The Syrophoenician woman… she knows the situation, the norms of etiquette, the unspoken rules that separate Syrophoenicians and Jews. And you wonder why she did it… then of course, you rmember -- her daughter is sick; no, she’s dying (that’s what first century demon language means here.) A woman…a mother… and her daughter is dying. She will do anything… her need is so overwhelming; her desperation is so overpowering; her courage is so deep; her love is so huge. “Help me, Lord.” That’s what she says to Jesus, kneeling there in the dust, holding on as if her life depended on it, her daughter dying… “Help me, Lord.”

Stop the story for a moment…. right here, just when this woman is kneeling there in the dust, calling out “Help me, Lord.” We need to pause here… and maybe kneel down right beside her, right there in the dusty road. I want you to feel the ache; the sleepless nights of worry; the fracturing of the heart… her heart; anyone’s heart… maybe your heart. “Help me, Lord.” – mercy, grace, wholeness, bread… please. “

Now, this is where the story gets difficult. Turn your attention away from the woman, and listen carefully to Jesus. When Jesus finally responds to the Syrophoenician, woman, it’s not what you’d call pastoral: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” And when she persists is crying out “Lord, help me,” Jesus is even more dismissive: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and feed it to the dogs.”

Ouch! ... Particularly that word “dog”. This is not the Jesus that I learned about in Sunday School; the kind Jesus, gentle and loving and compassionate. Who is this guy… this first-century Jew, who seems to be caught up in all the prejudices of his own times, that he had learned in family and in the village life of Nazareth? This human Jesus, this less-than perfect; a Jesus limited, conditioned, shaped by how own times, his family upbringing, society, religion. A Jesus, who is experiencing his own learning curve, who has yet to learn the fullness of God’s incredible, endless love where no one is unclean, unwanted, unwelcome. Even a pushy, loud, desperate Syrophoenician mother, whose human need, whose love for her daughter, enabled her to teach Jesus. Now there’s a radical thought!

In the face of Jesus’ almost contemptuous dismissal, the woman does not slink away, tail between her legs. NO, she’s quick, sharp… and faith-full. I imagine her standing up, looking at Jesus, eyeball to eyeball, tears streaming down her cheeks… “Even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” It’s as if she’s feeding back to Jesus his own message. “For my daughter’s sake; for the sake of every hurting human being; for God’s sake…. regardless of gender, race, religion, status, orientation, colour, class… there is enough bread. There is always enough bread. Do you not see, Jesus – that what you have been talking about, what you have unleashed into the world, is an unstoppable wave of grace and love, a holy energy that’s speaks to the deepest of our human hungers. There are no dogs in God’s shalom.

The good news of this story is that Jesus gets it; he really does. “Great is your faith,” he says; “your daughter is healed.” Your heart is mended; there is enough holy bread to go around. … and then some.

Thank God for a story like this, for the Holy Editor that worked with Mark and Matthew; a story that we need to hear over and over again. Because we humans seem so quick to draw lines, cast judgment, build walls, deciding who’s in and who’s out. And God knows, the church is not immune; too often Christians get so righteous about establishing in/out boundaries. Joke… an old classic from the time of the Troubles in Northern Ireland. Interviewer to a chap in the street… “Are you Protestant or Catholic?” The fellow responded, “I’m not exactly sure, but I’m thinking I’m neither; maybe I’m an atheist, because I don’t seem to hate anyone.”

Yes, we need to hear this story about the Syrophoenician woman, about Jesus’ change of heart, so that we can ourselves learn that there are no dogs in God’s Shalom. As would be followers of this Jesus, we are called to do our best to stretch the welcome and draw the circle wide… and ever wider. It’s not easy. There are so many people who act differently than me, than us; who believe differently; who are just plain difficult, off-putting… maybe not unclean, but surely unwelcome. It’s not easy – you have to be willing to look at your own self… to become more aware of prejudices that sometimes we are barely aware of; our own temptation to shrink the circle to a safe and manageable diameter. Maybe this story about the encounter between Jesus and this Syrophoenician woman is inviting us to recognize that when we actually encounter another human being, maybe especially someone who is different… well, the boundaries get more fluid, the lines are blurred a bit.

Now… about my holiday in Berlin. I heard your prayer – one story. Tim and I went to yhe Jewish Museum, a thousand year history of the Jews in Germany. It was a hard and heart-breaking story. A lived out reversal of today’s gospel reading… back then it was Jews avoiding Syrophoenician dogs; but once Christians got power, they turned on the Jews, saying now in their turn… “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” A thousand years… unclean, unwanted, unwelcome.

I bought a postcard in the Museum shop; not a picture, but a handful of words ….

Your car is Japanese.

Your curry is Indian.

Your coffee is Brazilian.

Your holiday is Spanish.

Your democracy is Greek.

Your numbers are Arabic.

Your alphabet is Latin.

Your Christ is a Jew.

And your neighbour is just a foreigner?

Draw the circle wide; happy Labour Day.