Pentecost 16, 2024
Isaiah 35:4-7a
Psalm 146
James 2:1-17
Mark 7:24-37
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
This is a really hard gospel text to hear. And it’s hard to know what to do with it. Sure, we could take an “all’s well that ends well” approach and ignore what Jesus says, and just emphasize the healing of the woman’s daughter. Or—as I’ve done in the past—we could say that Jesus is leading the crowd along, by pretending to reject the woman until the big reveal, where he welcomes the one they reject. But I don’t find either of those approaches to be honest . . . to be honest.
Because we cannot just overlook that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ has just flat out called another human being a dog. No sweeping that under the rug—especially for us Episcopalians, a group of people who promise in our baptismal covenant to respect the dignity of every human being. We do not call people dogs, or vermin, or cockroaches. Certainly not if we are being true to our baptismal vows. And there’s no getting around the fact that Jesus has done just that in this reading. How do we reconcile this? How do we explain what we just heard? Well, let’s back up for a minute and look at the circumstances surrounding this gospel reading.
Most scholars date Mark’s gospel to around the year 70AD, which is like 40 years or so after the resurrection. It’s important to know that at the time, Jewish zealots were mounting an insurrection in Jerusalem against their Roman occupiers. This was an all-out war, which resulted in the complete destruction of the Temple. This insurrection of the zealots caused widespread oppression across the entire Roman Empire, resulting in a backlash of hatred of the Jews as a whole. In particular, the historian Josephus notes that there was serious animosity between the Jews and the Gentiles living in the area of Tyre.
And where does Jesus go in today’s gospel? To Tyre. For Jews of this time, going into any gentile region is walking into hostile territory. The Jews and the Tyrians are serious enemies at the time Mark was written. It’s also worth noting that there is no mention of the disciples being with Jesus in this story. He’s walking into this scene completely on his own, fully alone, and fully human, as we say in our Creed every Sunday.
And then a note about dogs. Here in America in 2024, we do not have dogs roaming the streets. Dogs need licenses. Dogs need homes. Stray dogs are not something we are familiar with. In Jesus’ time—and in many countries today—dogs are not domesticated. Sure, they might hang around humans, hoping for scraps and the occasional pat on the head. But in Jesus’ time, people did not have dogs. And so there is no good construction to put on his calling someone a dog. A dog is not a faithful black lab going for walks. A dog is more like a rat in New York City. A part of life by accident, but not in any way “man’s best friend.”
So, with all that as background, let’s set the scene. A gentile Lebanese woman comes to the Jewish Jesus when he’s alone in hostile territory and she asks for help. Everyone present, and everyone hearing this story would know all that background I just laid out. They would know the hostility between the Jews and the people of Lebanon. They would know the status of dogs. They would also know the status of women, and of people thought to be possessed by demons. And so—to cut to the chase—this cruel belittling response from Jesus would surprise exactly . . . no one.
The woman asks for help for her daughter. And Jesus says 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.” By which he means, “My healing power should go to the Jews first. And you, madam enemy, are not my equal; you are not even on the level of a child; you are a dog.” A dog.
And is there anything in this story to suggest anyone is shocked? Does anyone object to this harsh language from Jesus? Nope. No complaints. No notes. No sense of surprise. AND, no sense of shock from the woman herself! You notice how she has a response ready to go? She seems to expect Jesus to treat her this way! She is ready to be rejected by God in the flesh. And she is ready with the exact thing to make Jesus stop in his tracks and change course.
On the other hand, as post-resurrection listeners, WE expect Jesus to offer her some comforting words and to show an ounce of compassion. We expect Jesus to extend the unconditional, unwavering, absolutely complete acceptance from God. But the Tyrian woman expects no such niceties. She has seen how Jewish people treat her people. She knows full well the animosity on both sides. And she is ready to respond. And her response . . . changes Jesus.
I’ve said it before and I will say it again. God. Can. Change. And we can add to that . . . Jesus. Can. Learn. I know that goes against a lot of what we have heard and thought over the course of our lifetimes. I know that goes against the theology of much of our hymnody. But it is not heresy. It is Biblical. God can change. And God does.
Now before you go reporting me to the Bishop for heresy, let me say more. There are aspects of God that are unchanging. God’s mercy endures forever. We say, as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. We pray that we may rest in God’s eternal changelessness. We refer to God as the unmovable mover, and so on.
And yet, back in Exodus, Moses goes up the mountain, the people ask Aaron to make a golden calf. And God gets angry and decides to kill them all. But Moses pleads on their behalf, and reminds God of the promises made to Abraham and Isaac. And then we hear: “And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.” An argument from Moses changed God’s mind. God can change.
In the book of Jonah, God sends Jonah to Nineveh and tells them they need to repent. And they put on sackcloth and ashes and they repent. And then we hear: “When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it.” The actions of the people of Nineveh changed God’s mind. God can change.
Jesus says, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Let me take care of my own people before I help the likes of you. There’s only so much to go around. And I have to be careful not to use it all up on the wrong people. And she says, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” This is what we call a mic drop. She says that . . . and Jesus changes. Just like in the story of Moses and the golden calf, we could say Jesus changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people. A simple sentence from this woman changed the mind of Jesus.
You know what I think happened here? I think Jesus forgot who he was. In his exhaustion and frustration, Jesus forgot that he came to save all the people. He lost sight of the expansive nature of love and compassion. The universal love of God is for everyone, even the outsiders . . . especially the outsiders. God lifts up the lowly and casts down the mighty. Jesus came to save sinners. God cares deeply about the so-called dogs under the table. And it took this gentile Tyrian woman to remind Jesus of that. The reminder of inclusion comes from the very one who is excluded. Take note of that.
And if God can change, if Jesus can learn, that means we can too. It’s possible that we too can learn to change, and adapt, and give up our prejudices. Sure, we could stick to our stereotypes, and our bigotry, and our offensive language that we learned from the hostile society within which we were raised. Like Jesus, we could refer to our enemies as dogs, or vermin, or cockroaches. And we have plenty of genocides in the world to show us exactly where that kind of language ultimately leads. We could treat others with racism, and hostility, and cruel put downs. Or . . .
We could be like Jesus. We could learn from our mistakes. We could welcome the outcasts. We could change our ways and step outside what our culture tells us to do, and step outside how our society tells us to treat others.
I mean, we’ve got an entire book that tells us over and over to turn the other cheek, to love our enemies, to bless those who persecute us, to do unto others as we would have them do unto us. This is not new material to any of us. And I don’t think it was new material to Jesus. I think Jesus forgot who he was. Just as I think we sometimes forget who we are.
The message for us today is this: Let us remember who we are. Beloved children of God. Created in the image of God. Redeemed in the resurrection of Jesus. There is no one and no thing beyond the redemptive work of God’s healing touch.
After hearing the words “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs,” Jesus remembers who he is, and who he came to save: the oppressed, the hungry, the stranger, you, and me. May God constantly remind us who we are: the redeemed children of God, who promise to respect the dignity of every human being. All the people who are welcome at this table, where even the crumbs are enough to bring life and healing to all God’s people. All of us. No matter what the world outside those doors may tell you. You are welcome here.
Amen.
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