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August 17, 2008 sermon

A Transforming Conversation
(Isaiah 42: 1-9; Matthew 15: 21-28)

Reverend Minister Sally Harris

Silently now we wait for you,
Ready, our God, your will to see.
Open our eyes, illumine us, Spirit divine!

Jesus' eyes were opened to see the Phoenician woman, the Gentile in his midst. How shocking for our eyes to see - to experience in this story the transforming of Jesus' understanding of his mission. Haven't we been taught that Jesus knew it all – that Jesus was set on this earth with complete knowledge and understanding - set apart from the rest of humanity? It is a shocking story because suddenly we are faced not only with our own prejudice about the 'foreigner', the unwanted person who wanders into our sacred space but we are faced with our assumptions that Jesus couldn't be transformed because his eyes were always open. In this story we see not only the humanness of Jesus but his faithfulness as well. Jesus was open to being transformed. How easy it is to be blinded by specific ideologies and dogmas. Blinded by what we have always thought to be true.

Once upon a time a religious teacher sat down to worship each evening. And each evening the temple cat would get in the way and distract the worshippers. So the teacher ordered the cat be tied during evening worship. After the religious teacher died the cat continued to be tied during evening worship. And when the cat expired, another cat was brought to the temple so that it could be duly tied during evening worship. Centuries later, learned essays were written by scholarly disciples on the liturgical significance of tying up a cat while worship is performed.

Once upon a time Jesus was camped with his disciples. He was 'between engagements', tired and needing 'sabbath time' - time for renewal and remembering. As the disciples were busying themselves with the chores - they knew enough to leave Jesus alone at such times - Jesus was sitting in the sun, enjoying its warmth penetrating his body relishing the quiet and solitude, in relation to God, as always but blissfully relaxed. Suddenly, from around a little hill, a woman came trotting up to him. Jesus could see by her dress that she was no Israelite, she wasn't a Jew, but a foreigner, a Phoenician, an untouchable Gentile. Jesus recoiled in disgust. She began to babble in an atrocious accent. Waves of irritation filled Jesus. What right did she have to interrupt one of his few precious moments of peace? He was tempted no longer to recoil but to jump forward and drive her away in his exasperation. Instead he spoke not a word. He turned inward, wondering where all these emotions were coming from. I'm confused, he thought. I need to get away and be quiet and empty. Jesus turned and ran from the woman into the tent. He huddled in the far corner. "Why don't they leave me alone, God?" he asked. "Surely You don't want me to have anything to do with her, do You?" But now I have asked You a question, haven't I, Abba? So let me be empty. Let me listen.

But Jesus could not hear God. All he could hear was the woman continuing to babble to his disciples right outside the tent. He wished they would send her away. He listened to them trying to do that, but she refused to go. Finally two of the disciples came into the tent. "We can't get rid of her, Jesus, just by telling her you're busy. But if you tell us to, we'll take care of her one way or another." Jesus looked at them, spontaneously saying, "I was sent here just to minister to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." Immediately, however, the habit of checking with God took over. "Is it true, Abba? That is why You sent me, isn't it? There goes another question. Listen. Be empty of my own ideas.

So do you want to get rid of her?" asked the disciples. "Am I sent here just to minister to the Jews, Abba? Be empty. Oh, no God, do Your really want me to minister to everyone? To anyone and everyone? Be empty. Listen." "Well?" the disciples pushed for an answer in the silence. But the silence continued as Jesus stayed empty. Spasms of agony passed his face like the shadows from windy clouds. Finally he said, "Send her in." The disciples looked astonished, standing there with mouths hanging open. Impatiently Jesus repeated, "I told you to send her in." Then he thought, "All right, now I've done it. I've engaged myself. Do it decently. Be empty. Listen. Despite her accent, listen. Be empty. Hear what she has to say."

The flap of the tent was pulled open and the untouchable one came in. But even as he felt like recoiling again, Jesus reminded himself, "Be empty!' "Lord," said the woman, falling to her knees, "my daughter is severely vexed with a demon. Please heal her, please." "Oh, God, another case of possession," Jesus thought. "I don't have the energy. I'm so tired, Abba. And now here is a Gentile demon to boot. But be empty. It's a child, after all. The poor child. Still, it's a Phoenician child, I'm only here for the children of Israel. I can't be responsible for the whole world." Jesus turned to the woman laying upon her the full strength of the negative side of his ambivalence, "It is not right to take the food meant for the children and cast it to dogs." But even as he finished speaking, the habit took over and Jesus again turned inward. "That was not necessarily fair, and hardly kind," he thought. "Be empty. Listen to the woman. Forget her clothes. Listen to her words, not her accent. Be open and empty and listen." "True, rabbi, the woman said, "but even the dogs are fit to eat the crumbs that fall from the children's table." Tears filled Jesus' eyes. "The humility," he thought, "my God, the faith, the trust, the confidence she has - in spite of everything that is said and thought about her; in spite of all that must have been done to her - the ridicule, the hatred, the name calling, probably even stone-throwing. I cannot deny myself to anyone so faithful. Would that others, more acceptable, could be so humble, so faithful. You've taught me again, Abba. Through the courage of this woman Your presence has been made known to me in a new way. I am meant for the whole world, for everyone." With tears still in his eyes, Jesus was moved with compassion - you could almost feel the love being poured upon this woman as he exclaimed with joy, "Oh, woman, great is your faith. Be it unto you this moment, as you will." [adapted from Scott Peck]

Yes, even Jesus struggled with his calling. Suddenly the clarity and scope of his mission was clouded, even shattered by this encounter with this unacceptable woman. Even Jesus was shaped by the cultural and religious attitude of his day. How easy it is for all of us to be blinded by the direction we are headed and the knowledge we possess. How difficult it is for us to be open to the ongoing work of the spirit. A spirit that leads us forward to the God who makes all things new. Yes Isaiah knew long before Jesus' time, that God was about transformation. And yes God invites us into a process of transformation. A process, sometimes painful, that we choose to participate in to bring about something new. A philosopher once wrote that conversation is not just about total self-expression and the successful assertion of one's point of view, but true dialogue means a transformation into a communion, where we do not remain what we were when we began. Are we willing to be transformed by another, different than us? Are we willing to be transformed by a God, different than we have believed before? This willingness was the faithfulness of Jesus. Are we willing to risk transforming another by being who we are and speaking our truth? Are we willing even to express our real selves to the God who created us, who gave us breath and spirit? This willingness was the faithfulness of the Phoenician woman. Each were a part of a transforming conversation. May our hearts and minds be continually open to the surprising, transforming Spirit in our midst.

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