Sunday, September 9th, 2012
Trinity Anglican Church, Bradford, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Mark 7:24-37
“We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs from
under thy table.”
This line, from the “Prayer of Humble Access,” the prayer
that is offered by priest and people in the traditional Anglican liturgy, just
moments before receiving Communion, is rarely used any more. It is thought that having moved through the
liturgical journey of hearing God’s most holy word, professing our faith,
confessing our sins and hearing the words of absolution, that it now seems
inappropriate to return to lamenting our unworthiness. Yet, when we realize that these words are
rooted in a particular story from the life of Jesus, and when we delve into
that story, we begin to understand why we might wish to reclaim these words as
an important moment in our liturgical prayer.
In the seventh chapter of St. Mark, Jesus goes into the
region of Tyre, that is, gentile territory.
Characteristic of Jesus’ modus
operandi in St. Mark’s gospel, he wishes to conduct himself in secret. He does not wish anyone to know that he is
there and so he slips into a house. But
as is always the case, he does not escape the notice of those who have heard of
his wonder-working power. A
Syro-Phoenician woman, a gentile, whose daughter was possessed of an evil
spirit sought him out. As any mother in
distress might, she threw herself at the feet of the man who might prove to be
the only hope for her ailing daughter.
And what would you or I expect Jesus to do? Would we not think that he would rush to the
daughter and cast out the demon? Would
we not think that he would look with great compassion and empathy on the mother
who was so deeply grieved and troubled?
Would we not think that gentle Jesus, meek and mild, would offer her
words of hope and comfort? We would
expect all these things, therefore, how amazed, and yes, how distressed we are
to hear Jesus utterly dismiss her. How saddened we are that he offers not a
word of compassion but a word of rebuke.
How disgusted we are when we realize that he not only rebukes her but
compares her child to a dog. To her plea
to cast the demon out of her daughter, he dismissively and disturbingly
responds, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the
children’s food and throw it to the dogs!”
What are we to make of this?
Oh, it would be so easy just to ignore this passage, explain it away as
later interpolation, because the Jesus we love and serve would never have said, could
never have said such a thing. Oh it
would be easy to suggest that these first century words were offered in a
different way than we understand today, and that they might have been heard in
a different way than we would hear them today, but the reality is this: the
historical distance only serves to starken the words, not soften them. In ancient times, dogs were not the lovely
animals that we have domesticated today. They were not “man’s best friend.”
They were scavengers who roamed the countryside and streets to devour whatever they
could find that had been recently killed or thrown away. Some modern commentators have suggested that
because Mark uses the Greek diminutive term for dog that perhaps Jesus is make
a more pleasing comparison of the little girl to a little puppy. This is not so. His words are harsh. Why would he compare the Syro-phoenician
woman and her child to dogs?
There is an old rabbinic tradition that those who were not
schooled in the study of the Jewish Law, namely the gentiles, were often
referred to as dogs. The woman is
specifically identified as a gentile and thus, she clearly fits into this
definition. While this perhaps increases
our understanding of why Jesus says such a thing, it does not soften his
words. Likewise, there is another clue to
understand Jesus’ words that is found in his use of the word “first.” “Let the
children be fed first, for it is not
fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” In several other contexts in Mark’s gospel,
Jesus uses the term “first” to explain an eschatological reality, that is, how
things are unfolding in the end times. For
example, the strong man (i.e., Satan) must first be bound; or using his harvest
metaphor, “first, the grain and then the ear, then the full corn shall
appear.” In this sense, time unfolds in
its proper order, certain things must happen first in order for the fullness of
God’s plan to unfold and the kingdom to truly come. In this reading, the gospel must first be
preached to the Jews, and only then will the gentiles “come to thy light” as
Isaiah had pophesied.
Yet, even with this level of understanding, the words are
still harsh and unforgiving. But let us
turn for a moment from those harsh words of Jesus to the response of the
Syro-Phoenician woman. Before we do,
though, think for a moment what you might have done if you had thrown yourself
at the feet of Jesus and he had rebuked you as a dog. What would you have done? Would you have left in sorrow? Would you have
quietly slipped away, regretting how vulnerable you had made yourself, only to
be abused? Would you wish that you had
never even tried, and simply returned home to nurse your ailing daughter as best
you could on your own? Perhaps we would
have responded in such a way, but the remarkable thing is that this woman did
not. Perhaps she was gripped by anger.
Perhaps her resolve to see her daughter healed is what drove her to continue to
press Jesus. Perhaps it was her sense of
justice in the face of what she took to be his unjust rebuke. Whatever it was that drove her, she did not
stand down. She faced him. She cleverly and adeptly transformed his
parable, his metaphor, to her own just purpose. And what did she say? Her answer was brilliant, “My Lord, even the
dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”
The sheer and utter brilliance exhibited by this woman is
remarkable. She did not demand a place
at the table. She did not claim an
honour beyond her place. She did not
even ask for something unrealistic. She only stated the truth. Even the dogs are fed. “I may be unworthy,” she states, “but I still
need to eat.”
The Syro-phoenician woman touched a truth that is
universal. We all need the benevolence
of others. None of us can get through
this life under our own strength and power alone. We need others to help us,
support us, encourage us, nourish us.
Sometimes those things are offered lovingly, and sometimes they are
offered resentfully, sometimes they are even offered unknowingly or
thoughtlessly, like those who throw the scraps to the dogs. However this help
comes, when we are starving, when we are helpless, we grasp at it wherever we
can find it.
It is not enough to leave it here, though, for the
Syro-Phoenician woman also touched another truth, and this is something that is
true about God. She reminded Jesus that
we have to do with a merciful God, not a God who expects us to get it right, to
follow all the rules perfectly, or even to be a part of a chosen, select
group. We have to do with a God whose
property is always to have mercy. This
is what she reminds Jesus, and this is the thing that touches Jesus’ heart, for
Jesus knows she speaks the truth.
And when we consider this text in its context in the Gospel
of Mark, we realize that this is where things have been moving all along! Remember that last week Jesus rebuked the
Pharisees for ignoring the spirit of the Law by embracing oral traditions in
contrast to the Law? Recall that he turned the purity laws upside-down by
suggesting that it is not what goes into a person that makes them unclean but
what comes out of them? Think back and remember that Jesus had just redefined
the boundaries of who was at the table and who was not, and he had opened the
doors and broken down the barriers. The
woman who approached him this day did not ask him for a seat at the table, but
only a scrap. Yet, her request resounded
in his heart for she was actually asking him to demonstrate in action what he
was known to preach, that God’s mercy is not simply for those who keep God’s
rules, but for all; not for the perfect, the righteous, and the sinless, but
for the sick, the outsider, and the sinner. She did not claim to be worthy, she
simply asked God to be God and demonstrate his mercy upon her, unworthy as she
was. She was a gentile. She had not kept
the Law of the Jews. She was not
righteous nor did she claim to be. She
simply asked God to throw her whatever scrap he could that her daughter might
be made well, for even a scrap from God is more wonderful and abundant than any
scrap that is thrown from the table to the dogs.
If we allow ourselves to be transported from that moment so
many years ago, we will realize that we are not unlike that Syro-Phoenician
woman. We are gentiles by birth. We have not kept the intricacies of the Torah.
And yet, do we not hope for God’s love and mercy? Do we not hope that he will
look upon us not as dogs but as his children, too? I don’t know about you, but I don’t think
I’ve done a single thing is this life that could ever make me worthy of God’s
love, and if I have, it has surely been cancelled out by the myriad of mistakes
I have made. But thankfully, we have not
to deal with a God who asks us to be perfect before he loves us, before he
offers us his mercy. The true sacrifice
to God is a broken and contrite heart.
The true worshipper is the one who recognizes their need to cleave to
God, even for a scrap of his goodness, for even a scrap has the power to
transform us beyond measure. Even a tiny
morsel of God’s mercy makes me more worthy than I could ever be under my own
power. At the same time it is the thing
that keep us humble. We ever remember
that it is not me, as St. Paul would later say, but Christ in me. It is not my strength but his, not my
righteousness but his, not my life, but his.
Now we see the table is set.
Surely there are those more worthy than me that will approach it. There must be others that have kept the
commandments more thoroughly than me.
Maybe there are. How often are we
afraid to approach because we feel unworthy.
So many people feel unworthy before God. So many people never approach
because they feel that they will be turned away because they are flawed,
broken, have sinned, made terrible mistakes.
Yes, maybe by rights God should turn us away. However, when pressed, Jesus hears the words
of the Syro-phoenician woman and she returns home to find that her daughter has
already been healed. Even as she battled
with Jesus, her daughter was being healed.
Even as she struggled with God, God’s grace was already at work. Even as she sought God’s mercy, God’s mercy
had already been poured out upon her daughter.
Yes, we are unworthy, but that does not matter to God, because mercy is
what God is all about, and so we approach with all our flaws, and cry out for
mercy, for God is the same God whose property is always to have mercy.
c. 2012, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
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