The Way of Learning from the Margins

Transcripts are computer-generated and may not be 100% accurate.

As Maggie said, we're in a new series called The Ways of Jesus. And the central question of that series is, how is our life together here and now anchored and animated in the life, the work, the witness of Jesus? In the next seven weeks, we're gonna be looking at biblical texts that look at the activity of Jesus with the hope that those passages would influence our lives, would impact the way that we pattern our lives after the life and ministry of Jesus.

And it makes sense, right, because part of our mission statement is a community of people practicing the ways of Jesus. Beyond that, I think it's timely, because I think a lot of us are feeling kind of the chaos and the confusion in the world and the country and what's going on with the new administration coming in just in all aspects of our life. And even, what does it mean to be a Christian? So I feel like here at The Table, we are committed to really understanding what the ways of Jesus are and hoping that our lives can continue to be transformed into that likeness.

Last week, Cody kicked off our series and he laid this foundation in the kingdom of God, which is the focal point of Jesus's sermons and his parables, and the kingdom of God being the way the world works when God is in charge, when the emperor is not. Cody reminded us the kingdom of God is something that upsets the status quo and asks us to change and embrace a new way of life. And I think one of the ways that our lives are reshaped, they're turned a bit upside down, is when we take a real look at the ways of Jesus and we attempt to practice those. And so tonight, we're looking at the way of learning from the margins.

We're back in the book of Mark. We're actually looking at a text that we looked at last spring. It details the encounter between a Syrophoenician woman and Jesus. And I think last spring I said, it's a text that makes you cringe. It will for sure make you uncomfortable, I feel confident in that. And for the second time in Mark's gospel, Jesus has taken the ministry into Gentile territory. He had just been rebuking the Pharisees and the scribes for worrying about ritual cleanliness around food. Before eating, he was teaching on clean and unclean things. And his pronouncement of all foods being clean fulfilled Old Testament dietary laws. But what it did in this context was it prepared Mark's audience for what was next. And that's Jesus' ministry to the unclean Gentiles.

So Jesus has traveled to a radically different place outside of Israel proper, where he has an encounter with a Gentile woman. And really important to the story is this ancient, deep division between Jews and Gentiles. And here we are in Mark 7:24-30:

From there he set out and he went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know that 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 she 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. And he said to her, "Let the children be fed first, for it's 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 was gone.

So it seems like Jesus was looking for a little solitude, a break in the action, a respite from the crowds and the controversy. In Mark's observation of Jesus wanting to be alone, it gives us a picture of the humanness, the vulnerability of Jesus, the son of God, as someone who was maybe weary and worn out and looking for a little space. He wants to be anonymous, but his reputation precedes him once again and despite his attempts at privacy, a desperate woman, a mother, seeks him out. She's heard about his reputation of healer and here she is.

But as the story unfolds, it becomes clear that this isn't just a story about Jesus needing some solitude, it isn't even just about the act of healing. And while Mark might illustrate the persistent faith of this woman, there's something more going on here, which of course always seems to be the way in these texts. And I think that something more has to do with this very fascinating yet disturbing conversation between Jesus and this Syrophoenician woman, this verbal exchange.

And what's big here is that there is boundary breaking going on. While it's true that Jesus sits in the margins of the Roman Empire, he has a more privileged position in his own religious and cultural context. Certainly more than this woman who in his setting would be marginalized.

Jesus is in Tyre, it's Gentile territory, he's from Galilee. The woman is identified as Greek, Syrophoenician by birth. She's not an ethnic Greek, but rather a Greek speaking Gentile while Jesus is Jewish. She's a Gentile, she's a female. And boundaries that neither of them would normally cross, certainly not a pious Jewish male.

But this woman, this mother, she came, she bowed down at his feet, the normal posture for supplication. And can't you just picture this mother, I actually know people in this community who've been in this situation desperately trying to save, step in for a loved one that is hurting or sick or even dying. But we can picture this mother desperate to save her child. We can imagine that she's watched her tormented daughter, that she's heard her cries, that she's held her during those fits, and still she's powerless to save her. But what does she do? She sets herself, she sets those boundaries aside, and seeing who Jesus is, she begs for his help.

And here's the hard part, his initial response is to refuse her request. Mark 7:27, he said to her, "Let the children be fed first, for it's not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs." That's where you wanna say, wait a second, like that's Jesus, he refuses her request. And what he's pointing to is the priority of the Jews described as the children. That means they have a preferred status. The Gentiles, on the other hand, are characterized, insultingly so, as dogs. In ancient times, this was a great insult; it's not referring to the dogs we might think of as pets, but rather to a mongrel, a scavenger. His words are dismissive, and the woman's ask is denied.

Now, there are a couple of ironies here that I think it's important to point out. First of all, we've just seen Jesus criticizing the Pharisees for worrying too much about defilement, yet he seems to have his own concerns about those who are unclean. By implying that the woman and her daughter are like dogs rather than children, he groups them with the ritually unclean, those who are not welcome at the table. A second irony involves the use of the word "children." The woman begs Jesus to save her and heal her daughter, her child, and while he agrees that children need to be fed, he also indicates that her daughter doesn’t count as a child. Her daughter is nothing but a dog.

What are we to make of Jesus's response to this woman? What are we to do with this apparent sort of hostility or rudeness? Because it's the part of the text that we wanna skip. We don’t really wanna talk about it, or sometimes we wanna justify it, kinda do a workaround like, well, it must have meant this. We don't wanna talk about the possibility that there might be a little prejudice in there on Jesus's part. There's a pastor out in New York, his name is Ernest Campbell, and he once preached a sermon entitled, "Things I Wish Jesus Had Never Said." I think Jesus's response to that woman would be at the top of that list.

Because the Jesus we know is the Jesus who said, "Anyone who comes to me, I will never drive away." The Jesus we know is the one who, in the story of the Good Samaritan and the prodigal son, opened the door wide for all of humanity. The contradiction between that Jesus and the Jesus who contrasts Jewish children with Gentile dogs doesn’t add up. It’s hard to reconcile. And then you go on to think about all the other words and acts that are attributed to Jesus throughout the gospel. It seems completely out of character.

We go back to Jesus rebuking the Pharisees and the scribes for worrying about ritual cleanliness before eating, and now it seems like he's protecting the boundaries of the table by saying that it’s inappropriate to feed dogs before children. While it’s hard to make sense of Jesus's words to the woman, it’s likely that back then no one would have blinked. There’d have been no cringe factor then because she was a Gentile. There were centuries of bad blood, probably a social caste or two, that lay between her and her Jewish neighbor. But again, this is Jesus.

Interpreters have taken a lot of different approaches to this text over the years. Some readings hear Jesus's words as just a straightforward rebuke. Others suggest this might be a teaching aimed at the woman herself or for those overhearing—a chance for the woman to show her faith, or perhaps a teaching moment about faith and persistent prayer. Could it be a lesson to the audience about their own prejudices? Or maybe it was a timing thing for Jesus, because after all, the gospel was first preached to the Jews and only then to the Gentiles. That was the plan. Maybe he was sticking to God's agenda and rightly articulating that.

Some more recent interpreters have suggested that what we're seeing is the fully human Jesus, limited by his own culture and prejudices. Maybe it is to understand Jesus was being a Jewish man of his time. But whether justifying, sidestepping, ignoring, or making light of Jesus's words to the woman, we have to acknowledge one thing: 2,000 years later, and only having the text to work with, it’s hard for us to know for sure what Jesus's intent and tone were.

So instead of looking at the why, I think we look at the what. What happens? The woman needs Jesus, and she needs him now. She answers him from Mark 7:28: "Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs." She’s respectful, humble, bold, and persistent. She doesn’t take no for an answer. She’s a mother of a suffering child. She has set her pride aside, thrown herself at his feet, and begs for him to heal her daughter. She blows through those boundaries, and Jesus does too.

Well, it’s a troubling text. It’s one of the few that shows Jesus's own ministry going beyond the bounds of Jewish community. Yes, he initially turns this woman away, but he ultimately heals her daughter. Something changes. He heals this girl. Is it the woman? Has she passed some sort of test? Has her persistent hanging on, her continued fighting for her daughter, her refusal to give up, shaped her into someone who was blind to race, wealth, status, and the system? Has it made her someone who sees clearly who Jesus is?

Or is it Jesus? In the beginning, he treats the woman like a Gentile, a non-Jew, but then he looks at her kneeling before him, hears her words, and they cause him to act and see differently. Does he no longer see a type, a category, a demographic? Does he simply see her entrusting her daughter to him? No matter his assumptions or strategy, he heals the girl anyway.

Because it’s one thing to have assumptions, strategies, and plans about a group or a class or a nation. It’s one thing to have a policy about Gentiles, the homeless, immigrants, gays, women, Muslims, Jews, Palestinians, Democrats, or Republicans.

But it’s quite another thing to see the person in front of us, to hear their cries, to feel their pain, to witness their faith. When that happens, we often see something of ourselves in the experience. It’s this connection of shared humanity. And when that happens, compassion grows.

So here’s what we do know: Jesus changes his response. It seems like he changes his mind. And if that is true, Jesus is learning from someone who occupies the margins. Jesus is compassion. It widens the circle of his mercy, and his plan now will include anyone who comes to him. All will be his children, fed from the table.

This text might end our own assumptions about who should get fed first, about whom we regard as unclean or clean, who it is that we think deserves a seat at the table. But what we do know is in this story, boundaries are broken, barriers are removed. What ends up happening is this story anticipates and justifies the gospel community’s mission to the Gentile people. It points to a great boundary that had to be crossed to start this mission.

Here’s the other thing: the story also points to a human Jesus, fully human, fully divine, who learns from the margins. Maybe the problem is actually us. We’re not so comfortable with this very human Jesus—not all the time, at least. Somehow it seems like we have a need to dehumanize Jesus, to insist that he’s perfect in every sense, ignoring the texts that reveal his humanity. The truth is, we maybe swing that way on the pendulum, and we tend to focus a lot on his divinity. But if there’s ever been a both/and situation, it’s this: both are important to who Jesus is—fully human, fully divine.

Corner of our faith tradition is the incarnation. Just think about it—it starts there, right? The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Fully human, fully divine. Throughout the Gospels, we hear all about Jesus: his being born as a baby, him growing up. In Luke, we hear that Jesus grew, he became strong, he was filled with wisdom. We hear about how Jesus hungered and thirsted, how he was tempted, felt anger, sadness, and suffered. He was deeply moved and troubled. It was Jesus in the garden who said, “Take this cup from me.” It was Jesus on the cross who said, “Why have you forsaken me?” He walked on this planet, breathed our air, and felt our pain. Highlighting his humanness does not diminish or detract from his divinity.

In this text, we learn that Jesus learned things as other human beings learn things. And in this story, we see that sometimes it’s by breaking boundaries and learning from the margins that cause us to grow, change our minds, and see things differently—see in a bigger way, a more inclusive way, a godly way. If Jesus, fully human and fully divine, can break through boundaries, learn from those who occupy the margins, and change his mind, then I think that’s a way of Jesus we need to practice.

I don’t know about you, but I certainly have changed my mind. I hold different beliefs and values and see things in bigger ways than I did 10 years ago, five years ago, or even six months ago. It seems like it happens when I step into uncomfortable spaces and do things that feel like a stretch. Through that, I think we continue to grow into the likeness of Christ.

So I think the question for us—and here’s the hard part of the message tonight, hard for me—is to take a deep look at ourselves, individually and communally. Where are those prejudices we might hold, deep down inside? Those assumptions we might have, that implicit bias about other people, that might hold us back from fully including everyone in the kingdom of God?

And I would say, sometimes those things are more nuanced. Maybe they’re not the big things, like being inclusive of all people. Maybe it’s more subtle, like thinking, “I know better than that person because I’m better educated” or “I’ve had this kind of experience” or “They don’t get it the way I get it.”

I was thinking about this last night, and I had a lot of things I could confess to you right now, so many things that don’t make me proud of who I am. Just this week, I’ve had moments that bring me shame. This morning, a dear friend of ours, Stephen Mai, his mom passed away pretty suddenly at two in the morning. He and his wife called us, and I’ll be officiating her funeral in a few weeks. As we talked about his mom, I thought about how she had to decide whether to undergo life-saving surgery or accept the outcome. She looked up at the surgeons, her son, her husband, and her daughter and said, “I’ve had a good life. I’ve got a loving husband and two wonderful children. I’m ready to go home.”

I was thinking about this woman, who over the years we had subtly judged. They’re blue-collar folk. They didn’t raise their kids the way we are raising ours. Over time, there’d be moments, subtle moments, when we’d hear a story about how they operated or what they valued, and we’d roll our eyes. But as I spoke with Stephen today, in tears, I said, “Isn’t it amazing how your mom really got it?” At the end of the day, what mattered was her love of God, her love of her children, and her simple life. And maybe some of the rest of us are missing that. It reminded me that I might be putting people in the margins of my cultural context without even realizing it.

So, here’s the ask this week: Meet those whom God puts right in front of you. Consider stretching yourself and crossing a boundary with someone who doesn’t look like you, think like you, have the same education as you, watch the same shows as you, or vote the same way you do. Who are the people in your life that occupy the margins? This week, resist active assumptions about others and choose to see the image of God in every single person you meet. Trust that God might be teaching you something from someone you would have never anticipated.

Let me pray: Holy and gracious God, we’re grateful to be in this space on this cold evening, where we can sing together, pray together, and hear your word together. God, remind us over and over again, because we need it every minute of the day, that each and every one of us is created in your image and welcome at your table. It is a table big enough for each person. Remind us of the call on our lives—your call—to love you with all our heart, strength, soul, and mind, and to love each other. We pray all of this in your name. Amen.

[Words of Institution from Cody]

Debbie: You can sit down for just a second, just a few words on the move. We want to keep you posted as we know more and more. While I can’t give you definitive news because the lease agreement is still in process—we sent it back, and it’s being reviewed—everything looks really good. We’re excited about the potential opportunity to partner with the Center of Belonging on Aldrich and 35th. Right now, the plan is to have our last Sunday evening service here on March 2nd, and we’ll be celebrating at 10 a.m. at the Aldrich Church/Center of Belonging on March 9th.

It’s exciting, and I have to say that the conversations about the ministries going on there and what we’ll get to be a part of have been exciting for all of us. One thing I want to mention for anyone with concerns about the building—it’s older, and there’s a big leap of faith here. Moving from this lovely space, where Bethlehem has been so gracious, is a step. But we wanted you to know that Dana Weber, an architect whose expertise is in safety standards, has walked through the building many times. We’ve submitted our nonnegotiables. They’ve tested for asbestos and mold, and everything has come back negative. Safety rails and other upgrades to meet code requirements will be installed.

We feel great about this move and want you to feel assured as well. If you have questions, feel free to grab me after the service. We’ll keep you posted. Precious Lord, take our hand as we step forward to where we believe will be our new home. We’re excited about what’s to come.