Fourteenth Pentecost (PR. 18)
Mark 7:24-37; Isaiah 35:4-7a; James 2:1-17
Today is September 10.
Five years ago tomorrow we remember the events of 911 but we could also be marking the one year anniversary of hurricane Katrina striking the gulf states or the second anniversary of the tsunami in the Indian Ocean or the SARS outbreak in China and Taiwan three years ago. Each year seems to have its significant disaster of natural and/or human making. Each disaster has its own impact on the national and global psyche as we strive to assign social, economic, political and religious meanings to the events reported. But the one characteristic that is common to each disaster is the response of other people and nations. Countries that are normally thought of as hostile to each other often respond in times of disaster with offers of relief and assistance. People who cannot locate the Indian Ocean on a map gave dollars generously to tsunami recovery. Americans who had exhibited little concern for the poor of New Orleans prior to the storm responded to a hurricane with donations of supplies and volunteering their time to help clean up and rebuild. Time and again we find that in the moment of disaster there is an opening of people and nations to help rescue, shelter, feed and care for those affected by the disaster.
And then there is the other characteristic that disasters all seem to share--the stories. With each disaster there come reports detailing the stories of death and destruction, but there are also the stories of the miracles of survival. The fire fighter who is pulled from the debris of fallen towers or the vacationing student who clings to the one tree that remains standing after the waters recede. These are the stories that we wait for to reassure us that even in the midst of catastrophe there is the possibility of life and survival. To some, the stories are examples of good fortune or just plane dumb luck while to others they are the miracles of grace provided by a God who protects and cares for a suffering humanity. Times of crisis or need, disaster or illness always flirt in our minds with an opportunity for a miracle. But there is always something a little unsettling about talk of a miracle. In our modern scientifically well ordered world we struggle to explain the events and moments that defy the logic we find comforting. Yet sometimes the thing we yearn for most and the only explanation to what we encounter is the possibility of miracle. And sometimes that is the only hope that keeps us going. We yearn for the "maybe" that refutes the probabilities of science and our world. A Time Magazine poll recently reported that 69% of Americans believe in miracles (an NBC Dateline poll found 79%). But what do we believe? Those same polls found that seven in ten adults agreed with the statement that "people's prayers have the power to change their circumstances" (in fact 49% of Americans strongly agree with that position.) It would appear that many believe that it is possible to call upon God to save, heal, solve, fix or repair their lives. This is clearly a view that is as old as, well, as old as the story in our Gospel lesson for today.
Our text tells us of Jesus operating just beyond the borders of his own land where he discovers that human suffering and the need for miracle knows no ethnic, national or cultural limit. Two encounters with individuals outside Jesus' own faith community mark our lesson. First there is the encounter with the woman identified as a "Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin". It is tempting as a preacher to find a way to emphasize the drastic distance that separated a Gentile woman from a Jewish Rabbi like Jesus. This is not some traditional or confessional distinction like that between a Lutheran and a Roman Catholic. It has far greater political and socio-economic implications. The meeting described in our gospel is more like an encounter between a member of the Lebanese Hezbollah or the Palestinian Hamas Party and an orthodox Jewish rabbi from Israel. Yet the woman comes with a critical need. Her daughter. Her daughter is possessed of a demon. To our modern mind our initial reaction to demon possession is likely to be a bit dismissive. What teenager has not been thought by their parents at some point in their life to be possessed by something? But the severity of this description and the desperation of the mother makes it clear that what we are dealing with here is a serious psycho-emotive behavioral disorder. Yet, Jesus is not initially impressed with the severity of the need. Drawing the stark lines of cultural, tribal, social and political distinction, Jesus dismisses the woman with words intended to cast her out of the circle of the faithful who have followed Jesus out of the homeland and away from the admiring crowds. Using another food analogy Jesus tells the woman that his first responsibility is the care and feeding of his own community. We take care of our own. It is a social position that most politicians will advance even if they rarely actually support it with appropriations and policies. If they did there would not have been the poverty disaster of Katrina with thousands of the poor stranded in the water. There would not be a widening economic gap between the wealthiest and the most needy Americans. Jesus said he must feed his own children first but the Gentile woman turned the analogy back on Jesus by noting that even the dogs under the table at least receive the children's crumbs. She was open to what ever Jesus could offer her, even if it was a few insulting words. And that is exactly what Jesus gives her, a word. He tells her to go, the demon has left her daughter. And at his word, she goes home to find it as he had said, the girl was healed.
The most dramatic thing about this woman is that she had opened herself to Jesus. She had set herself and her ego aside. The things that we will do for our children. The giving up of time, energy, comfort, all because we love and care for the child. To be open to the possibility of miracle. To be open to the possibility of a change. This is the starting point of any attempt at healing. Whether it is taking medication or having surgery or receiving treatments, there can be no healing if there is no willingness to embrace a change. The couple seeking marriage counseling must be open to a change in their relationship, a change in each of them. If the couple is not open to love entering their relationship there is no hope for the counselor.
To be open. It is a challenge for every congregation. People enter a community of faith because they are open to the fellowship of other Christians and the opportunities to serve others. But egos have a way of growing. In every church there are those who gradually close themselves off from the body. They become more solitary, not giving of themselves but taking. They preserve their own feelings rather than being open to the feelings of others. The possibilities of miracle are cut off as God is limited to acceptable social scenarios. The Syrophoenician woman was open. Even when she was insulted, called a dog, she remained open. She did not react defensively, defend her self or her ego. This is a response that is hard for white upper middle class Americans to understand. It is hard because most of us have never been in the position of needing something so badly that we would be willing to sacrifice our very self identity in the quest for something more. Maybe for a miracle of healing or for the life of a child or a dearly loved family member we might be willing to set aside all. But such experiences are rare in our community. We sacrifice from our surplus. We give what we can spare, rarely as a sacrifice of our selves. We live without when it is convenient or we claim it to be ennobling. I lived a week in Africa without electricity, running water, television and baseball. I tell myself I did it for my son. But there was no real sacrifice on my part beyond some familiar comforts of home. I knew that I was coming home. Back to my computer and flush toilets. I did not need to change my life style all that much to survive a week without. But what if there is nothing to survive but an endless reality. The diagnosis that the disease is terminal. You have no economic future. There is nothing anyone can do. Your only hope is a miracle. This requires a different kind of openness that reaches into our very soul.
My limited experience changed the way I see much of the world. It did not, however, change the world. At least not the way those who really are sacrificing of themselves by living and working among those who have no electricity, running water or clear hope for the future. This is a different kind of openness. The challenge of letting go to find something new.
The Syrophoenician woman let go. A few simple analogies come to mind. The challenge in riding a bicycle is letting go. Of risking the fall in order to learn to balance. The challenge in learning to swim is letting go. Of risking the water without holding on to the side but letting go so the water can actually hold you up. Many claim to have faith but hold on to their terms for believing. The woman asked for a few crumbs from the table and got a full loaf of grace. We claim the whole loaf to be ours by right of denominational name or ritualized living and find instead a crummy faith, falling apart. We are quick to cry out for answers, to tell God what we need. We are quick to criticize which makes us easily insulted, wounded and hurt. Jesus speaks. Our challenge is hearing. The woman heard the truth. She only needed the crumbs. She only needed a little grace. We all need a little grace. The pause in the midst of life. A moment of prayer, an hour of Bible study, devotions, fellowship. She was open to listen and hear.
To hear. That is also the point of the second miracle in our lesson. A miracle of hearing and speech. The miracle as metaphor. A private moment with Jesus. A touch and a word, Ephatha, be opened. It is the power of the word that comes to us setting us free.
Jesus' miracles do not force people to be or do anything, but it does free them to choose. We are each free to walk, but where? We are able to see, but what will we see and to what purpose? We can hear and speak, but ignore some sounds and respond to others. We may ask our questions and voice our faith. We can praise God or curse God. We can tell others of Jesus, or not.
Today our Sunday school begins another academic year around the theme "faith trek". There will be offered freeing words this morning. There will be opportunities to begin freely the journey of faith. It begins with a few small steps. It is strengthened through the sacrament of Holy Communion. We gather because of a miracle--a miracle of grace. Jesus assures us that we are not left with just the crumbs. We have the power of Christ's word and the power of the word that we bring to others.
As we remember the disastrous moments of world history, as we struggle with the crisis of our lives, we are invited once more to be open to the miracle of God's grace. To be open to the gift of sacrificial love. To be open to the power of a touch and a word. We hear again, "Ephphatha, Be opened" This is the beginning of the faith journey open to Christ's coming once more into our lives.
Amen