Mark 7:24-37 Food for the Dogs
Our Gospel reading for Sunday falls into the category of things we wish Jesus’ never said. It seems very counterintuitive to our understanding of Jesus to hear him call the Syrophoenician woman a dog and refuse to heal her daughter. It is almost shocking to our ears to hear our compassionate champion of the poor and outcast say these things. Why then, is this story included in both Matthew and Mark? The writers of the Gospels must have a reason for including such an unflattering picture of Jesus in their writings, or so it seems from our point of view. So let’s take a closer look.
There are several ways to read the gospels: the first way is to read behind the text to discover and reconstruct the world of Jesus’ day. This would include learning about the customs and taboos of how people from different regions of the time related to one another, and what was acceptable social interaction between men and women of different ranks in society. Another method of reading the Gospels is to read in front of the text. This means we examine how we each subjectively interact with the words and try to discover the personal meaning the Gospel has for us. And then there is the method of reading on the text; trying to discern the message the author was conveying by his editorial work. Each of these methodologies has its place and merit. The third method of reading on the gospel is the methodology recommended by Dr. Scott Sinclair in this gospel reading and might help us understand the story of the Syrophoenician woman and her daughter who was possessed by a demon. Jesus’ insulting reply to her and general lack of pastoral care for this twosome is difficult to explain if we take a historical or personal approach as his actions are really counter to our general understanding of the compassion Jesus had for the marginalized people in his life. So today we are going to see if we can understand this story by reading on the text to discover what the author of the Gospel of Mark was trying to tell us. In order to do this we need to read back a couple of passages to the story that came just before today’s story. In Mark chapter 7 verses 15-16 Jesus says to a gathering of Pharisees, “Hear me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person which by going into him can defile him; but the things that come out of a person are what defile him.” Now the Pharisees often get a bad rap because they were so rigid in their insistence on following the rules for living set down by Moses. And essentially, these are good rules which lead to a healthy and wholesome life and can lead to a deeper spirituality. But when the emphasis on obeying the rules becomes more important than compassion for human suffering, then the rules lose their meaning and people can get hurt. So here is a tricky topic for Christians of all ages, following the “rules” versus caring for those who suffer and whose lives are not always virtuous or acceptable to our way of being.
In our story at first Jesus embodies the traditions of his Jewish heritage of that time and views the Syrophoenician woman as a “dog”, someone not fit to sit and eat at his table. She represents a person who is outwardly defiled by background and lifestyle according to Jewish thought of the day. When Jesus says that the food for the children (children of God, the chosen ones) should not be given to the dogs, she comes back at him with “Yes, Lord, but even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” She passes his test with her trust and determination. Jesus has tested her faith and finding her faith undefiled he is then willing to make a miracle in her life by removing the demon from her daughter. He says, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” Once again we find Jesus turning the rules upside down. Defilement, according to the Pharisees, comes from eating that which is impure. But according to Jesus, only what exists inside a person can defile him or her. The Syrophoenician woman did not look, or act, or speak in a socially acceptable way to the social group Jesus lived in, but on the inside she had faith and purity of heart. That is what made her acceptable to Jesus in a way that no adherence to rules or family ties could have done. That is the story of Jesus. It is not what is on our backs or which family we were born into, or the strict rules we doggedly adhere to, but it is the intention of our hearts that pleases Jesus and creates the Kingdom where he invites us to live.
Last summer I had the privilege of doing my Clinical Pastoral Education at Napa State Hospital. There are two parts to the hospital – one building houses the most mentally ill people who are without means to support themselves in any way. Family has been understandably unable to care for them, and they are dependant on the state to create the best quality of life that is possible, given their unimaginable mental and physical conditions. The other part of the hospital is a state prison where folks wait for court dates and rulings on their mental health, and are striving desperately for health and physical freedom. To say that it is a daunting place is a gross understatement and yet…the Kingdom of God is present at Napa State Hospital. My own personal understanding of the Holy Reign of God changed forever during my CPE experience. I went there bound by my own rules of what it means to be a good deacon and a caring Christian. I knew what I expected of myself in this circumstance –I had and still have a deep compassion and desire to be a healing force in the midst of desperate suffering. It is a romantic and mystical vision that I have been able to live into through other experiences in hospice and hospital work. But at the state prison hospital all bets were off. None of the usual “stuff” works there – it’s hard to get the attention of someone lost in their own schizophrenic world. It’s hard to talk with someone who is being assaulted by demons as you speak. It’s hard to be fully present when you are afraid for your own safety from moment to moment. But the Kingdom of God is present there. Because of the depth of the suffering and the Spartan condition of the prison hospital, I had to keep asking myself, where is God present in this place? And slowly I began to see the hidden corners and pockets of love and compassion dotting the landscape. And I realized that because I couldn’t use my usual props and words – that I was free in a way that I had not ever been free before. No one expected anything particular of me except that I try to be present to the suffering. I didn’t have to fix anything, or come up with a program, or even make myself heard while I preached over the murmur of voices. I couldn’t carry my prayer book because it would be stolen. I had to wear an alarm at all times in case something happened, and yet I was free to be myself more in Napa State Hospital than anywhere before or since. Without a plan for the day, or words to read from a paper, I had to make it up as I went along. With a deep sense of the presence of the Holy Spirit in me; and with the incredible guidance of Nick Ristad, the Lutheran Chaplain at Napa, I found the freedom to proclaim the love of Jesus in a place that was full of the most defiled characters in our society. The healing love of Jesus is present even there, particularly there.
How does this understanding of the gospel reading affect us here today? Which of us feels really totally acceptable deep in our most secret heart? In our teenaged heart that still wonders if we are good enough, acceptable to the crowd? In our struggle with the economy, in our worries about family and health and job stability? In our conflicts with others at home and work, do we ever feel really acceptable? Jesus sees into our secret hearts, into the dark corners of our lives, and looks past the defilement that we fear and loves us for our purity of faith and dogged determination to know and love him more. To Jesus we are all worthy of mercy, compassion and healing. That is the story of Jesus. When the Syrophoenician woman went home she found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.
Amen.
Our Gospel reading for Sunday falls into the category of things we wish Jesus’ never said. It seems very counterintuitive to our understanding of Jesus to hear him call the Syrophoenician woman a dog and refuse to heal her daughter. It is almost shocking to our ears to hear our compassionate champion of the poor and outcast say these things. Why then, is this story included in both Matthew and Mark? The writers of the Gospels must have a reason for including such an unflattering picture of Jesus in their writings, or so it seems from our point of view. So let’s take a closer look.
There are several ways to read the gospels: the first way is to read behind the text to discover and reconstruct the world of Jesus’ day. This would include learning about the customs and taboos of how people from different regions of the time related to one another, and what was acceptable social interaction between men and women of different ranks in society. Another method of reading the Gospels is to read in front of the text. This means we examine how we each subjectively interact with the words and try to discover the personal meaning the Gospel has for us. And then there is the method of reading on the text; trying to discern the message the author was conveying by his editorial work. Each of these methodologies has its place and merit. The third method of reading on the gospel is the methodology recommended by Dr. Scott Sinclair in this gospel reading and might help us understand the story of the Syrophoenician woman and her daughter who was possessed by a demon. Jesus’ insulting reply to her and general lack of pastoral care for this twosome is difficult to explain if we take a historical or personal approach as his actions are really counter to our general understanding of the compassion Jesus had for the marginalized people in his life. So today we are going to see if we can understand this story by reading on the text to discover what the author of the Gospel of Mark was trying to tell us. In order to do this we need to read back a couple of passages to the story that came just before today’s story. In Mark chapter 7 verses 15-16 Jesus says to a gathering of Pharisees, “Hear me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person which by going into him can defile him; but the things that come out of a person are what defile him.” Now the Pharisees often get a bad rap because they were so rigid in their insistence on following the rules for living set down by Moses. And essentially, these are good rules which lead to a healthy and wholesome life and can lead to a deeper spirituality. But when the emphasis on obeying the rules becomes more important than compassion for human suffering, then the rules lose their meaning and people can get hurt. So here is a tricky topic for Christians of all ages, following the “rules” versus caring for those who suffer and whose lives are not always virtuous or acceptable to our way of being.
In our story at first Jesus embodies the traditions of his Jewish heritage of that time and views the Syrophoenician woman as a “dog”, someone not fit to sit and eat at his table. She represents a person who is outwardly defiled by background and lifestyle according to Jewish thought of the day. When Jesus says that the food for the children (children of God, the chosen ones) should not be given to the dogs, she comes back at him with “Yes, Lord, but even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” She passes his test with her trust and determination. Jesus has tested her faith and finding her faith undefiled he is then willing to make a miracle in her life by removing the demon from her daughter. He says, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” Once again we find Jesus turning the rules upside down. Defilement, according to the Pharisees, comes from eating that which is impure. But according to Jesus, only what exists inside a person can defile him or her. The Syrophoenician woman did not look, or act, or speak in a socially acceptable way to the social group Jesus lived in, but on the inside she had faith and purity of heart. That is what made her acceptable to Jesus in a way that no adherence to rules or family ties could have done. That is the story of Jesus. It is not what is on our backs or which family we were born into, or the strict rules we doggedly adhere to, but it is the intention of our hearts that pleases Jesus and creates the Kingdom where he invites us to live.
Last summer I had the privilege of doing my Clinical Pastoral Education at Napa State Hospital. There are two parts to the hospital – one building houses the most mentally ill people who are without means to support themselves in any way. Family has been understandably unable to care for them, and they are dependant on the state to create the best quality of life that is possible, given their unimaginable mental and physical conditions. The other part of the hospital is a state prison where folks wait for court dates and rulings on their mental health, and are striving desperately for health and physical freedom. To say that it is a daunting place is a gross understatement and yet…the Kingdom of God is present at Napa State Hospital. My own personal understanding of the Holy Reign of God changed forever during my CPE experience. I went there bound by my own rules of what it means to be a good deacon and a caring Christian. I knew what I expected of myself in this circumstance –I had and still have a deep compassion and desire to be a healing force in the midst of desperate suffering. It is a romantic and mystical vision that I have been able to live into through other experiences in hospice and hospital work. But at the state prison hospital all bets were off. None of the usual “stuff” works there – it’s hard to get the attention of someone lost in their own schizophrenic world. It’s hard to talk with someone who is being assaulted by demons as you speak. It’s hard to be fully present when you are afraid for your own safety from moment to moment. But the Kingdom of God is present there. Because of the depth of the suffering and the Spartan condition of the prison hospital, I had to keep asking myself, where is God present in this place? And slowly I began to see the hidden corners and pockets of love and compassion dotting the landscape. And I realized that because I couldn’t use my usual props and words – that I was free in a way that I had not ever been free before. No one expected anything particular of me except that I try to be present to the suffering. I didn’t have to fix anything, or come up with a program, or even make myself heard while I preached over the murmur of voices. I couldn’t carry my prayer book because it would be stolen. I had to wear an alarm at all times in case something happened, and yet I was free to be myself more in Napa State Hospital than anywhere before or since. Without a plan for the day, or words to read from a paper, I had to make it up as I went along. With a deep sense of the presence of the Holy Spirit in me; and with the incredible guidance of Nick Ristad, the Lutheran Chaplain at Napa, I found the freedom to proclaim the love of Jesus in a place that was full of the most defiled characters in our society. The healing love of Jesus is present even there, particularly there.
How does this understanding of the gospel reading affect us here today? Which of us feels really totally acceptable deep in our most secret heart? In our teenaged heart that still wonders if we are good enough, acceptable to the crowd? In our struggle with the economy, in our worries about family and health and job stability? In our conflicts with others at home and work, do we ever feel really acceptable? Jesus sees into our secret hearts, into the dark corners of our lives, and looks past the defilement that we fear and loves us for our purity of faith and dogged determination to know and love him more. To Jesus we are all worthy of mercy, compassion and healing. That is the story of Jesus. When the Syrophoenician woman went home she found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.
Amen.
