Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost
August 16, 2020
Matthew 15:21-28
Last month, Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was called an f—ing b—word by colleague, Representative Ted Yoho on the steps of the Capital. It’s one of those events you would hope our politicians would be above—respected leaders of the country. And yet, these things happen frequently—the diminishing of women when men feel threatened.
In 2017, Senator Elizabeth Warren opposed the appointment of Jeff Sessions as Attorney General, citing both Ted Kennedy and Coretta Scott King. As she read their words, she was interrupted and told she was out of line. After a vote was taken to shut her down, Senator Jeff Merkley finished reading King’s letter. The man was allowed to continue without interruption. Later, Mitch McConnell said of the event, “She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless she persisted.” That final sentence became a warrior cry for justice for all women in this country who are shut down and diminished.
But it’s not a new story, is it? Today, we read about a Jewish man who, though he was in Gentile territory, couldn’t be bothered by a Gentile woman begging for his healing of her daughter. He ignored her. But his disciples could not. They asked Jesus to send her away—much like they asked him to send away the crowds to find something to eat in the towns. But this time, Jesus does not show compassion. He merely confirms with the disciples that he wasn’t sent for people like her.
Nevertheless, she persisted. She bowed down. Groveled. Crouched and crawled before him. Tripping him up. Forcing him to slow down. Again, she cried out, “Please, Lord. Have mercy on me! Kyrie eleison!” Finally, he acknowledges her. He basically said that he came to feed the children, not toss perfectly good food into the gutter where the scavenger dogs feed. That’s how dogs were seen in Israel—scavengers, rats, nasty creatures. And in calling her a dog, he was calling her a b--- word.
Nevertheless, she persisted. She didn’t get angry. She didn’t lash out. She didn’t even correct his assessment. She only pointed out that, at least where she comes from, even the dogs eat the crumbs from the table. Again, much like the feeding of the 5,000+ Jewish people, there was plenty left over for others, if only they had been invited. She refused to back down. And in this moment, she became the teacher and he the disciple.
We don’t like to see Jesus like this. I don’t like to see Jesus like this. I like the compassionate, equal-opportunity Jesus who seeks justice and peace for all people. I like the Jesus who feeds the hungry, who heals the sick, who pushes against the rules of the empire and the religious authorities, who shows God’s abundant grace and mercy for the whole world. But that’s not the Jesus that shows up in this story. And I’m not really in the mood to fold myself into a pretzel trying to spiritualize or justify his chauvinistic behavior in order to protect him from bad press. This was definitely not a shining moment for Jesus. Full stop.
And yet. Consider the times women have pointed out misogynistic behavior in men. What is generally the response? Defense. “Boys will be boys,” they say. “He hit you because he likes you,” they say. “You just need to speak up, honey,” they say. “Get over it. It’s no big deal,” they say. “It must be your time of the month,” they say. “Women are so dramatic,” they say. “Don’t be such a prude,” they say.
But what was Jesus’ response to this woman who dared counter his argument? It wasn’t any of those ridiculous remarks. Perhaps he kneeled down, as well. Perhaps he took her hands in his and looked her straight in the eye. He saw her as a human being—not a Gentile, not a woman, not yet another needy person begging for attention. He saw her as a child of God. And he said, “Woman, your great faith! Let it be done for you as you will.” He acknowledged her hurt and her desperation, and he changed his mind. He learned inclusivity from this woman who was most certainly excluded from any circle he might enter.
No, this story doesn’t show Jesus at his finest; it shows Jesus at his most human—a product of his culture and faith. With the exception of his death, we prefer to see Jesus as perfect. But this story pushes at that idea of a perfect human, without sin, without blemish, without need to grow. And yet, it shows us the image of the perfect human who learns from mistakes, who doesn’t defend bad behavior, who can be changed and redirected to an even more just way of life. And this is the kind of person I want to follow—the kind of God worth believing in.
If God can die, then God can also be taught. And he was taken to school by this nobody woman. He was educated by one without an education—because nevertheless, she persisted. She wouldn’t let him get by with calling her a b—word. She might humble and humiliate herself, but she would not allow disrespect to rule what happened next.
Along with strong women like Elizabeth Stanton, Harriet Tubman, Malala Yousafzai, Marie Curie, Amelia Earhart, Claudette Colvin, Immaculee Ilibagiza, Leymah Gbowee, and Arundhati Katju, this woman persisted. We persist. We persist in working for justice; we persist in praying for our loved ones; we persist in worshiping God wherever we are; we persist in feeding the hungry; we persist in ministering to those in prison; we persist in the fight for equal rights for ALL people, where ‘all’ really does mean all and not just the all we approve of.
And we are reminded by God’s Word that in our baptism, we were made ‘little Christs,’ as Luther said. And as little Christs, we too are compelled to learn and grow and change. We are compelled to be taught by those who insist and persist for their own lives. We are compelled to follow the Christ who, though he was in the image of God, did not regard his power something to be exploited or grasped but instead was willingly made humble in this world—born in a stable to a nobody woman; raised in what the rest of the world considered a nobody country; grew in what others saw as a nobody faith; and, in a moment of sheer grace, was taught by a nobody mother about God’s abundance.
This is our God. This is who we are called to emulate. This is who we are to be. Changed and changeable children of the God who sees new life, new hope, and new opportunity in every corner of creation.
Pastor Tobi White
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church
Lincoln, NE
August 16, 2020
Matthew 15:21-28
Last month, Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was called an f—ing b—word by colleague, Representative Ted Yoho on the steps of the Capital. It’s one of those events you would hope our politicians would be above—respected leaders of the country. And yet, these things happen frequently—the diminishing of women when men feel threatened.
In 2017, Senator Elizabeth Warren opposed the appointment of Jeff Sessions as Attorney General, citing both Ted Kennedy and Coretta Scott King. As she read their words, she was interrupted and told she was out of line. After a vote was taken to shut her down, Senator Jeff Merkley finished reading King’s letter. The man was allowed to continue without interruption. Later, Mitch McConnell said of the event, “She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless she persisted.” That final sentence became a warrior cry for justice for all women in this country who are shut down and diminished.
But it’s not a new story, is it? Today, we read about a Jewish man who, though he was in Gentile territory, couldn’t be bothered by a Gentile woman begging for his healing of her daughter. He ignored her. But his disciples could not. They asked Jesus to send her away—much like they asked him to send away the crowds to find something to eat in the towns. But this time, Jesus does not show compassion. He merely confirms with the disciples that he wasn’t sent for people like her.
Nevertheless, she persisted. She bowed down. Groveled. Crouched and crawled before him. Tripping him up. Forcing him to slow down. Again, she cried out, “Please, Lord. Have mercy on me! Kyrie eleison!” Finally, he acknowledges her. He basically said that he came to feed the children, not toss perfectly good food into the gutter where the scavenger dogs feed. That’s how dogs were seen in Israel—scavengers, rats, nasty creatures. And in calling her a dog, he was calling her a b--- word.
Nevertheless, she persisted. She didn’t get angry. She didn’t lash out. She didn’t even correct his assessment. She only pointed out that, at least where she comes from, even the dogs eat the crumbs from the table. Again, much like the feeding of the 5,000+ Jewish people, there was plenty left over for others, if only they had been invited. She refused to back down. And in this moment, she became the teacher and he the disciple.
We don’t like to see Jesus like this. I don’t like to see Jesus like this. I like the compassionate, equal-opportunity Jesus who seeks justice and peace for all people. I like the Jesus who feeds the hungry, who heals the sick, who pushes against the rules of the empire and the religious authorities, who shows God’s abundant grace and mercy for the whole world. But that’s not the Jesus that shows up in this story. And I’m not really in the mood to fold myself into a pretzel trying to spiritualize or justify his chauvinistic behavior in order to protect him from bad press. This was definitely not a shining moment for Jesus. Full stop.
And yet. Consider the times women have pointed out misogynistic behavior in men. What is generally the response? Defense. “Boys will be boys,” they say. “He hit you because he likes you,” they say. “You just need to speak up, honey,” they say. “Get over it. It’s no big deal,” they say. “It must be your time of the month,” they say. “Women are so dramatic,” they say. “Don’t be such a prude,” they say.
But what was Jesus’ response to this woman who dared counter his argument? It wasn’t any of those ridiculous remarks. Perhaps he kneeled down, as well. Perhaps he took her hands in his and looked her straight in the eye. He saw her as a human being—not a Gentile, not a woman, not yet another needy person begging for attention. He saw her as a child of God. And he said, “Woman, your great faith! Let it be done for you as you will.” He acknowledged her hurt and her desperation, and he changed his mind. He learned inclusivity from this woman who was most certainly excluded from any circle he might enter.
No, this story doesn’t show Jesus at his finest; it shows Jesus at his most human—a product of his culture and faith. With the exception of his death, we prefer to see Jesus as perfect. But this story pushes at that idea of a perfect human, without sin, without blemish, without need to grow. And yet, it shows us the image of the perfect human who learns from mistakes, who doesn’t defend bad behavior, who can be changed and redirected to an even more just way of life. And this is the kind of person I want to follow—the kind of God worth believing in.
If God can die, then God can also be taught. And he was taken to school by this nobody woman. He was educated by one without an education—because nevertheless, she persisted. She wouldn’t let him get by with calling her a b—word. She might humble and humiliate herself, but she would not allow disrespect to rule what happened next.
Along with strong women like Elizabeth Stanton, Harriet Tubman, Malala Yousafzai, Marie Curie, Amelia Earhart, Claudette Colvin, Immaculee Ilibagiza, Leymah Gbowee, and Arundhati Katju, this woman persisted. We persist. We persist in working for justice; we persist in praying for our loved ones; we persist in worshiping God wherever we are; we persist in feeding the hungry; we persist in ministering to those in prison; we persist in the fight for equal rights for ALL people, where ‘all’ really does mean all and not just the all we approve of.
And we are reminded by God’s Word that in our baptism, we were made ‘little Christs,’ as Luther said. And as little Christs, we too are compelled to learn and grow and change. We are compelled to be taught by those who insist and persist for their own lives. We are compelled to follow the Christ who, though he was in the image of God, did not regard his power something to be exploited or grasped but instead was willingly made humble in this world—born in a stable to a nobody woman; raised in what the rest of the world considered a nobody country; grew in what others saw as a nobody faith; and, in a moment of sheer grace, was taught by a nobody mother about God’s abundance.
This is our God. This is who we are called to emulate. This is who we are to be. Changed and changeable children of the God who sees new life, new hope, and new opportunity in every corner of creation.
Pastor Tobi White
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church
Lincoln, NE
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