As we listen to our today’s gospel portion, it’s hard to imagine that the writers got it right. It’s hard to believe that Jesus—the very same Jesus who teaches us to love our neighbors as ourselves—treats this woman in this way. It’s almost beyond belief that he calls her and her daughter dogs—that the one who has healed the hemorrhaging woman, the demoniac, the child of the leader of the synagogue, and unnamed sick who came to him wherever he walked—that this man refuses to heal this woman’s child. What in the world is happening here? This woman has shown absolute desperation and great courage in coming to him. For a respectable woman of that time to approach a man—much less to go into his house—is unthinkable. The fact that she’s there by herself indicates that she is alone in the world—that she has no family—that there is no man under whose protection she lives. This unnamed Gentile, this Syrophoenician woman, has heard of the healing Jesus has done. She’s heard that he doesn’t turn anyone away, so she gathers her courage and comes to him, begging for healing for her daughter. And what does Jesus do? He tells her that she’s not worthy—that she and her daughter are not among the people he cares about. Somehow she manages to stay there, rather than slinking away under his scorn. She stays there, pointing out that even the dogs get the crumbs dropped under the table. And the world changes for Jesus, for the woman, for her daughter and for us.
Traditionally, some scholars have tried to find a way around the parts of this story that don’t portray the face of Jesus as we’d like to see it. One commentator even goes so far as to suggest that the word Jesus uses for dog can be translated as an affectionate term for puppies—as though that makes a difference to his refusal to heal this woman’s child. That approach does a disservice to Jesus and robs us of one of the most powerful teachings he gives us.
There are moments in all our lives when we realize that the path we’re on is not the path we thought we were on. I don’t mean those times when our plans are going astray or someone isn’t doing what we thought they would do or the car doesn’t start. I’m talking about those times when our own internal moral compass—our connection with the Holy—let us know that we’ve taken the wrong road. The compass gets our attention in all kinds of ways. There may be a sudden feeling of dissonance. Maybe a scene from a previous life event pops into mind. Or maybe we hear a replay in our heads of a phrase from scripture or from some wise person of our acquaintance—or maybe our own voice coming back to teach us the lesson we thought we had taught someone else. Most parents have had that experience. Whatever it is—it grabs us, and we have a choice to make. In this story of Jesus, we see one of those moments. I can almost hear the words of Leviticus—the words this good Jew would know as well as his own name—the words he would teach in later days as part of the great commandment. I can almost hear those words echoing in his mind: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
This story shows Jesus in the act of learning. We see him learning that we are all in this together. We see him learning a new definition of neighbor. When we listen to this story—when we remember it—we can have hope that we also can learn new ways—that we can learn to walk in the way God has set for us—that we can turn away from the things that divide us and move toward God’s deepest desire for the world.
Today is full of reminders that we are all in this together and that our actions toward each other are important. Our first reminder is that tomorrow is Labor Day, the day set aside to remember those who have stepped out in courage to change the experience of those who work to keep our world running and to remind us that economic justice for all is still only a dream for many of the people in this land. Today, with growing inequality and poverty, we are reminded that it is no longer true—if it ever was—that hard work is all that it takes to get by. Today, we are reminded that those who work the hardest, in the most strenuous jobs, are often paid the least. With growing injustice and with growing inequality right here in our own neighborhoods, we are called to love our neighbor as ourselves—to seek to justice for every person—to be doers of the word, as James writes in his letter to the Church, not simply hearers of the word.
The most powerful reminder that we are all in this together is the opportunity to welcome our neighbors into the Body of Christ. Today we are baptizing a family: Marc Kopczynski, Julia Russell, and their son William, whose entire name is almost as big as he is. We baptize them today, and we join them in recommitting to the vows made at our own baptism. As we welcome Marc, Julia and William into our family, may God strike a new light in all our hearts, that we all may be given new will to see the face of Christ in all persons, to strive for justice and peace among all people and to respect the dignity of every human being. As we make these promises, saying I will, with God’s help, let us give thanks for God’s grace that helps us to do those things we cannot do alone.
Thanks be to God.