Keeping the Season

"Visible Judas" by Nicholas Damario, on Flickr

"Crumbs" by Jonathan Green1, on Flickr

Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32
I ask, then, has God rejected his people? By no means! I myself am an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, a member of the tribe of Benjamin. God has not rejected his people whom he foreknew. For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable. Just as you were once disobedient to God but have now received mercy because of their disobedience, so they have now been disobedient in order that, by the mercy shown to you, they too may now receive mercy. For God has imprisoned all in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all.

Matthew 15:21-28
Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, "Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon." But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, "Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us." He answered, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." But she came and knelt before him, saying, "Lord, help me." He answered, "It is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs." She said, "Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table." Then Jesus answered her, "Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish." And her daughter was healed instantly.

--
The world is heavy these days, my friends. You know it as well as I do.

Conflict continues at the Russia/Ukraine border, as both tensions and weapons mount, and as the world still struggles to piece together an investigation of Malaysian flight 17 that was shot down by rebels.

Conflict continues to shake the Middle East, as Israel and Palestine struggle over the Gaza Strip; rockets are flying, violence continues to put civilians and refugees in increasing danger.

Political turmoil and violence churn in Iraq, as terrorist groups continue to sweep through villages and into the mountains, killing women and children in their wake.

The Ebola virus has claimed more than a thousand victims in west Africa, and the Center for Disease Control has issued its highest alert, confirming the outbreak as a world health emergency.

There has been a surge in the number of unaccompanied immigrant children at our border, children who are making a dangerous and uncertain journey for the hope of a better life as they flee violent or abusive or situations in their home countries.

It has been a week of grief in Ferguson, Missouri, after the police shooting death of Michael Brown, which has given way to protests, violence, curfews, and questions about justice and the reach of law enforcement.

A cloud of suspicion and shock surrounds the death of NASCAR driver Kevin Ward after being hit on the track by rival driver Tony Stewart.

Hollywood and society are shocked and saddened by the untimely death of actor Robin Williams, which has sparked an important national conversation about depression and suicide.

And then, of course, we each have our own personal list of troubles and fears to add to this list. Broken relationships. Illness. Addiction. Food uncertainty. Job uncertainty.

I consider myself an intensely hopeful person; a die-hard optimist. It’s in my nature and in the nature of my faith to see hope beyond despair, to trust the promise of the resurrection. But friends, I’ll be honest. The world outside is dark and heavy right now, and holding on to hope feels a bit like scrambling for crumbs beneath the table.

“Lord, help me,” the Canaanite woman begged.

The woman’s world was dark and heavy. Her beloved daughter was tormented by a demon, and surrounded by the power of darkness. This child was in need of more than healing; she needed salvation.

“Lord, help me,” the woman pleaded to the disciples and to Jesus.

And in what is perhaps the most disturbingly out-of-character moment of Jesus’ whole life, he turns to the woman and dismisses her. “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel,” he says. “I am only for the chosen.”

And just like that, things have gone from bad to worse. The Canaanite woman’s fear for her daughter suddenly becomes fear of being rejected by God himself.

This fear of rejection is also the fear of the Jewish community in Rome to whom Paul is writing in our first reading. They fear that if God, through Christ, has opened salvation to the Gentiles, that it might mean he has rejected - turned his back - on the Israelites, his chosen people.

We can sympathize with these fears that God has turned his back on us. When we see the horrors on the news, and look at a world that seems to be getting worse and not better, it can feel like God has rejected us, because we just don’t know how else to make sense of the darkness and pain that we see.

A friend and colleague of mine has recently been dealing with ongoing relapses with a chronic illness. Earlier this month, she wrote a piece about the difficulty of reconciling faith and hope with the struggles of facing one bad turn after another.

She says,

I don't know where I am on the "how much control does God actually have?" spectrum anymore. I used to attribute every blessing in my life to God. Every good news. Every happy moment. Every joy. Every meaningful coincidence. Every learning opportunity. It was all: thanks be to God. But lately I'm wrestling with how reasonable it is to give God the credit for every good thing but never for the bad things. That's how I've been operating. "Thanks be to God" for the good stuff. But "it's not God's fault...God can't control it" for the bad stuff. [But] It doesn't seem logical [anymore] to try and make a matching pair with those two cards.

This is the struggle of the Canaanite woman, the struggle of the early church in Rome, our struggle: how to deal with the problem of a God who gets credit for the good stuff, and a God who might seem at best, absent, or at worst, at fault for the dark and heavy things in our world.

I don’t think our gospel reading today gives us an answer as to why bad things happen, why it sometimes feels like God has turned his back on us. Our gospel reading is difficult and problematic and forces us to look at a cranky side of Jesus that we don’t quite believe actually should exist.

I could debate with you, as theologians do, about whether Jesus was just testing this woman, or whether he was just grumpy and tired, or whether he really meant it when he said that she wasn’t included in his plan for salvation. I could try to say something clever that would bring a satisfactory resolution to the encounter, tie the story up with a nice, neat bow.

But I can’t do any of that. I don’t pretend to see the obvious moral truth in this story, I don’t know what Jesus was thinking or intending, and all attempts to turn this messy story into something neat and today seem like gloss in the face of a world that appears to be falling apart.

So let me tell you what I do know.

I know that the Canaanite woman had faith. I know that she had heard about Jesus - about his healing power, about his care for the broken and the outcast. I know that she, out of blind faith, chose to believe that there was yet hope for her and for her daughter, even when it looked like the Son of God was going to turn his back on her.

She knew that even a crumb of hope, a speck of healing, a tiny taste of salvation would be enough. Maybe not enough to make everything all better forever and forever, but enough to get her through another day.

When the choice laid before her was hope or despair, she chose hope, and grasped at crumbs, and looked God in the eye, saying “You know that you aren’t in the rejection business. You know that you are in the business of salvation.”

And her reward for having even a few crumbs of hope was receiving wholeness and more hope. Her few crumbs of hope gave way to a giant loaf of hope bread. Because even a little bit of hope, even a little scrap of faith was enough to see through her fear, to see straight into the heart of God’s love, a love that dealt with all of the crap in our world by showing up on earth, in the flesh, and making a beeline for the cross, that we might know that there is no suffering that is unredeemed and no chaos that is beyond reordering and no fears that fall on deaf ears.

I can’t promise you that if you just go toe-to-toe with Jesus you’ll always get what you want. I can’t promise you that if you just pray hard enough, the world will right itself. I don’t want you thinking or worrying that salvation for our broken world somehow depends on how much strength you can muster, because friends, I know how hard it is to keep faith sometimes, and I know that there are days when it takes every bit of energy that you have just to pull yourself out of bed for the day.

But I can promise you that the mystery of God’s love and salvation is brighter than any darkness this world tries to throw at it. And I can promise you that even the tiniest bits of hope and faith will get you through to the other side of this present darkness. I can promise you that God’s gifts and God’s callings in your life are eternal, without strings attached. I can promise you that God hasn’t turned his back on you or the world, even when it really really feels that way.

Because the crumbs of bread that we will share today around this table bind us together in the one hope of Christ, who himself called out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you rejected me?” but who three days later walked out of that empty tomb, stomping down darkness and death beneath his feet. Christ, our bread of life, knows both rejection and resurrection, and when we eat and drink the bread and wine, we share in that hope that our own fears of rejection will also give way to the promise of resurrection, for ourselves and for our world.

So catch a few crumbs from under God’s table today. Taste the bread and the wine that are sweet with salvation. Let these crumbs sustain you through all fear or despair. Hold onto whatever bits of faith you have. Praise God for the light, even if you do not understand the darkness. Even a crumb of grace and a sliver of faith will be enough to sustain you, for God promises that his hold on you is for all eternity. There will be light. There will be hope. There will be salvation. Thanks be to God for that.

Amen.

"Crumbs" by Lewis Taylor, on Flickr

Matthew 15:21-28
Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, "Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon." But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, "Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us." He answered, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." But she came and knelt before him, saying, "Lord, help me." He answered, "It is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs." She said, "Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table." Then Jesus answered her, "Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish." And her daughter was healed instantly.

Perhaps the World Ends Here
by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

"Perhaps the World Ends Here" from The Woman Who Fell From the Sky by Joy Harjo. Copyright © 1994 by Joy Harjo.
Source: The Woman Who Fell From the Sky (W. W. Norton and Company Inc., 1994), via The Poetry Foundation

"Malodi detail: bread moteki" by FredR, on Flickr

"Look up, look down" by wesley peyton, on Flickr

Then the word of the LORD came to [Elijah], saying, Go now to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and live there; for I have commanded a widow there to feed you. So he set out and went to Zarephath. When he came to the gate of the town, a widow was there gathering sticks; he called to her and said, "Bring me a little water in a vessel, so that I may drink." As she was going to bring it, he called to her and said, "Bring me a morsel of bread in your hand." But she said, "As the LORD your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die." Elijah said to her, "Do not be afraid; go and do as you have said; but first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterwards make something for yourself and your son. For thus says the LORD the God of Israel: The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the LORD sends rain on the earth." She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days. The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the LORD that he spoke by Elijah. After this the son of the woman, the mistress of the house, became ill; his illness was so severe that there was no breath left in him. She then said to Elijah, "What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to me to bring my sin to remembrance, and to cause the death of my son!" But he said to her, "Give me your son." He took him from her bosom, carried him up into the upper chamber where he was lodging, and laid him on his own bed. He cried out to the LORD, "O LORD my God, have you brought calamity even upon the widow with whom I am staying, by killing her son?" Then he stretched himself upon the child three times, and cried out to the LORD, "O LORD my God, let this child's life come into him again." The LORD listened to the voice of Elijah; the life of the child came into him again, and he revived. Elijah took the child, brought him down from the upper chamber into the house, and gave him to his mother; then Elijah said, "See, your son is alive." So the woman said to Elijah, "Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the LORD in your mouth is truth." (1 Kings 17:8-24)

Soon afterwards [Jesus] went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went with him. As he approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother's only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town. When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, "Do not weep." Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, "Young man, I say to you, rise!" The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. Fear seized all of them; and they glorified God, saying, "A great prophet has risen among us!" and "God has looked favorably on his people!" This word about him spread throughout Judea and all the surrounding country.(Luke 7:11-17)

---
The story of Elijah and the widow of Zarephath is an old favorite of mine. I remember listening to Bible story tapes before bed as a child, and even to this day distinctly remember hearing about the jar of meal that wouldn’t run out and the jug of oil that was never emptied. I think that I imagined the neverending jug of oil as something similar to a fake glass of orange juice that came as part of a toy kitchen set; the glass was double-walled and between those two walls was the fake orange juice. When you tipped the cup, the liquid disappeared as if you were drinking it or pouring it out. But when you righted the glass, the liquid ran back, “refilling” the cup. I was pretty sure as a kid that the jug of oil functioned exactly like that glass.

But here’s the thing. This story of Elijah and the widow? The Sunday School version of the story only talks about the flour and the oil. Because it’s the fun part of the story: the awesome amazing miracle that leaves everybody happy. But as you know from today’s first reading, there’s more to the story. And it’s not particularly happy. The whole thing is actually a little gritty; when you look at the details, it’s really a story about hitting bottom.

To set the stage, we have to back up one chapter to 1 Kings 16, where we hear about the unfaithfulness of King Ahab. He has hit a new low in unfaithfulness, being deemed the king who has “done more to provoke the anger of the Lord…than had all the kings of Israel who were before him.”

In response, God has sent a drought upon the land as judgment for Ahab’s unfaithfulness. This means that a whole nation is in peril, as creeks dry up and crops wither away. Times are dire.

It is at this point that we meet the widow of Zarephath. She, through no fault of her own, is hovering close to the bottom. For starters, she is a widow. This means that she has no voice, no portion, and no protection outside of her only son. More than that, because of the lingering drought, her knuckles have been scraping the bottom of her jar of meal for days now, and on this particular day when Elijah shows up, she is gathering sticks to build a fire and prepare a last meal for herself and her son.

The audacity, then, of Elijah to prevail upon her, even after hearing her dire story, and insist that she first feed him. Perhaps she is moved to compassion by a fellow human being who knows hunger and thirst. Perhaps she is naively wooed by Elijah’s impossible promise of neverending flour and meal as a reward. Perhaps she has been so beaten down in life that she knows nothing other than being taken advantage of.

But there, at the very bottom, she makes that small cake for Elijah, prepares the rest of her stores for herself and her son, and come the next day, she finds that the jar which she thought she’d emptied still had flour in it, and the jug that she thought she’d poured out still had oil in it. Once at the very bottom, at the brink of death, she was now able to feed herself and her household indefinitely, rewarded by God for her hospitality and faithfulness.

It would be wonderful if this were the end of the story. Then I’d get to preach a sermon about how God comes through for us when it looks like we have nothing. Or about how God gives us the strength to be generous even in our times of scarcity.

But the story marches on. Barely have we had time to rejoice in the miracle of the flour and oil when the widow’s son falls ill. Ill to the point of death. There is no breath left in him.

If starving to death seemed like hitting bottom, then this tragedy has plummeted the widow through the floor into the basement below. Dying of starvation in the midst of a drought is one thing. A widow losing her only son, her only protection, her only hope, is quite another. Mixed-up together is the pain of grief, the fear for her future, and the shock and whiplash of being saved from death only to be cast at its feet.

“What have you against me?” she asks Elijah. “Why have you saved us with the miracle of food only to rip my only son from me?”

She has, once again, hit the bottom.

This is a cycle that we are all familiar with, in some fashion or another. Cycles of good news and bad news that repeat, cycles of depression that follow moments of joy, times when tragedies and deaths pile up one after another, times when we pull ourselves up and out of bad habits or addictions and then fall back into them again.

The widow of Zarephath, like the widow of Nain or Job or any other Bible character who has had their hope pulled out from under them, raises the question with us, “Where is God when we have hit bottom? Where is God when we have absolutely nothing left?”

Where is God when long winters and cold, rainy springs threaten our farms and livelihoods? Where is God when we have a good, new job in a new town, but not the money to pay the security deposit on an apartment to move there? Where is God when we grieve children who have died so many years too soon?

Where is God when we have absolutely nothing left? When we have hit bottom? One answer would be that when we hit bottom, God pulls us up.

This is certainly what happens in our readings today. Elijah cries out to God and the widow of Zarephath’s son is raised from the dead. Jesus has compassion on the widow of Nain and her son is raised from the dead.

So the simple answer here might something like God always brings life out of our death, and when we hit the very bottom and have nothing left, God shows up to give us back our lives. And I believe this is true. This is the hope that I cling to when the world around me seems too far gone.
But I think that there is a deeper, more satisfying, and perhaps even more faithful answer to the question of “Where is God when we have hit bottom and have nothing left?”

The answer is that God is with us. Always. No matter what. This is the heart of the good news in our readings today.

Elijah, at the death of the widow’s son, didn’t give her any trite assurances. He didn’t get defensive when she challenged him. He didn’t get up and walk away. Elijah, the man of God, the man serving as the mouthpiece of the Lord, went to the child and grieved, right alongside the widow. He cried out to God even as he was a walking, talking, weeping symbol of God’s presence, even there at the very bottom.

And Jesus, seeing the funeral procession heading out of town, took one look at the grieving widow and was moved to compassion. Nobody asked him to perform a miracle. Nobody called him over to the weeping crowds. Jesus took it upon himself to walk into the middle of the grief, and to care for this widow, this stranger, in her time of need. Jesus didn’t ignore the crowds, nor did he shoot off a miracle from afar. He put himself right in the center of grief, walking along the road with those who had hit the very bottom of their grief.

And so even as we cling to this everlasting hope that Christ is our resurrection, and that through him we have the power to know life even in our moments of grief and death, we also take yet greater comfort in knowing that God is never far off from us. That no matter how hard we hit the bottom, God doesn’t forget us. As it says in Romans, “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

For I am convinced that nothing in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God. That is sublimely good news. And it is the heart of our Christian witness.

Because the heart our faith isn’t to naively promise everybody that everything will be just peachy; that life with God will always be good and happy and satisfying. The heart of our faith is to preach a Christ who walked with us to the point of death, who fed us a last meal in his dying days that might sustain us in our dying days, who promised never to leave us nor forsake us.

New creation is coming, yes. But while we wait, we have companionship with a God who is as unfailing as that jar of meal and that jug of oil. A God who pours himself out for us and is never spent. A God who never runs dry. A God who stands with us on the mountain peaks and weeps with us at rock bottom.

So eat this meal today, the flour and the oil of everlasting hope. Trust in a God who will not fail you. Take comfort in a savior who sees you with compassion, and who promises to walk with you every step of this life. Be sustained by God’s love, which will not fail.

"Rustic" by HD41117, on Flickr

Then the word of the LORD came to [Elijah], saying, Go now to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and live there; for I have commanded a widow there to feed you. So he set out and went to Zarephath. When he came to the gate of the town, a widow was there gathering sticks; he called to her and said, "Bring me a little water in a vessel, so that I may drink." As she was going to bring it, he called to her and said, "Bring me a morsel of bread in your hand." But she said, "As the LORD your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die." Elijah said to her, "Do not be afraid; go and do as you have said; but first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterwards make something for yourself and your son. For thus says the LORD the God of Israel: The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the LORD sends rain on the earth." She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days. The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the LORD that he spoke by Elijah.

After this the son of the woman, the mistress of the house, became ill; his illness was so severe that there was no breath left in him. She then said to Elijah, "What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to me to bring my sin to remembrance, and to cause the death of my son!" But he said to her, "Give me your son." He took him from her bosom, carried him up into the upper chamber where he was lodging, and laid him on his own bed. He cried out to the LORD, "O LORD my God, have you brought calamity even upon the widow with whom I am staying, by killing her son?" Then he stretched himself upon the child three times, and cried out to the LORD, "O LORD my God, let this child's life come into him again." The LORD listened to the voice of Elijah; the life of the child came into him again, and he revived. Elijah took the child, brought him down from the upper chamber into the house, and gave him to his mother; then Elijah said, "See, your son is alive." So the woman said to Elijah, "Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the LORD in your mouth is truth." (1 Kings 17:8-24)

"walk on by" by Jarbas Ribeiro on flickr

"hug" by Jarbas Ribeiro on flickr

"dog's friend" by Jarbas Ribeiro on flickr

"dog's friend" by Jarbas Ribeiro on flickr

So speak and so act as those who are to be judged by the law of liberty. For judgment will be without mercy to anyone who has shown no mercy; mercy triumphs over judgment. What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, "Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill," and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead. (James 2:12-17)

From there [Jesus] 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." So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone. (Mark 7:24-30)
---
Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you can’t help but know that election season is in full swing. We’ve survived two political conventions filled with speakers talking about abundance, wealth, poverty, charity, welfare, healthcare, and foreign affairs. Everybody is trying to sell their idea for how wealth and opportunity are to be divided, and how to heal the broken parts of our common life.

And while presidential candidates are building platforms around who gets to sit at which table, which crumbs are allowed to fall, and which crumbs to catch and put back on the table, in today’s gospel, Jesus and this Syrophoenician woman are similarly butting heads over who gets fed with God’s abundance and who deserves the bread of life.

Just one chapter prior to this encounter, in Mark 6, we read about Jesus feeding the 5000. It’s the same story we read from John earlier this summer. Five loaves, two fish, thousands of people eating until satisfied, twelve baskets left over. Incredible abundance of both compassion and real, tangible food.

But now, one chapter later, Jesus is no longer functioning out of a mode of abundance, but rather scarcity. Jesus sees this woman in need, knows of her Gentile origin, and makes a snap judgment, distinguishing between “children” (the chosen ones of Israel) and “dogs” (the Gentiles, that is, everybody else). In a baffling and even troubling move, Jesus says, “no, this bread I have in my pocket isn’t for you.” And even worse, he calls her a dog. This is not Jesus at his finest here, we can all admit that.

But the woman, quick in her logic and desperate for hope and healing, doesn’t care whether Jesus is supposed to be for the Israelites or the Gentiles. She doesn’t care if she is on the inside or on the outside. All that she cares about is the fact that her daughter needs healing, and badly, and that for no good reason, this miracle healer named Jesus has wandered off the beaten path to her village. And if Jesus really has all of the abundance of God to share, then she’s not going to settle for being told that he doesn’t have anything for her.

“Sir,” she says, “even the dogs under the table eat the crumbs that the children drop.” And just like that, he is bested in the argument; humbled and convicted. So he changes his “no” to a “yes” and tells the woman, “Your daughter is healed.”

When you look at our world, who does our society say are the children and who are the dogs? Who are the ones eating at the table and who are the ones underneath waiting for scraps to fall down to them? Who are the ones in need that confront us in our abundance?

Are the children the ones who work hard and get a good education, and are the dogs the ones who, due to poor choices or poor circumstance, don’t even finish high school? Are the children the ones who have the money and are the dogs the ones who don’t? Are the children the intact, nuclear families in our community and are the dogs the single parents? Are you considered a child if you are employed, or straight, or sober, or in good mental health? And are you treated as a dog if you aren’t?

Today’s gospel digs into us. It confronts us. It is disquieting. Because we know that we make snap judgments all the time, and we know that we live in a world that distinguishes between children and dogs.

Jesus’ encounter with the Syrophoenician woman pushes us to answer the question: Who gets God’s bread, the children or the dogs?

And the answer, as our gospel teaches us, is simple: God’s bread is for everybody. If we are to take James to heart when he says, “mercy triumphs over judgment,” then it also becomes clear that in God’s eyes, there is no distinction between children and dogs, but only mercy for us all.

So whether you are sitting here feeling like a chosen child or dejected dog, I want you to know that God loves you and that you are forgiven and that God will make all things new. And God makes no distinction between rich and poor, rich in spirit and poor in spirit.

The healing power of Jesus is not just for the Israelites, but also for the Gentile woman and her daughter. The abundance of God’s love is not just for faithful worshipers, it is for everyone. The gifts and blessings we have in life are not just for us, they are to be shared with others. The real, transformative, compassionate love of God is not just for our neighbors, it is also for strangers, outcasts, and even our enemies.

James says, “You do well if you really fulfill the royal law according to the scripture, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” In the same way that we have been shown mercy out of God’s abundance, so we are called to share the abundance we have been given, without partiality, without judgment, but only showing mercy to the ones, like the Syrophoenician woman, who confront and convict us with their need.

There’s a famous quote out there that seminarians like to use when they talk about call and vocation. It’s a quote by the theologian Frederick Buechner and it reads, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet.”

I’d propose a variation on this quote. I’d say that “the place God calls you to is the place where your deep abundance and the world’s deep hunger meet.” Because each one of us has something to give. Each one of us has some sort of abundance that we can use to help the deep need of a neighbor. Each one of us has crumbs to share.

I want you to think about all of the abundance that you have in your own life: A house, a car, an education, a savings account, a job, a safe neighborhood, a bicycle, health insurance, free time, computer skills, cooking skills, car-fixing skills, sewing skills, babysitting skills, a closet full of clothes and shoes, good credit, a sense of humor, a listening ear. There is abundance here.

And this weekend, as we begin our new program year here at St. Timothy, I want you to think about all of the abundance here as well. The programs for youth and adults, the book studies and Bible studies and fellowship groups, the service and outreach projects, the music, the healing services, the prayer line, hospital visits, the arts that flourish, the volunteers who tend the garden, the teachers, the encouragers, the cooks, the organizers, the generous gifts of time and money that flow through this place. There is abundance here.

And our abundance, as individuals and as a congregation, does not exist solely for the insiders. Our blessings are not just for ourselves. So again and again, we need a reminder – even as Jesus did in today’s gospel – that we are called to be generous and to show mercy.

Today, each one of us will get a crumb of bread…from the Lord’s Table. We will receive a small taste of bread that is for us the assurance of Christ’s love and the super-abundance of God’s grace and forgiveness. And even this small taste of bread convicts us to open up our hands and let crumbs spill out for all to eat.

So what will you do with all of your crumbs?

From there [Jesus] 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." So she went home, 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 towards 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 immediately 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."

--Mark 7:24-37

"Natural Habitat" by bravoechonovember on flickr