Readings: James 2:1-10, 14-17 Mark 7:24-30
Something that
has fascinated me since I began studying scripture, reading the stories of the
bible with some discernment, is looking for the voices that we don’t hear. Understandably the multiplicity of writers,
old and new testament, had a purpose – to make God and Christ and the Spirit
known to God’s people through their eyes and understandings. But by definition those writers were select
and things had to be left out – things that we would perhaps liked to have known,
things that today we would consider an essential part of the story. This week at psalm writing we heard a poem
for Bathsheba that wondered what it
might have been like for her – from her point of view – and it ended with the
words: If
only we had a Book of Bathsheba
telling her
story in her words.
At the Presbytery gathering we immersed ourselves in
the story of the haemorrhaging woman through story, art and reflection, giving
time to her view of this moment in time.
And so I wonder what it might have been like if we had had a version of
the story the Syrophoenician woman in first person from her point of view. And
I also wondered if we dig a little into the inner thoughts of Jesus – what was
going on in his mind in this encounter rather than just the ‘he said’ and ‘she
said’.
Tell me, do you ever feel sorry for Jesus? His life was certainly pretty frantic. Often
in the Gospel we hear about him trying to get away – looking for a bit of rest
and relaxation, but the people kept finding him. He must have been close to burn-out many
times. If it wasn’t the disciples, then it was the crowds who just wouldn’t
give him any time off from being needed. We tend to forget that he was an
ordinary human being, totally exhausted at times, desperate for some quality
R&R. And it seems this is what he is
doing here in this story - Jesus takes off - leaves the country, hoping that he
might find some anonymity in a foreign place.
Well, he thought wrong. Even
there he could not escape his reputation, the sense of the presence of
holiness– and this time it was a bolshie woman who would not be told –
understandably so for it was her daughter’s life that was at stake. And then we have the uncharacteristically
terse response – if it was anyone else we might have suggested they read the
excerpt from James about favouritism and judgement. So why the unfamiliar response? Was he holding
her in contempt because he was tired and irritated, because she was an
outsider, to test her mettle or to prove a point to the disciples and to the
children of Israel? Most of these don’t
sit well with our expectations of a flawless Jesus, particularly the thought
that he might be behaving badly. We can
only speculate but what we do know I believe is that this turned out to be a
teaching moment for Jesus - he learned something from that encounter. This persistent, argumentative woman got
through to him on some level and appeared to teach him a valuable lesson about
the doggedness of faith. And in doing so
her voice has added a valuable insight into our understanding of the humanness
of Jesus.
And so let
us hear her voice, her perspective on the encounter from the imaginings of Mary
Hanrahan: (Adapted from Bare Feet and Buttercups Wild Goose
Publications 2008 p.100)
“Come in Rebecca.
Sit down. Can I get you a drink?
Did you pass Sarah on the way in?
It’s amazing, isn’t it? You wouldn’t believe it’s the same girl.
Completely well. No more fits. Full of
life and laughter.
Yes, it was him.
Let me tell you the whole story. Where to begin?
You know they were here last week?
Well, I was determined to have a word. I was desperate. Sarah was really bad on Tuesday night. So on Wednesday morning I went looking for
his group. The hardest part was getting
near enough. You know what these Jews
are like. Think they’re God’s chosen and
the rest of us are little better than camel dung.
I kept my distance till I figured out which one he
was. I don’t know what I was expecting
but he was really rather small and quite ordinary looking. And tired.
He looked worn out. My heart
fell. I remember thinking it was
useless.
Then I pictured Sara writhing in pain and before I
knew it, I was there at his feet, begging: ‘Rabbi, my child is in torment.
Please help her.’
His answer left me reeling. ‘Must the food meant for the children be given
to the dogs?’ His friends loved
that. I could see them exchanging
satisfied glances – at last he speaks the language we understand.
He turned to go.
That was it? I was dismissed.
Well, you know me, Rebecca. Can’t keep my mouth shut.
I thought ‘In for a denarius, in for a shekel’ and I
ran after him, shouting: ‘Rabbi, even the dogs get to eat the crumbs that fall
from the table.’
He turned around, exasperated; couldn’t believe my
cheek.
Then, suddenly, he smiled.
It transformed his whole face and I understood why
people gave up everything to follow him.
He gave me a long look, touched my hand and said: ‘Your child is well. Shalom, sister.’
At that moment, I knew my Sara was cured.
It’s hard to explain but there was truth in his
voice. Authority.
His friends looked stunned at the familiar greeting,
and silently cleared a space for me to leave.
I walked slowly, silenced by the enormity of this
moment, this deep connection – and my heart was full of praising God.
The funny thing is, Rebecca, when I looked into his
eyes, there was compassion there, yes, and kindness.
But something else, too. I could swear it was gratitude. It was as if I had given him something.
We pray: Living
and loving God, made known to us in Jesus Christ, we thank you for the story of
this encounter in our scriptures – for the honesty, the challenge, the
answer. May we always be a people who
recognise your healing touch, who persist even when we don’t understand, who
know beyond doubt that you are the God to whom we turn in all our need. We add our praise to all who have encountered
you and will never be the same. Amen.
Margaret Garland
No comments:
Post a Comment