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Karen Hollis | Sept 8, 2024 Pentecost x
Mark 7:24-37 From there he set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. He said to her, "Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs." But she answered him, "Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs." Then he said to her, "For saying that, you may go--the demon has left your daughter." And when she went home, she found the child lying on the bed and the demon gone.
Then he returned from the region of Tyre and went by way of Sidon toward the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis. They brought to him a deaf man who had an impediment in his speech, and they begged him to lay his hand on him. He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, "Ephphatha," that is, "Be opened." And his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one, but the more he ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it. They were astounded beyond measure, saying, "He has done everything well; he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak."
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be reflections of your word to us today, in Christ’s name we pray. Amen
When I was young, I had a difficult time learning to read and write. I used to mix up my letters with a bit of dyslexia and was slow at sounding out words. Sometimes teachers would have the class read a chapter aloud, asking each of us to take a paragraph. I loathed this exercise and was always filled with so much anxiety and embarrassment. I had such a hard time getting what my eyes were seeing to come out through my mouth, and struggling publicly made it so much worse. Why does a person who struggles with reading aloud align with a vocation that requires a lot of reading aloud in public? Even now I sometimes have to look at a phrase for a few extra seconds to get the words to queue themselves in the correct order before I speak. I always remind myself . . . the people will wait – what other choice do they have? Somehow over the years, I have learned to love and embrace the way I read. It’s mine . . . and I get to decide what it means, how to navigate it, and how much it defines me. If Jesus came along and offered to heal it, would I agree? I’m not sure. I would probably have to think about it . . . I certainly would wonder what God was up to with the invitation. I have a friend who has been diabetic since childhood. She told me once she wouldn’t give it up if there was a cure or a healing. It’s so much a part of her life that not having it would completely change her flow in the world.
When we hear the story of the man, deaf and tongue-tied – I’m going to call him Ashur – who is brought to Jesus by his compassionate friends, we assume that he wants to be healed. You may have noticed that he doesn’t come to Jesus directly, but by those who advocate for him . . . which, in his situation, is a gift. In Ashur’s context, disability isolated people to the margins of society, where it is lonely and makes an already difficult life almost unbearable.
Truth be told, disability can isolate people to the margins in our context, as well. It’s why we look at our spaces and practices again and again with eyes of inclusion, install ramps and make listening devices available.
Beyond inclusion, there is also the question of value. The scriptures praise God for healing people from deaf and blindness, mental illness, chronic conditions, paralysis, as if these people and the unique perspective and gifts they bring don’t have inherent value. I believe the celebration is about marginalized people being restored to community, even if it can come across as a value judgement on disability, which indeed isn’t in line with the gospel. Our God who offers healing that brings down barriers to inclusion and connects people back into community is our same God who affirms us, loves us, and embraces us exactly as we are.
Our culture still has work to do around valuing perspectives from the margins. Places like L’Arche are leading the way on this, as they elevate the inherent value and gifts of everyone in their community . . . gifts like compassion, curiosity, and connection. In the name and way of Jesus, they grow the kindom of God.
In this part of Mark’s gospel, Jesus is courageously breaking down barriers and bringing people together in ways that would have been dangerous and scandalous at the time. Before visiting Ashur, he’s on this winding tour through Gentile (or non-Jewish) territory. He travels from Tyre, down to the Decapolis, by way of Sidon – seems simple enough, but if you look at a map, this is like going from Comox to Lake Cowachan via Pt. McNeill. It seems his route is not meant to make geographical sense, rather it makes a theological statement about breaking barriers between Jew and Gentile, and leading a movement that values everyone as human and beloved. He’s serious about it . . . and the story of the Syrophoenician woman shows us just how serious.
When I’ve read and preached on this story before, I’ve been aware of the Syrophonician woman – I’ll call her Aziza – crossing boundaries in her desperation. In entering the house, she crosses ethnic boundaries, gender boundaries . . . but I learned this week that she is probably also crossing socioeconomic boundaries. Tyre is not just any town . . . it’s a major city, for which the Galilean countryside provides agricultural resources. Jesus is in a city whose economic engine is supported by the work of the people Jesus serves. Clues in the text tell us Aziza had adopted Greek culture and most of these Hellenized people were affluent city dwellers.1 The text also mentions the bed, on which her daughter is lying. The Greek word tells us her bed is constructed with legs, rather than a sleeping mat on the floor, which would only have been true in an affluent household.2 It seems she is in a dominant position relative to Jesus, who comes from the countryside.3 So in Aziza, Jesus is confronted with a symbol of the city in which he is visiting . . . that participates in the system that keeps his people oppressed. Is the good news also for her? Jesus has made it plain to us that entering the kindom of God is most difficult for the rich and powerful. Perhaps his first response to her is a safeguard to ensure she is ready to become a part of the beloved community. Her unsettlingly humble response of ‘I’ll take whatever’s left,’ triggers the healing instantaneously. Aziza shows that her heart is well oriented to live safely alongside her economically exploited siblings.4
If we look at the big picture of these stories that have been placed side by side in the gospel and selected to be read together, we have the humility of those who are used to running the show alongside the lifting up of the marginalized. It’s a relevant dialogue in community, in society, and within us to ask whether our drive to perform and produce can make space for a circle where all are valued for our humanity and human experience. I wonder, how does that dialogue go in you? Are you able to make room for the various aspects of yourself? Your various needs and wants and goals and limitations? Do some take over and others get marginalized? I wonder what helps them come into the circle together where all are included?
Jesus is the thread that connects these stories, that traces the route through these Gentile territories, the thread that crosses borders, tests boundaries, and centers the margins. Jesus meets each person where they are, asks them or their advocates to state their need, and allows them to do what they will with their healing. He doesn’t manage it for them. When Ashur is healed and ignores Jesus’ instruction to keep the news to himself, Jesus doesn’t criticize or try to reign him in, rather he seems to embody this radical acceptance and respects Ashur’s choice to respond in his own way to being healed.5 Jesus is our teacher in this, as well. He models for us how to allow people their own journey, how to come along side without taking over. In the words of theologian Casey Overton, “Whether calming a storm, cursing a tree, or removing someone’s disability, Jesus wields divine power to suggest that God’s household is one where we have agency to pursue our wellness in the harm-reducing way that suits our needs.”6 The more we learn this, it seems, the more the kindom of God emerges and unfolds around us. Thanks be to God.
1. Hans Leander, Discourses of Empire
2. Hans Leander, Discourses of Empire
3. Hans Leander, Discourses of Empire
4. Enfleshed September 8, 2024
5. Enfleshed September 8, 2024
6. Enfleshed September 8, 2024