Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
September 6, 2009
Mark 7: 24-34
Linus is standing in front of a brick wall, talking to the wall: "And I feel that as long as we have to live together in the same family we should try to get along. I just think we could work a little harder at it, that's all. Do you agree?" When he is finished speaking, he leaves the wall, goes home, goes inside and finds his sister, Lucy, watching television. He speaks again: "And I feel that as long as we have to live together in the same family we should try to get along. I just think we could work a little harder at it. That's all. Do you agree?" When he’s finished he stands there, waiting for a reply. But Lucy continues to stare at the television, saying nothing, not even acknowledging his presence in the room. Finally he leaves and goes outside. He finds Charlie Brown and says, "You're right, Charlie Brown. Talking to Lucy is like talking to a brick wall."
Ever have that experience with another person? Maybe with a stubborn child or a stubborn parent? Totally unresponsive to anything you say? Give me an amen! And how about your relationship to God, your prayer life? Do you have those times when you feel you might as well be talking to a brick wall, for the lack of response you get? Well, in our text today we meet someone, a desperate someone, who must have been feeling that way. "A woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit heard about him. Now the woman was a Gentile, of syro-phoenician origin. She begged Jesus to cast the demon out of her daughter..."
Now even before we begin to talk about the woman and her request, we are struck by the decidedly unflattering portrait of Jesus. You have heard me preach many times about the radical inclusiveness of Jesus. Anyone is welcome at his table. He constantly breaks down long-established and accepted barriers between people. That's what gets him in trouble. Who is welcome in His kingdom? Everyone is welcome! At least, I thought that was true until I stumbled headlong into this text.
Here is the situation: Jesus has moved beyond Israel. He is now in Tyre, in gentile country. We don't know why he went there. Maybe he needed a little rest. Hordes of people were now following him everywhere he went in Galilee, with so many needs, so many problems. And so, unlike the bar in Cheers, maybe he wanted to be somewhere where nobody knew his name. Mark tells us, "He entered a home and did not want anyone to know he was there." But seemingly, such anonymity was not possible for one like him, not even in faraway places like Tyre. Says Mark, "He could not escape notice." And so this woman, this gentile, not one of his people, hears about him and interrupts his retreat: "My daughter is ill, tormented by a demon. Help her." We don't know what was wrong, but it was something bad. The mother uses very strong language.
And it is here that Jesus surprises, even shocks us. We think he will say, "Of course I will help. Take me to her." This is what he does. He is Jesus after all. Instead he dismisses her, and rather cruelly at that. "He said to her, 'Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs." The dogs? He is not only reluctant to help, he insults her. He makes it clear, as he has said before, that his mission is to the children of Israel. And it would seem that is true, even when he is not in Israel. But then he calls her a name - calls her and her sick daughter ‘dogs’. "Sorry, you don't fit into my plans for today - or any day - and besides you and your daughter are no better than these disgusting scavengers, living off garbage in the streets." Ouch, I thought Jesus loved the little children, all the children of the world.
Well, I’ve puzzled over this one. I’m sure that hundreds of sermons have been preached trying to explain it but I can’t explain his answer. Could we be seeing here a very human Jesus at the end of his rope – exhausted, discouraged, frustrated, far from home? Could we see an uncertain Jesus, maybe struggling with the true meaning and scope of his mission and ministry? Some have suggested that he is actually putting his disciples to the test, wondering how they will respond, wondering if anyone will speak up on behalf of the woman and her daughter. I kind of like the tired and frustrated model, but I can’t really explain his response.
But if it is meant to put off or discourage the woman, it doesn’t work. She doesn’t just creep away feeling small and insignificant. Nope, she’s on a mission. She will not be dismissed so easily. She is resilient, determined to get a hearing. “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” She comes back at him with grace, grit and wit: “Yes, feed the children, but I bet you have a crumb left for my daughter and me.” He draws a line, she crosses it. She will not give in, she will not give up, she will not let go. And her stubborn persistence makes a difference. For just in that moment when she feels as if she is talking to a brick wall, that maybe there will be no response, something changes. What is it? Could it be Jesus? Do we actually see Jesus Christ changing his mind here? Could this be a moment of clarification? Or reclarification, of definition, of renewed focus? For after first saying no, he says yes. He answers the woman’s pleas. He heals the daughter at a distance. This gentile, this outsider, this unbeliever, this woman discovers that she and her daughter are also his people, that they are also participants in his kingdom. You could say this woman through her cleverness, her wit, her persistence, and most importantly her faith calls forth from Jesus a broader vision of mission. A mission of compassion, of mercy, now without limits, without walls. Says Barbara Brown Taylor, “The line he had drawn between him and the woman disappears; the limits he had placed on himself vanish. You can almost hear the huge wheel of history turning as Jesus comes to a new understanding of who he is and what he’s been called to do. Through her faith, he learns that God’s purpose for him is bigger than he had imagined. The old boundaries will not contain his new vision. He must rub them out and draw them bigger, to include this foreign woman today and who knows who tomorrow. Her faith works like a lever on him, opening his arms wider and wider and wider until there is room for the whole world…”
Now what do you think of this proposal, this idea? This idea that when Jesus is confronted with this woman and her persistent, insistent faith, he is forced to re-think his ministry, his mission, perhaps he even changes his mind. I don’t know, does it make Jesus a little too human for you? Or maybe it makes him now more accessible for you. Something to think about.
Because what’s true for him is also true for us. Over and over God’s call to us involves pushing old boundaries, embracing outsiders, giving up the notion that we can place limits on our concept of neighbor. We may resist, we may run and hide, we may choose to ignore it, but the call of God is as insistent as that woman who would not leave Jesus alone. God keeps after us, calling us by name until finally we step over the lines we have drawn and discover a whole new world on the other side.
And just one final word about this woman and her encounter with Jesus. When she has him she will not let go, will not be deterred, will not be discouraged. And it makes a difference. I think her faith is a challenge to him, and I’ll tell you, it’s a challenge to me. Too often, I fear, my faith, my prayer life, is a little like brushing my teeth – once in the morning and once at night. She has such passion. My faith easily becomes about beliefs, a way of life, you know, following certain Christian precepts. It’s not bad, but it’s safe. It guards me from disappointment if things don’t go the way I want them to. But her…she presses in on Jesus. She makes a gutsy, desperate, hopeful leap of faith. She grabs him by the lapels and will not let him go. I’m usually content with a polite handshake. Says one colleague: “She did not lose heart. She knew what she wanted and she knew who could give it to her. Whether he gave it or not was beyond her control, but she was willing to say what she wanted, out loud, over and over, whether she got it or not. Saying it was how she remembered who she was, it was how she remembered the shape of her heart, it kept her heart chasing after God’s heart.” It changed her; I think, it changed Jesus, and it brought her close to the heart of Christ.
So I hope I remember that Gentile woman, that unbeliever. She gets her miracle. May the same be true for us. But even if the wanted results do not instantly come, I hope we remember her. Because her persistence, her hope, her faith become, not the end of her journey with Jesus, but really the place where her journey begins and where she discovers that there are no limits to the flow of love, mercy, healing and grace.