A read-through of the Gospels makes it plain that Jesus held the full range of human emotions; he was not above sorrow or sarcasm, anguish or anger. In the event we explore this week, though, he appears rude, even mean. His dismissive response to this woman and her plea is unlike any other recorded encounter. Where usually he went out of his way to connect with the needy, lepers, blind people, tax collectors and prostitutes, here he seems to push someone away.
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.”
Is this Jesus “staying on mission,” as we might say nowadays, wary of getting off schedule again? Was he having a mood swing? Why would he define his boundaries so narrowly here, when he engaged with and offered healing to Gentiles elsewhere? When the woman presses the issue, he gets even more tactless:
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.’’
Whoa. This goes beyond, “I’m tired, I’m busy, leave me alone.” Is Jesus saying that this women and her demon-enslaved daughter are unworthy of his Father’s love, power, healing? That promise written into our Baptismal Covenant in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer– “Will you respect the dignity of every human being?” - is not explicitly biblical, but it is consonant with the overall arc of God’s redemptive action, declaring the likes of you and me, the poor, unclean, and lame, leaders as well as the dregs of society worthy of extravagant, sacrificial love. Why not this poor mother, so desperate and full of faith?
Is Jesus frustrated at the lack of response to his ministry among so many of his own people? Is giving these gifts outside his community a reminder that they are not more fully received by his own? Whatever his motivation, the resulting words and attitude seem to clash with the Jesus we see at work elsewhere.
The way Mark tells the story, Jesus’ reply is a little more nuanced: “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Feeding the “children” first at least allows for getting around to the “dogs.” Matthew’s version makes it a matter of fairness, not sequence. Whatever else it offers, this troubling vignette draws a more fully rounded, layered and shaded, flesh and blood picture of Jesus. It is oddly comforting to know that Jesus shared our humanity so fully that he too could be stressed and snappish. (Yet, without sin!)
Today we might sit quietly in prayer for a time, reflecting on the last time we said or did something inconsiderate or unkind, found ourselves acting out of a bad mood instead of our best self. Might we call that moment up in our mind, and rather than beating ourselves up for it, invite Jesus to sit with us in it? Might we draw near to him in that moment and so make space for him to draw near to us?
The rest of the story makes it clear that the seeming put-down was not the last word, that the fullness of Jesus included an ability to let another person in and adjust his settings according to new input. And at every moment, God loved him – as it is for us. As we accept that love, we’ll find our “snappish” moments become fewer and our moments of regarding the Other with love increase.
Whoa. This goes beyond, “I’m tired, I’m busy, leave me alone.” Is Jesus saying that this women and her demon-enslaved daughter are unworthy of his Father’s love, power, healing? That promise written into our Baptismal Covenant in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer– “Will you respect the dignity of every human being?” - is not explicitly biblical, but it is consonant with the overall arc of God’s redemptive action, declaring the likes of you and me, the poor, unclean, and lame, leaders as well as the dregs of society worthy of extravagant, sacrificial love. Why not this poor mother, so desperate and full of faith?
Is Jesus frustrated at the lack of response to his ministry among so many of his own people? Is giving these gifts outside his community a reminder that they are not more fully received by his own? Whatever his motivation, the resulting words and attitude seem to clash with the Jesus we see at work elsewhere.
The way Mark tells the story, Jesus’ reply is a little more nuanced: “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Feeding the “children” first at least allows for getting around to the “dogs.” Matthew’s version makes it a matter of fairness, not sequence. Whatever else it offers, this troubling vignette draws a more fully rounded, layered and shaded, flesh and blood picture of Jesus. It is oddly comforting to know that Jesus shared our humanity so fully that he too could be stressed and snappish. (Yet, without sin!)
Today we might sit quietly in prayer for a time, reflecting on the last time we said or did something inconsiderate or unkind, found ourselves acting out of a bad mood instead of our best self. Might we call that moment up in our mind, and rather than beating ourselves up for it, invite Jesus to sit with us in it? Might we draw near to him in that moment and so make space for him to draw near to us?
The rest of the story makes it clear that the seeming put-down was not the last word, that the fullness of Jesus included an ability to let another person in and adjust his settings according to new input. And at every moment, God loved him – as it is for us. As we accept that love, we’ll find our “snappish” moments become fewer and our moments of regarding the Other with love increase.
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