My Favorite Bible Story

Yes, ministers do have favorite Bible stories, and this tale of the Syrophoenician woman and Jesus is one of mine.

My Favorite Bible Story

Psalm 125; Mark 7:24-30 

Last June (2008), I preached a sermon called “My Least Favorite Bible Story.” That was the story of Abraham hearing God ask him to sacrifice his son Isaac. It was the first time I had preached on that text, and I undertook that sermon to let you know that – just like all of you – ministers sometimes struggle with stories from the Bible and talk back to God about characters and events that are troubling

Today, I have the pleasure of going the other way,

of speaking about a story that is just about my favorite: the tale of the Syrophoenician woman and her encounter with Jesus about healing her daughter. It is a particular pleasure because, you see, this is the woman who taught me that lesson about speaking my mind to God.

To be clear here, I don’t suppose that she actually knew she was talking to God in human form. She did know, though, that she was speaking to a healer with great spiritual power, a teacher and preacher who was known in her city. In Matthew’s version of this story, she calls him “Lord, Son of David,” [Matthew 15:22], which tells me that she had been paying attention to who he was.

So she came and bowed down at his feet, and begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. And this is where her story is different from the other stories of healing that have been preserved for us: Jesus tried to shoo her away. In fact, in Matthew’s telling, the disciples encourage Jesus to send her away, because she was shouting at them. Moreover, Jesus spoke to her that with words that were surely insulting: “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” [Mark 7:27] Remember that in the ancient Middle East, dogs were not pets and companions; they were scavengers and considered unclean. And remember, too, that this was a Gentile woman, who would also have been thought of as unclean. Jesus was not welcoming or gracious to this woman and her plea.

She, however, was not deterred. She responded to him quickly and cleverly, turning his words around to challenge him: “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” [Mark 7:28] He heard her, and the challenge in her words, and changed his mind: “For saying that, you may go – the demon has left your daughter.” [Mark 7: 29]

Some scholars and many readers would disagree with what I just said, that Jesus “changed his mind.” I did some research several years ago, and found many commentators who tried to soften the harshness of Jesus’ first comment, and to assure readers that he meant to heal the daughter all along. I found all of these explanations unsatisfactory and somewhat disappointing. The drama of this story lies precisely that Jesus did not immediately respond to this request. We don’t know why he didn’t. The text tells us that he had gone away and was trying to be unnoticed, so it is possible that he was just annoyed to be imposed upon one more time. He may have been caught by the prejudices of his time and place. Or perhaps there was some other reason altogether, which has not been preserved for us to know. The power of this story lies in Jesus turning from one kind of response to another, from dismissing the woman to granting her request. And the way the story is told (in both Mark and Matthew) makes it clear that the reason he changed was the woman’s response to him.

Not long ago, a friend of mine (who lives in another state) walked with a friend of his through a medical diagnosis. This person has had many health issues through the years, and my friend was angry at the unfairness of her having one more. In particular, he was angry at God. He described the experience to me as a “test of faith” that he had “flunked.”

To my way of thinking – and the Syrophoenician woman’s way of thinking – he didn’t flunk. His faith may have changed. In particular, my guess is that he realizes once again that God is not bound by our human ideas of what is fair, and that faith in God does not protect us from danger, harm, or bad luck. But there was something profoundly faithful about his protests to God. When we rail at God about our anger, our disappointments, our outrage, we are fully engaged in a relationship with God – and that is what faith is.

Sometimes our protests have dramatic results – as the Syrophoenician woman experienced. More often, those protests are lamentations, ways of expressing our anger, our disappointments, and our outrage. The result is not that we change God’s mind, but that God gently changes our minds – deepens our faith, makes it less magical and more mystical, less bound by human fairness and more freed by divine grace.

I suppose you might conclude that this story is my favorite because this ancient sister of mine was pushy and persistent and spoke her mind. And yes, it is true, those are traits that I admire. More importantly, these are traits that I find in myself when I am most deeply faithful. When I have discerned a course of action to address a need or a problem, I often surprise myself by the energy that I bring to that action – energy that might well be described as “Pushy, persistent, and speaking her mind.”

I hope so. I have never much cared for the “meek and mild” women of the Bible, the ones who are thought to be obedient and quiet and models of decorum. The Biblical women that I admire are the ones who were bold and prophetic – women like Mary and Esther and Ruth and Mary Magdalene, and this unnamed Gentile woman. Their stories are my favorites, and I hope my story will always carry a little of their moxie and spunk.

Prayer for September 6, 2009

Almighty and everlasting God, creator of all things seen and unseen, hear now our silent prayers, as we open our hearts to you in the sacred quietness.

God of faith and hope, we bring before you our prayers for those we have named this morning – we especially remember … Bring to each of them the gifts of mercy and grace that are most needed, according to your wisdom and love.

God of the rough-worn hands, as we honor workers this day, let us not forget all those whose work is seldom honored: those homemakers who watch over children and homes but are not recognized as workers because they are not paid; those who are forced out of jobs by corporate changes, those forced into early retirement, and those who are denied employment because of their age; those who live far from home, struggling to save a bit of money to send to their loved ones; those who must work illegally in order to survive; and those who lose jobs because employers use undocumented labor.

Christ of the aching back, you worked the rough wood, you walked the long and dusty roads, you know the bitter thirst of the poor.

Let our thirst become a passion for justice.

Help us to work toward transformation of economic policies that allow only a few nations to hoard the world’s wealth, policies that pay women as only half a person or less, policies that do not recognize the worth of labor exerted without pay.

Spirit of creative power, move among us this day.

Heal the wounds we carry because of jobs we hate but must have, and jobs we want but cannot have; because of times without meaningful work, and times of overwork; because of pay that we cannot live on, and yet we cannot live without.

And renew in each of us a sense of vocation, of your work to which we are called as disciples of Christ and servants of others.

Help us discern your Presence in all we do, whether our labor is honored by the world or only by you.

All this we pray in the name of the one who joins us in all of our labors, even Jesus the Christ, and we pray together now in the words that he taught us …

adapted from Chalice Worship