Mark 7:24-37
Jesus set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. 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.” But she answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” Then he said to her, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.
Then he returned from the region of Tyre, and went by way of Sidon towards the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis. They brought to him a deaf man who had an impediment in his speech; and they begged him to lay his hand on him. He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, “Ephphatha,” that is, “Be opened.” And immediately his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one; but the more he ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it. They were astounded beyond measure, saying, “He has done everything well; he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.”
Jeff and John were an older couple when I knew them. They had married a few years before, when same-sex marriage had been legalized, but they had been together for many decades. They were faithful members of the congregation, rarely missing a Sunday and their gregarious and extroverted personalities meant that they could always be found at our church social functions.
It was at one such function that they began to share with me about their experiences of being openly gay over so many years. That evening, in their thick New York accents, they shared their own stories of the Stonewall Riots, of standing in the protests with their fellow gay, lesbian, and transexual women and men who had finally had enough of the constant intimidation, harassment, and violence they were receiving at the hands of the government and the police. They spoke of dangerous encounters they had each experienced in New York in the 60’s and 70’s, of being followed home by police officers, of escaping through darkened doors to evade their pursuers, and of the ever-present threat of beatings and worse.
They then shared how much the church community meant to them. For it was a community with a large contingency of LGBTQ folks within it. It was a community where they felt safe and comfortable being themselves, yes, but they were tough old men who were long past feeling uncomfortable in their own skin. No, what they loved about that church community was that they could be a part of holding open a community where the next generation of LGBTQ people could find shelter and family as they were strengthened to carry forward the fight for equality. What they took pride in was helping bring about a foretaste of the Kingdom of God.
As I listened to their stories that evening, I was keenly aware that what these two people had endured, along with countless others like them, was a piece of the unfolding story that made it possible for me to stand their with them that night as a LGBTQ priest. Because those who demand justice, those who stand against injustice, even if it is injustice against themselves, make justice possible for others. They are the ones who help bend the arc of history toward ever greater justice.
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The odds were not in the woman’s favour as she approached the place where the visitor was staying—she was a gentile and he was not, she was a woman and he was not, and between those realities existed a great chasm of prejudices and cultural mores. What’s more, it seems that Jesus was not at his best that day either—he is fleeing from the attention he has garnered, fleeing even to gentile lands, seeking to be alone. Perhaps even seeking to rest. That does not excuse what comes next, and it reminds us of his humanity—snapping and lashing out when our patience is thin, even immediately regretting it, is an all too human response.
Because when the woman approaches Jesus, he does snap at her. He does call her a dog. And the stinging meaning of those words has remained remarkably consistent across so many thousands of years and cultures.
But she persists. The woman does not back down and she does not accept his prejudice. She persists for the sake of her daughter. She persists for the sake of her own dignity.
As I think about her, as I think about her story, I find myself wondering why. Why did she seek out this strange visitor that day? Why did she not just write him off at his rude response, perhaps even choosing some choice words and gestures of her own? Why did she decide to wrestle with Jesus in that moment?
I think the answer is that she recognized who Jesus was. Though he was a stranger, a foreigner, in her land, in him she saw the source of justice. In this stranger in her midst, she saw the messiah, God among us. At a point in the story when as of yet even the disciples didn’t fully understand who Jesus was, this woman did. At a point in the story when Jesus himself didn’t seem to fully understand what his role in God’s salvation for all people was to be, this woman did. This woman stood her ground that day and verbally sparred with the messiah because she alone saw Jesus for who he was and would be.
In her words, in her persistence even in the face of injustice, in her recognition of Christ, she gets through to Jesus. And in a turning point in the gospel story, she helps Jesus more fully understand his messianic purpose to all people, not just his own people.
The impact she has on Jesus is sometimes overlooked, because so often we hear her story told in isolation. We are left to believe that the ripples from her actions end with the healing of her daughter. But today we are reminded that this woman’s encounter occurs in a larger context. Because immediately after his encounter with the woman, Jesus encounters the man who was deaf. But this time Jesus heals the gentile man without hesitation.
The woman closed the great chasm of prejudice and cultural mores that had separated them, and now Jesus gets up close and personal with this gentile man. He touches him, he puts his saliva on the man’s tongue. He is so close to the man that when Jesus sighs, we can imagine the two of them sharing the same breath in that moment.
And Jesus doesn’t stop there. He goes on in the very next verse to gather the great crowds who were now growing around him and performs one of the feeding miracles, giving food to four thousand individuals, gentile and Jew alike.
The justice demanded by the woman that day ends up transforming the lives of so many others. Her actions open the gospel to all people.
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I find myself wondering where we are being called to follow in her footsteps? Where are we being called to fight against the great chasms in our society that keep us separated, one from the other, with our own prejudices, fears, and social rules? Where do we need to challenge the systems and rules of society, and the church, in order to push for greater justice?
Because there are so many places where injustice is built in. There are so many unexamined assumptions that we all fall back on in our daily routines that keep us from offering dignity to one another and prevent us from seeing Christ in each and every person we meet.
And it is not easy work! I cannot know how she felt as she challenged Jesus that day, but I can imagine how I would have felt. I can imagine how lonely and vulnerable, how angry and how exhausted I might have felt in her place. What she did takes courage, and it is why we record her story as a part of the Gospel story.
We remember her words to this day so that we can take up her work and grow ourselves in our understanding of the gospel message. We remember her words so that we can open the door ever wider for those who have been excluded from the taste of justice, for those who have been excluded from taking their place at the table.
We remember her words so that we too can join all those before us, adding ourselves to a better and stronger foundation for all who come after us.
Preached by the Rev. Adam Yates