Today’s
gospel passage contains two separate stories: the healing of the Syrophoenician
woman’s daughter and the healing of a deaf man. Each of these passages really
is robust enough to stand on its own; the lectionary could have put these two
stories in different weeks, but by keeping them together, as Mark did in his
writing of the gospel, a connection becomes apparent that we might miss if we were
to read these stories separately. What we see in these passages is that hearing
leads to speaking, and specifically, to sharing the Good News.
This
is, perhaps, easier to see in the second healing story about the deaf man. He,
literally, could not hear; and because he could couldn’t hear, he had
difficulty speaking as well. Remember, the theme of the entire gospel according
to Mark is “repent and believe;” and the word “repent” doesn’t mean “confess
your sins,” but rather is a word that means “to change your mind.” But how
could this deaf man have this transformative change of mind without knowing
about the Gospel? So when Jesus heals him, not only is there physical salvation
being offered in the form of his deafness going away, but he also finds the
salvation that comes from participating in the Gospel. He is now able to hear
the story of God’s love and promises, and is able to share that Good News with
others. Knowing the Gospel leads to living the Gospel. Hearing leads to
speaking.
And
we see that same connection being made in Jesus’ encounter with the Syrophoenician
woman. This is one of the more theologically troubling passages in the gospels.
It’s a view of Jesus that not many of us are comfortable with. For one, Jesus
calls this woman a “dog,” and there really is no getting around that. In fact,
if we wanted to translate that word more accurately, we should use a stronger
word than “dog.” So is this Mark’s xenophobia placed in the mouth of Jesus? Or
was this actually something that Jesus said? I don’t know, I wasn’t there; but
either way, this isn’t a view of Jesus that we’re accustomed to seeing.
And
then it appears that the woman out-debated Jesus. There was an assumption that
the Jewish Messiah would be coming to save Israel, which makes sense. But this
non-Jewish woman must have known something about God. Maybe she wasn’t
religious, but she had encountered God. She had known the power of love in her
life, and knew that the source of this love could not be confined to only one
group of people. She may have even known that wonderful verse from the Prophet
Isaiah: “It is not enough, since you are my servant, to raise up the tribes of
Jacob and to bring back the survivors of Israel. Hence, I will also appoint you
as light to the nations so that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”
She’s
called a dog, and instead of doing what most of us would do – threatening a
slander suit, hurling another insult back, or throwing a punch – she isn’t
reactionary. This woman knows why she came to Jesus, and it wasn’t to be given
dignity or respect, it was to have her daughter healed. So often though, we
lose our focus and end up fighting each other instead of wrestling with the
topic at hand. Just this past week in the news we’ve seen this playing out. A
register of deeds in Kentucky refuses to issue marriage licenses and a lot of
people respond not with arguments about justice but insults based on the fact
that she’s been married four times. We’ve recently seen journalists, police
officers, a college student, a Charlotte minister, and a young girl all die
because of gunshot wounds. But the rhetoric is focusing on constitutional
rights and name-calling instead of actually focusing on what everyone agrees
the real purpose is – wanting to live in peace and safety. We would all do well
to remember this lesson about keeping our eye on the prize and not getting
distracted with the sideshow.
After
hearing a passage of a miraculous healing like this one, often people will ask
questions like “does prayer really work?” or “do miracles really happen?” That’s
not the right question. If you ask a bad question, you’ll probably get a bad
answer. Instead, what prayers and miracles invite us to ask is “do you
acknowledge that there is a power greater than yourself?” This Syrophoenician
woman knows there is, and she submits herself to it. She’s not looking to pull
herself up by her own bootstraps, she doesn’t buy the lie that through hard
work she can achieve prosperity, nor is she looking for a simple handout. In a
cultural that is overly focused on individual rights and individual success,
this story reminds us that God is bigger than any of us. The sick girl’s mother
has an expectant hope that God will not forget her, and she knows that there is
no such thing as an “outsider” to God.
So instead of reacting to
Jesus, she pushes on and shows great persistence. She even stays with the derogatory
metaphor and says “but even the dogs gets what falls off the table.” Jesus then
tells her to return home, because her daughter has been healed. It seems that
Jesus changed his mind; that he didn’t understand the fullness of the Messiah’s
mission at first. If we proclaim that Jesus took on our flesh and lived as one
of us, then it seems that in this incident, Jesus experienced what it is like to not be
perfect. Now for some, this will challenge their faith. They’ll say that Jesus
was absolutely perfect and never made a mistake
There
was a heresy in the early Church known as Docetism, which said that Jesus was
not really a person, but rather he just appeared as if he was. The Greek word dokein means “to seem.” In this line of
thinking, Jesus is more of a phantom than a person. I don’t know about you, but
I have very little interest in a Jesus who only seemed to be real. No, the
power of the Gospel is that Jesus lived as one of us, knew our pains, our
sorrows, our joys. And after he died a very real death, he burst forth from the
tomb, proclaiming that even death cannot put an end to the power and love of
God. That’s the Jesus of the Gospels, and if that Jesus was really a human who
lived, died, and rose again, then I’m absolutely fine with him being like you
and me and having a misstep along the way.
When Jesus sees what
happens, he then responds with grace and love, and that is a lesson for us all
when we realize that we haven’t responded in the best way. Through this
interaction, we see this same connection of hearing leading to speaking. It was
only after Jesus truly heard the woman that he spoke a word of salvation to
her. How often though do we listen to those whom we disagree with? I know that
I’m guilty of not doing that. I read a lot of books on religion and theology,
and most of them are written by scholars whom I mostly agree with. The problem
is that if we only converse with and listen to people that we agree with, all
we end up doing is nodding our heads, feeling righteous, and confirming our own
suspicions about the way the world works. Whether it is race relations, gun
control, same-sex marriage, religious diversity, parenting styles, or the proper role of government, this Gospel
passage beckons us to truly hear each other. It is through hearing that we are
them able to speak the grace of God.
And speaking of the grace
of God, I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge and celebrate that this coming
Tuesday will mark one year of ministry together with me being the Rector of St.
Luke’s. I really don’t know that I can put into words my appreciation for each
and every one of you, the joy and fullness that I feel, and the gratitude that
I have to God for bringing us together. St. Luke’s is a special place, full of
special people who I have come to deeply love over the past year. In this first
year together, my intent has been to hear your stories and your dreams and to
then speak to them as your priest.
One of the things that I
love most about being at St. Luke’s is that you all get this connection between
hearing and speaking. At St. Luke’s, I am able to be the person and priest that
I believe that God is calling me to be. There are a lot of clergy out there who
aren’t able to be true to themselves for fear of backlash. Some of you occasionally
mention that it seems that some of my sermons are courageous for taking on
tough topics. Any courage that I may have isn’t what makes those sermons
possible, but rather your openness and trust is. You trust that God has called
me here for a reason, and you give me the space to be authentic. You trust me
to say tough things that need to be said in a pastoral and caring way. I trust
you to hold me accountable when I get off track, and I trust you to talk to me
when you have a concern. We trust in God’s grace to unite us to each other. As
a priest, I can tell you, that is a really awesome thing, that we are able to
hear each other.
And because we hear each
other, we are able to speak the Good News of Jesus Christ. Many of you know
that we just called a new Director of Music Ministry to St. Luke’s, and when he
was here for an interview a few weeks ago, he commented that he could palpably sense
the energy that is present at St. Luke’s. We’ve taken great steps in being the
best St. Luke’s we can be. We’re not there yet, but we’re moving in the right
direction. Thank you all for the past year. It is a joy, honor, and privilege
to be serving as your priest. I am truly excited to see what great things God
has in store for us.
These two healing stories
show us that it is only after hearing that we can speak the Good News. May God
open our hearts and minds to truly hear each other. May we be given the
strength to endure and focus on what matters most. And may God grant us the
ability to always respond with grace and love as we seek to be the best that we
can be. Amen.
