School begins tomorrow (well, actually, it was supposed to begin today but then Hurricane Irene happened), and I can't wait! I LOVE school- I always have. The first day of school, or classes, is always so exciting. I love getting my syllabi, and meeting my teachers, and seeing old friends. This first week of school will be a little bittersweet for me though, because for most of my friends and classmates it marks the first of "lasts". Their last fall semester. Their last year at seminary. For some, their last year in New Jersey before moving away. I have chosen for this to NOT be my last year, and I am still very happy about this. This decision, to stay an extra year, is something that I want to do, and am actually doing.

If you know me at all, there are about a gazillion hundred things that I want to do, but I often never get around to doing any of them.

I am also, once again, at that point where I am trying to figure out what I want to DO with the rest of my life. I'm not saying that I no longer feel called to serve as a pastor (or a pastoress, as some call me :) There are just so many other things that I want to do as well!

And so, if you would indulge me for just a few lines...

I want:
-to stay in school forever (!)
-to have pants that are just the right length (believe it or not, this is a challenge)
-to own a farm, with cows and goats and chickens, and a HUGE vegetable garden
-to make cheese from scratch with milk from the afore-mentioned cows and goats
-to continue baking bread and goodies for all sorts of people
-to FEED people, with vegetables from my garden, and bread from my hands, to give people a warm, home-cooked meal that they wouldn't otherwise have
-to teach Biblical studies, particularly the gospels- forget about Paul and the epistles, someone else can teach that, lol
-to learn how to weave

That's all for now. Thanks for listening.

One other things I want: a glass of wine.

And THAT is something I can have right now. : )

Peace!

Sunday's Sermon: August 14, 2011

*Note: I find this scriptural passage, as well as the parallel pericope found within Mark's gospel to be extremely difficult to interpret. We see a side of Jesus that we are uncomfortable, and all too often we try to blow off his uncharacteristic behavior by saying he was testing the woman's faith. I tried to move beyond this common interpretation, weaving portions of an academic paper I wrote on the pericope found within Mark with my own reflections on how we as Christians can relate to this story. I hope it gets you thinking. : )

Peace,

Amanda

Christe eleison

Matthew 15:21-28

Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

I have to begin this sermon with a confession of sorts.

One of the things that strikes me most when I go into New York City, or any city for that matter, is how cynical and down-right un-Christian I can be to those in need. I pass numerous people in need, slumped in door-frames or walking alongside idling cars, begging for change, their signs speaking for them: Homeless, need money, God bless. Leaving abusive relationship, hungry. Like most people that walk the city streets I find myself staring at the pavement as I quickly place each foot in front of the other, hoping against hope that they do not cry out to me,  “Have mercy.” It’s easier if you don’t look at them, if you pretend like you don’t see their signs or hear their often mumbled requests. Why do we do this? Is it because we are cynical and don’t feel like we can trust the need being presented? Is it because we are uncomfortable? Are we afraid of what might happen if we were to actually stop, and listen to their cries?

In our gospel story today we find Jesus, perhaps surprisingly, in this very same situation. He and his disciples are headed towards the city of Tyre and Sidon, Gentile cities. To say they have been through a lot is a bit of an understatement. Jesus had recently heard of the execution of John the Baptist- he has attempted to be alone to process these events, but that proves to be impossible as word spreads through the towns of his presence and the people flock to him for healing and to hear his teaching. He teaches, and preaches, and ultimately feeds the five thousand before finally being able to continue on his journey, although I have no idea why he was headed towards Tyre, a wealthy port city occupied by the Roman Empire. It is on this journey that Jesus encounters “the Other.” In Matthew’s telling of this tale the woman is labeled as a Canaanite, a member of the indigenous people that occupied that land. In Mark, however, she appears to us as a Syro-Phoenician woman, a woman of Greek descent. Regardless of which gospel we are looking at, she is “the Other,” and the way Jesus treats her sheds some ugly light on his all too human qualities. This woman is desperate. So desperate that she leaves the safety of her city to venture into Jesus’ own territory, crying out, perhaps holding a cardboard sign that states in crude, capital letters, “Have mercy on me!” Her words fall upon the ears of the Christ and his disciples, and then fall unheeded to the ground as Jesus walks on, ignoring her. She continues, running after them, crying again, begging for mercy, not for her, but for her daughter, and still Jesus continues on his way, as if he cannot see her, as if she is part of the landscape, as if she would disappear if only he walked a little faster…

Her pleas begin to wear on his disciples, just as the grumbling stomachs of the crowd had earlier, and they once again approach their fearless leader hoping he will solve their problem. Make her be quiet, they whisper, uneasy with this woman drawing attention to their attempts at ignoring her. The last time they asked Jesus to fix a problem his response had been, “You feed them.” This time he mutters, probably softly enough so that she cannot hear him, “I came only for the lost sheep of Israel.” 

Only. 

Only for the Jews. 

Only for those who are oppressed the same way I am, only those who look or sound or act like me… 

only.

Why would Jesus be so cruel? So insensitive? Why is he acting so un-Jesus-like?

Perhaps he is tired, or stressed; maybe he is lashing out at this woman because he hasn’t been able to process the murder of his cousin, and what that could mean for his future. Or perhaps he is lashing out because this woman is not like him; she is of a different race, a different class, a different faith. Her people are not his people. If we were to go with the identification given by Mark, that of a Syro-Phoenician, not only is she not of his people, her people are oppressing his people. The Jewish people of that region suffered terribly under the rule of the Herodian government, which was exasperated by an economic drain stemming from Tyre’s purchase of the food grown by Galileean farmers, leaving the people unsettled and resentful. This situation could be compared to the potato famine in Ireland during the mid-19^th century, or the hunger issues that exist throughout central and South America as land is used to grow food not for the people of those countries, but for us in the United States. Perhaps Jesus’ harsh response to the woman’s request stems from the economic tensions of the area; her request may be seen as “an inappropriate one to make in light of the disproportionate share of the region’s resources her people had been exploiting.”[1] Within this context of economics, the woman holds more power and influence than a wandering, Jewish carpenter. Perhaps he sees the opportunity for some minor retribution for his people by ignoring his oppressor’s need.

And yet, she is persistent. Persistent to the point that she catches up to Jesus and his followers and bows at his feet, submitting herself before him, begging for mercy. Rather than the merciful, loving Jesus that we so often picture in our minds, we encounter a man that, rather than providing words of peace, slings racial slurs, further degrading the already prostrate and vulnerable woman by calling her a dog. Rather than enter into a debate with him regarding her racial, ethnic, religious identity, she accepts his hateful words but then turn them on him. I may be a dog, she says, but even dogs get the crumbs that fall from the table. Even dogs can receive the life-giving bread that he brings to the lost sheep of Israel.

Even those who don’t look like us, or sound like us, or smell like us are worthy of compassion and mercy.

We often don’t stop on the street to listen to a response after our initial no’s, if we even pause long enough to wave them aside. I find hope in this story, even though it shows a side of Jesus that I often think we would rather not think existed. Jesus was human. He was tired, he was cranky, and for at least a moment he was willing to ignore the need of another based on sight alone. I think most of us, if not all of us, can resonate with that. And yet, despite his initial resistance, Jesus listens. Her words sink in, and he changes his mind. He hears what she has to say, and then says, “you know what? You’re right. Because of your faith your daughter will be healed.” Who knows how this woman’s life was changed because of this encounter; certainly her daughter’s life was changed, because the author of the gospel tells us she was healed instantly. Things change even for Jesus. His vision of ministry expands beyond his own people to include a broader vision of humanity; no longer is his message only for the ears of his people. His ministry expanded, to include Jews, Gentiles, and even you and me. He realized that there was enough life-giving bread to share with those outside the Jewish faith. Maybe, if we can allow ourselves to be a little uncomfortable, we too can see that there is enough love, and grace, and mercy to go around. If we can change our minds about others, then maybe we can change the world, one face-to-face encounter at a time. I pray that it may be so. Amen. 

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[1] Ringe, pp. 90