"A troublesome Savior"

Sermon for Proper 15, August 15, 1999

Trinity Church, Rocky Hill, NJ

Readings: Matthew 15:21-28

On my desk, I have a couple of photos. No, they''re not family members, or
even close friends. On my desk is what I call
my gallery of heroes.

One of the photos
I''ve had for about four years.
It''s a photo of a bishop,
sitting on the steps at a conference with a group of other women.
All you can see is Penny, but there is an intense concentration in her eyes
that lets you know how hard she is listening.

The other photo, I had developed just last week.
This one is of a well known preacher.
She too is at a conference,
and her body is doubled with laughter,
laughter which erupts at the incongruities of the everyday world
to which she pays such fierce attention.

I am privileged to have met both these women,
and in the way they live their lives
they have helped me to more fully understand
what it is
to be a follower of Christ.

Many of us, from time to time,
imagine that we would like to have lived
when Jesus lived,
we dream of what it would have been like
to meet him
in flesh and blood.

But when I read stories like today''s gospel, I''m not so sure
that I would want this Jesus
in my gallery of heroes.

There is no doubt
about the thrust of this story of Jesus.
Women, foreigners - God''s grace is enough for all.

And that theme is nothing new, for the gospel of Matthew. Remember the
beginning? Way back in the Christmas story
it is Matthew alone,
of all the gospel writers,
who tells us about the wise men
strangers from the east,
who came to worship the
new- born King.
This baby,
this God,
was for everyone.

And here too,
this God is for everyone.
For the woman is a Canaanite.
And Canaanites are, by definition, dangerous.
Throughout the Old Testament
the Israelites, the people of God,
are warned against these original
inhabitants of the land.
For Canaanites
will drag the people away
from following the true and living God.
Every bone
of the disciples'' bodies
must have screamed out
""Stay away
from this woman.""
Yet Jesus heals her daughter,
and it is clear
that in this new kingdom of God
Canaanites belong too.

Or do they?

For this time
it is different.
The way this story is told,
this is no gift.
This is grudging, hard won.
It has none of the joy,
none of the generosity,
none of the grace
which we have come to expect
of the Christ of God.

Can this be
the same Jesus of Nazareth
who held in his hands
five bread rolls and a couple of fish fillets
and fed five thousand men?
He didn''t ask them
where they were from,
didn''t check them
for the marks of circumcision,
sure proof that would have been
that they were of the house of Israel.

Can this be
the same Jesus of Nazareth
who reached out his hand
to Peter
in the middle of the lake,
and led him safely
back into the boat?
When he first called Peter,
he didn''t ask him
if he had observed
all six hundred and thirty-odd commandments
required by the law,
or even
if he had kept the Sabbath
last week.

Can this be
the same Jesus of Nazareth
who laid his hands
on the sick and the needy,
who didn''t brush away
their grimy fingers
when they caught hold of his clothes
as he walked past?
He didn''t check with them
if they had their temple documents
proving that they couldn''t contaminate him
with their impurity.

Can this be him?
For when the woman first comes to Jesus,
crying out
with all the agony of a mother rendered helpless - and hopeless -
by the devastating illness of a child,
when she comes to him,
he turns his back and does not speak to her.
He does not speak -
this, the word made flesh, the word of life,
does not say
a word.

And she - she
doesn''t know
what to do.
He has turned his back.
Her daughter
is still tormented.
All she can do
is keep crying out,
for there is nothing else.

And it is not until the disciples come,
their ears aching
from the cries
which have followed them through the day,
not until they come and ask Jesus
""Can''t you get rid
of this caterwauling woman?""
that Jesus turns to her, and says, not the words of hope
that she had hoped to hear,
but words of dismissal.
""You don''t belong. You''re not my job.""

Crushing words - she falls on her knees.
And cries out
once again,
""Lord, help me.""
And again he dismisses her.
""It''s not right
to take food out of the hands of your children
to feed the stray dogs.""

It was if he had beaten her.
But she does not give up.
I can only imagine
how she must have felt,
what it must have taken
to open her mouth one more time.
""But Lord, even the strays
get the scraps. They know
where to come
for food.""

Was it with a smile
that Jesus finally answered her?
Or with the same irritation
which had characterized the whole conversation?
""Woman, great is your faith. Let it be done
for you
as you wish.""

There is a healing, but not much grace, it seems.

And if this is Jesus of Nazareth,
I''m not so sure
I want him up
in my gallery of heroes.
And I''m not alone.

Many people
have struggled with this story. And they''ve resolved the struggle
in a number of different ways.

Some
say that its not authentic,
that the story was made up
by grudging Jewish followers of Jesus
who wanted to make clear
that Gentiles were included,
but only just.

But I''m not prepared
to take a red pen
to my copy of the gospels
and simply cross out
the bits I don''t like.
I''m not prepared
to throw away two thousand years
of the church''s wisdom
in recognizing this too
as the word of God.
I don''t think
I''m that wise.

Others
have argued
that when Jesus said dogs,
he really meant puppies,
just a nice domestic illustration
to test
the woman''s faith.

But the evidence form the archaeologists is
that you can''t fudge it this way.
The dogs of Jesus'' day
were not fluffy little poodles
or big friendly golden retrievers,
but probably had more in common
with coyotes or hyenas.
They could be semi-domesticated,
enough so they were safe around town,
but they primarily functioned as garbage disposal units,
lurking in the shadows
for whatever they could get.

And finally others think
that this story is harsh
and it is true.
And I guess I''m in that camp,
though I''d prefer to be
just about anywhere else.

Had Jesus got it wrong? Was he so blinded by the conventions of his day,
anti-Canaanite, anti-women, that he needed this woman to set him straight?
I don''t know. It seems kind of strange to me. Wouldn''t God
have got this right?

As I''ve struggled with this story this week,
some other stories have come to mind.
The story of Abraham, way back in Genesis,
which we read about this time last year,
Abraham who argued with God
about the fate of those notorious cities,
Sodom and Gomorrah.
And then there was Jacob, Abraham''s grandson,
a sneaky kind of fellow,
who wrestled all night
with a stranger,
and ended up with a dislocated hip,
and in the morning he found
that he had been wrestling
with God.
And then Jesus'' own parable on prayer, told in the gospel of Luke,
about the widow looking for justice
who bothers the unjust judge
until he gives her justice.
And now Jesus
standing in the middle of the road
arguing with a woman
about who deserves God''s grace.
It''s an awfully troublesome God.

For there are no easy answers.
I can''t say to you,
""This is exactly what this means.""
And that''s a nasty thing
for a visiting preacher to do.
But it wouldn''t be fair on you
if I did so.
Because then you might be misguided into thinking
that our faith
is all
sweetness and light,
that God is like a candy cane.

But when things are difficult, and you are in your own struggles with God,
you will know
that the easy answers don''t work,
and that this God-thing
is a whole lot more complicated
than Christmas cards and candy
would have us believe.

So I guess maybe I''ll put him up there in my gallery of heroes. As a
reminder
that things are not always as they seem. That
God does things in peculiar ways. That
the way God works
is a whole lot bigger and more complicated
than I can ever hope to understand. And that
this God
loves me
and died for me,
me a woman, a foreigner,
and someone
whose faith is often
as shaky as it comes.
And that I''m called to follow
this troublesome Savior.

And so there they are, my gallery of heroes:
A listening bishop,
a laughing preacher,
a troublesome Savior.

Amen.

Raewynne J. Whiteley
15 August 1999