Cuba Christian Church
Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23
Psalm 125
James 2:1-10, (11-13), 14-17
Mark 7:24-37
“Favoring Justice”
In most human cultures over most of human history, people have been taught that, as a general rule, there were kinds of people who were good or acceptable and kinds of people who were bad or unacceptable. Over time and in different places, those differences have been defined differently. In some places, good and evil seemed a factor of gender: men were stronger and more powerful in some ways, so it seemed that they had been blessed by God more than women. Or, in some places, women were deemed superior because they had the power and means to reproduce other human beings—the contribution of men was a mystery. Sometimes certain families were able to claim a special relationship to God through their ancestry. Egypt’s kings and queens were called the sons and daughters of God so that family had a lot of power over the rest of the people. And God spoke to Abraham and claimed him and his descendents as God’s very own people—they were a unique group of people who claimed God’s protection in a unique way.
And over time, traditions and beliefs were taught based on the stories of their experiences of God with their ancestors, tribes and families. Some of those traditions were based on God’s intention for them and others were based on observation of how life works. Some folks—if you read the first testament had the idea that God’s blessing would be evident in a person’s life through the existence of monetary abundance and the accumulation of wealth. There is a narrow stream of scripture and tradition that seems to support the idea that wealth meant God’s approval of one’s choices and lifestyle—even to the point that the best people lived the longest. But also within scriptural tradition—even within one type of scripture—is the idea that God plays favorites by choosing to side with the least powerful. The amazing breadth of the bible means that we can hear God’s guidance in powerful places as well as in the least powerful people and places.
We like to categorize people because it’s easier to understand most things if we divide them into clear categories. We get into trouble when we start designating worth according to those categories. A few years ago at the regional assembly, we were shown a survey/quiz that asked questions that were designed to hear how racial presumptions had changed over the decades. One question was about sports—it went something like, “Of the following groups of people, which is more likely to be involved in basketball? Answers: A. Jewish people; B. African American people; C. Chinese American people; D. East Indian American people.” Most of those at the assembly, no matter what their race, answered B. African American. Then the presenter began to explain that in the early part of the twentieth century, because basketball has always been a more urban sport, people would have been more likely to answer A. Jewish people. The presumptions we make about races change because cultural and societal situations shift. Both answers to the question were correct in different generations, and that’s the thing about categories of people; they shift with time and place—they are temporary truths, not eternal ones.
The scriptures today talk about partiality between the privileged and the unprivileged—or the rich and the poor—or the ones with power and the ones without. Though the groups that are in power and out of power tend to shift and change over time—the poor of whatever group are on the bottom and the rich tend to float to the top.
When Jesus was approached by the woman in the gospel text today, however, there was no indication that she was poor—only that she was in need. Her daughter was suffering in some way—an unclean spirit, it says—that prevented her from the life that she would have healthily led. And Jesus responds to her need in an unusual way, his response indicated that he was sent to minister to the Jewish people and that he wasn’t sure about the rest of the world—the Gentiles. He said that the dogs do not eat food the children need, referring to a common insult paid to Gentiles from their Jewish neighbors. But she insisted that dogs get leftovers—scraps—so she was due something, wasn’t she?
Jesus’ response wasn’t immediately compassionate and it may have sprung from a cultural limitation—what could he really do for someone not descended from the people God had chosen? Yet her answer reveals that Jesus’ message of love could be spread to all creation—not just the children who were seated at the table, but all who were able to receive a little scrap of it.
When she revealed the actual need—the despair, sorrow and loss— brought on by her daughter’s condition Jesus saw that his message and work of wholeness was valuable to Gentiles, too. One scholar writes that, “Because of her tenacity, her commitment to her daughter’s healing, and her ability to use the “power of the weak” in a positive and life-giving manner, she also becomes the catalyst for moving Jesus to acknowledge his ministry of the gentile people.”[1] By reframing the situation—it was not about Jew and Gentile in this place. In her words is the truth that Jesus’ ministry was about the weak and needy no matter who they were.
As I have said, our categories are important in helping us remember what goes on around us—they are how we are able to speak of people and events in our lives—but they cannot be the way that we decide who gets help and who does not. We can’t even use our own sense of like and dislike—we are called to move back away from common categories of inclusion and exclusion and instead try and understand that each person and all humans contain the image of God, no matter who they are or what they have done.
There are certainly aspects of racism that come up when we read this text from Mark’s gospel and they may be uncomfortable because they reveal that Jesus also learns from people in his life. And he learns in ways that reveal the limitations of his humanity rather than the eternal ways he is the Son of God. But instead of this making us uncomfortable, perhaps we can see it as the hope that all of us are growing into our humanity—and into the image of God within us.
That doesn’t mean that we can be complacent about who we are and what we do because Jesus’ humanity was like our own—I believe instead that it reveals the potential that we have, not only as individuals, but more certainly as the whole body of Christ. We cannot expect perfection in ourselves—but we can expect that we are ever moving toward God’s will for us in all arenas. We are never old enough to retire from Christianity and we are always expected to do the ministry of Christ in the lives of those around us.
One author defines racism “in terms of the denial of human feelings, aspirations to life, and depth of spirit. Racism assumes a “shallowness” in the other that expresses itself in elitist attitudes and inhuman, exclusivist behaviors.” [2] I believe that we all tend to make snap judgments at times about other races and we do it about other categories of people, too. Women and men talk about one another that way—husband jokes, blond jokes, sexist jokes in general are all about this judgment of shallowness and lack of real humanity in the other. Different ages tend to do this sometimes—ageism is also about pealing away the humanity of another person due to the limitations that come with age. We joke about this, too, but when the jokes turn to judgment and suspicion, we are turning away from God’s love for each another.
All of us feel pain and happiness, sorrow and joy, depth of emotions that tie us to one another in our humanity. Over the years, I believe that these depths of emotions and our understanding are what have made people of all kinds, categories, groups and types realize our relationships with one another. When we deny the feelings that we share, we will ignore the common need and forget Jesus’ ministry of caring. But when we hold onto that understanding of that depth of feeling, we are one long step on the way to making racism—and all the other “isms”—a thing of the past, at least in a systematic way.
Let us hear the pain in the voices of those who come to voice their need—for an ear to hear, a hand to hold, a sharing of resources, or even when we are asked to add our voices to their own so that others will hear their story. I believe the story in the gospel lesson is that kind of story in some ways—a story of a woman outside the people of the covenant who insisted that God’s promises were more inclusive that anyone had realized at that point.
God’s favoritism stands with those in need—whatever the need, according to the Proverbs, “22Do not rob the poor because they are poor, or crush the afflicted at the gate; 23for the Lord pleads their cause and despoils of life those who despoil them.”[3] According to the epistle of James, “Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him? 6But you have dishonored the poor.”[4]
Let us in all things favor justice for all people—not just for ourselves or those like us, but to move our lives and society in ways that more readily reflect the justice that God calls us to live. Let us in our imperfect and flawed ways, move toward acting in ways that reveal the God in us who favors justice for all—not just for some or some like us.
To the glory of God—the God of justice and grace. Amen.
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[1] The Syrophoenician Woman: A South Asian Feminist Perspective from A Feminist Companion to Mark,ed. by Amy Jill Levine/ Ranjini Wickramaratne Rebera. Copyright © Pilgrim Press 2004, in Seasons of the Spirit, Pentecost 2 2009.
[2] Raimon Gaita, A Common Humanity: Thinking about Love and Truth and Justice, in Seasons of the Spirit, Pentecost 2.
[3] Proverbs 22:22-23
[4] James 2:5b-6a
