“Shocking…SHOCKING!!!!”

A Sermon Preached by

The Rev. Jean N. Lenk

First Congregational Church of Stoughton

United Church of Christ

A few years ago, a church in the mid-West had new carpeting installed in its sanctuary.  Somehow, the new carpet combined with the building’s dryness made the rug build up a tremendous charge of static electricity.  On the first Sunday with the new carpeting, which happened to be communion, the pastor intoned the words of institution, lifted the chalice to the lips of the first communion server…and saw the server knocked flat on his back by a sudden electrical discharge.  In fact, the static electricity continued to be such a problem that, on subsequent Communion Sundays, the servers drew straws to see who would have to go first and be stuck with the job of absorbing that initial jolting charge. 

I guess there’s a message there.  Come to church expecting to be shocked.  And open the Bible expecting to be shocked.  That is especially true this morning, for in today’s Gospel lesson, we get a portrayal of Jesus that we almost don’t recognize. 

He is heading out of Galilee, hoping to get a respite from the harassment of the scribes and Pharisees, and also from the unrelenting crowds, who would be unlikely to follow him into Gentile country.  But even away from Galilee, Jesus cannot get away from people who need his healing touch.  A woman rushes up to him, begging Jesus to heal her afflicted daughter, and we anticipate another miraculous healing story.  But wait a minute – we read not of the loving compassionate healer we’ve come to expect, but instead see what seems to be a shockingly unkind Jesus.

The woman who interrupts Jesus already has so much going against her.  She is a foreigner, a Gentile, and a Canaanite -- part of a people whose rivalry with the Hebrews goes back to Genesis.  And she is also a woman; in an oppressively patriarchal culture, she is supposed to be seen and not heard.

We expect Jesus to uplift and affirm her, and grant her request.  Yet, inexplicably – shockingly -- Jesus' response to her is lukewarm, even rude.  He seems to want nothing to do with her, and without even answering her plea, he turns to his disciples and says to them: "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel."

Can this be the same Jesus of Nazareth who laid his hands on the sick and the needy, who let their grimy fingers catch hold of his clothes as he walked past?  Is this the same Jesus who said, “Let the children come to me”… and “Zaccheus get down out of the tree”… and “bring blind Bartimaeus here”? 

Jesus says, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”  He tells her, in effect, “I don’t minister to Gentiles.  I don’t heal outsiders.  You don’t belong.  You’re not my concern.”  Shocking!

Back in the Christmas story, it is Matthew alone, of all the Gospel writers, who tells us about the wisemen, strangers from the East, foreigners who read the signs in the stars and come to worship the newborn King, bearing gifts.  They signify that Jesus has come for everyone, that God’s love and grace extends to everyone– even Canaanites.

And yet, Jesus’ words to the woman say, “You don’t belong.  You’re not my concern.”  Crushed, she falls on her knees, and cries out once again, “Lord, help me.”  And again he dismisses her with the response, “It’s not right to take food out of the hands of your children to feed the stray dogs.” 

We struggle with this story, with this depiction of Jesus.  And like many before us, we hunt for some explanation for Jesus’ words and inaction. 

Some scholars have proposed that the word “dogs” Jesus uses is supposed to be translated as “puppies” and is just a nice domestic illustration to test the woman’s faith.  Others have noted that, although the written record can preserve the spoken words, we get none of the voice inflections, intonations, or body language that could nuance the meaning of Jesus’ words, suggesting that Jesus was teasing or testing the woman's faith.  And some believe that by his initial reluctance to care for any Gentile, Jesus was simply giving voice to the not-so-quietly harbored feelings of his Jewish followers.

Personally, I think this passage shows a side of Jesus we often overlook.  We put so much focus on the divinity of Christ we lose sight that the Jesus we worship is both fully divine and fully human.  Into the real world of flesh and blood human beings God came – that’s what the incarnation is all about, that’s why we celebrate Christmas.  Jesus was completely human in all aspects of his life, and experienced every human need and limitation.  He could be hungry, thirsty, tempted, tired, and, in this case I believe, a bit cranky.  I know how I felt the week before my vacation, and I can relate!

So often we want to see Jesus only as God, unencumbered with human flesh and frailty.  No questions, just answers.  No problems, just certainty.  No temptations, just an absolute, unfailing sense of right.  Always loving and compassionate.  Never biased or prejudiced.  Perfect in every respect.

But to look at Jesus that way robs him of his humanity so that he is no longer one of us.  It is sometimes more difficult to let Jesus be human than to see him as divine.  Luke's gospel makes the point that Jesus “increased in wisdom and in stature,” and this encounter from Matthew may have been part of his growth and maturation in his own self-understanding and in his understanding of his ministry.

And let’s also look at the woman, an outsider, an intruder into Jesus’ attempt to find peace and quiet.  Even though Jesus says to her, “It’s not right to take food out of the hands of your children to feed the stray dogs,” she does not give up; she will not take "no" for an answer; her daughter is sick, and she has nowhere else to turn.  This mother will suffer any indignity, do anything she can, to see her child well again.  And she engages Jesus with a quick theological response: “But Lord, even the strays get the scraps.  They know where to come for food.”

This woman knows where to come for healing, and she addresses Jesus as "Lord, Son of David."  In using this particular title, she is acknowledging something that not even the disciples have not yet dared make: she is identifying Jesus as the messiah.  In Matthew's gospel, this Canaanite woman is the first one to publicly do so.  And Jesus comes to recognize the magnitude of her faith.  This outcast is willing to struggle faithfully – even with God himself – to obtain healing for her daughter. 

This passage is about getting right in God’s face and wrestling directly with a God who dances with us but sometimes needs to sit one out; who loves unconditionally, but sometimes has to say “no”; a God who wants to give us all things bright  and beautiful but sometimes decides to withhold, and other times chooses to give and restore.  Not a fickle God, but a God who is relational and gives and takes and grows along with us in that relationship.

The woman has an insistent, unrelenting faith that perseveres in the face of cultural, societal, and religious boundaries.  When scripture tell us that “Jesus did not answer a word,” she persists even when others might have been discouraged by the silence.  When the disciples reject her and Jesus seems to insult her, she endures the rebuffs, despite being told she doesn’t deserve help.  And Jesus recognizes the magnitude of her faith, responding to her plea with healing and demonstrating the inclusiveness of God’s love.

The Canaanite woman has her deepest needs met because, in faith, she persistently pursues the One who can heal her daughter.  And just as this woman brings her greatest anguish to Jesus, so can we.  And so I ask you… what is your pain?  What do you cry out about?  A broken relationship?  Estrangement from a loved one?  Loneliness?  Illness?  A future without hope?

We can bring our greatest concerns to our Lord.  And in the moments that we hear silence, let us reach out in faith to the One who himself, in all his humanity, cried out, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”  Let us reach out to the One who hung in silence for us.  May we live through the silence knowing that, with the power of the Risen Christ, our Lord will indeed hear or needs, will indeed turn to us, and offer us the healing power of his unconditional love and boundless grace.  Amen.