Proper 18B

September 8, 2024

Are you puzzled by today’s gospel reading? Are you struggling to make sense of what’s going on? Are you offended by the exchange between Jesus and the woman who approaches him, begging him to help her daughter who’s possessed by a demon? Do Jesus’ actions and words seem out of line with your image of a loving and compassionate Jesus? If you answered any of those questions with a “yes,” you’re not alone. This gospel text has challenged preachers, scholars, and faithful Christians for centuries, and perhaps most of all in recent decades as we have sought to be more welcoming and inclusive and appealed to Jesus, whom we say “welcomed all to his table.”

Well, not in this case. The dogs, whoever they may be, remained under the table, fighting for the scraps that have fallen to the ground.

Before digging into the text, let me throw out a few interpretations that have gained sway over the years. One theory is that Jesus isn’t using “dog” as a derogatory term but an affectionate one: puppies, let’s say. Another is that this encounter constitutes something of a transformative moment—that Jesus has seen his mission so far as being exclusively for the Jewish community, but that this woman causes him to think more broadly, to include the Gentiles in his mission. There are those who see in the woman a proto-feminist, standing up to Jesus on behalf of her daughter. Whatever.

We might ask another question. Why does Mark tell the story in this way? What is he trying to get across? Remember, the Gospel of Mark is not a biography of Jesus—it’s the good news. He’s writing to share something crucial about his understanding of Jesus—that he is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that Jesus is ushering a new age: the reign of God. And he’s telling this story in this way because he thinks it says important about the coming reign of God.

The first thing I want to point out is the importance of geography. To this point, Jesus has largely been active in his home territory, Galilee, Capernaum seems to have served as something of a base. Now he has traveled outside of traditionally Jewish territory to the seacoast to Tyre. 

There’s a spatial element to this as well. In Mark, Jesus seems to move back and forth between public areas—synagogues, places where crowds might gather, and intimate areas, private homes. In this case he is in a private home and he has gone there seeking rest and solitude. We don’t even know if the disciples are with him.

A third thing that should help us make sense of these two stories is that there is a striking parallel a couple of chapters earlier. Earlier this summer we heard the story of Jesus healing the woman with an issue of blood and Jairus’ daughter. One important element in those two earlier stories is Jesus’ response to the woman and to Jairus: each time he mentions faith, “Daughter, your faith has made you well.” Mark uses the technique of the doubled story to emphasize something new and different. 

One important difference between the characters in the two sets of stories is that in the first, we can assume they are both Jewish. In the case of the synagogue ruler, we know that for sure. He is the consummate insider. In the case of the woman with the issue of blood, we can assume she’s Jewish because of the location and the way the story is told. In the stories we have before us, we know the woman is not Jewish, she’s “Syro-Phoenician.” While his ethnic and religious identity is not mentioned, we can presume that the deaf-mute man is Gentile as well, because of where the story takes place. 

Faith is not mentioned in our two healing stories. In the first, Jesus tells the woman her daughter has been healed because of what she said—her argument, or logic was responsible for the healing. If there is faith involved, it’s implicit in that the woman returns home with faith that her daughter has been restored to health and wholeness. In the other healing, there’s no mention of why he was healed, neither the faith of the man nor that of those who brought him to Jesus is mentioned.

But as I’ve reflected on these stories over the years, my focus has shifted. The questions of how the Jesus depicted in this story may challenge our assumptions about him are important to think about but they may not be the most important. Often we bring our agendas to the texts, like a desire to be inclusive and welcoming, and those agendas may distort or narrow our reading of the stories, leading us to overlook other important themes.

I’m not saying that inclusion isn’t important  But what strikes me is that when the woman accepts Jesus’ categorization of her, she is doing something else. She is admitting her unworthiness to receive his help, and that, I think deserves our closer attention. 

I wonder whether any of you have felt that you don’t deserve God’s grace and mercy. I wonder how many of you have struggled to receive Jesus’ promise to love and forgive you. We are taught in our professional and personal lives to stand up for ourselves, to demand our rights, our fair share, our due. But that face or persona we present to the world can often feel fake or unreal. We may feel like a fraud. That may also be true in our spiritual journeys—our doubts, uncertainties, our sins and shortcomings may make us feel unworthy of God’s grace and mercy.

In our Rite I Eucharist, there’s a prayer called the Prayer of Humble Access, we say it together just before we receive communion: In it are the following words:

We are not worthy so much as to gather
up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord
whose property is always to have mercy. 

Sometimes, we need to admit who we are, in all of our doubts, uncertainties, brokenness and sin, for when we do, we open ourselves to the wonderful expanse of God’s mercy, which is more than we deserve, more than we can imagine. Sometimes, crumbs are more than enough. They can fill our hearts and heal us, body and soul.