Sunday Sermon: September 8

Sometimes I feel like a terrible person. When I walk down the streets of Peterborough and see a panhandler crouched on the concrete with a dirty cardboard sign and, most often these days, sadly quite young, I try to avoid eye contact. I try to forget that they are even there. I pick up my pace and do my best to pass by swiftly and I always feel guilty. I never carry cash or change, I wouldn’t have any money in my pocket to give them even if I wanted to, but I still feel guilty. The guilt usually doesn’t last long but it is always there.  

Have you ever been driving and, as you're coming up to a stop light, you see a panhandler on the corner island with a sign asking for money or help? Do you get that pit in your stomach hoping that the person doesn’t catch your eye or walk up to your car window?  You may even feel relief when the light turns green before they can get to your car. I know I’ve had that feeling and, again, here comes the guilt.

When I was in seminary, we had to do a practical placement called CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education). Most of my practicum was spent in the Toronto General Hospital offering pastoral care on the HIV/AIDS unit, but we did have to do some time working on the street. As part of the course, I had to spend one full night on the street. The assignment was meant to help us more fully empathize with those who struggled with home insecurity. Of course, I could never fully empathize because I knew that the following day I’d return to our apartment with a full fridge and warm bed. 

More recently, our family and I have volunteered at Out of the Cold in Peterborough. We’d go there, serve, and eat with the folks who would come in for a warm meal and a place to get out of the elements in winter. We even became familiar with each other, sitting and chatting. It was nice, it was comfortable, it felt safe. It was a rule with Out of the Cold that the volunteers had to eat dinner with those we were serving.  

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is tired. He has journeyed from the plains of Gennesaret and has traveled north to some unspecified location in the region of Tyre.  We don’t hear of Jesus having much contact with non-Jews, Gentiles, throughout the biblical record of his ministry so this account has unique significance. As I said, he’s tired, he’s trying to be unnoticed and he’s seeking shelter and rest. By this point, it’s hard for Jesus to go unnoticed as word is getting out about him being a miracle worker, a healer who has power to cure even demonic possession. 

Amidst his moment of weariness, while he is seeking shelter and rest, he is approached by a Gentile woman. Mark really stresses this point because she's more than just a Gentile, she’s a Syrophoenician, an unclean, historic enemy of the Israelites. The woman is in anguish over her daughter’s condition so she’s persistent and lays herself before Jesus’ feet begging him to heal her daughter.  

Jesus denies her and, referring to her as a small dog of a household, dismisses her. Not just by saying no, but by demeaning her as not even human. This reference can be thought of in 2 ways:

One, that he is the Messiah and Saviour for the Jews first and thus Gentiles have to wait until the Israelites have received their sacred privilege before God’s blessings can be bestowed upon the Gentiles.  

OR: 

Second, we think of the metaphor more directly and envision a typical household scene. A table is nicely set for a family meal and people are gathered around it. No one would let the dogs take away the food for the children before they’ve eaten. In this inference, Jesus is the family at the table, yearning to rest and the woman is the dog, interrupting his desire for restoration after a long journey. 

Jesus’ reluctance to act immediately can be understood not as a rebuke but more of a test. You see, there were many people claiming to be miracle-workers and healers throughout these Gentile lands and Jesus wanted to see if she would turn away and find some other supposed miracle worker after she’d been shunned. He was testing her faith. But she knew better. She didn’t balk at his reference to her as a dog, she accepts her status as a non-Jew. She understood what Jesus was doing and used the metaphor to her advantage, stating that even the dogs are permitted to eat the crumbs that fall from the children’s plate and thus they are fed at the same time as the children. They do not have to wait and there is no interruption of the meal. With her response, Jesus sees her for who she really is - a pleading woman of true faith,  lying prostrate at his feet, full of humility, and full of conviction and belief. She knows that he isn’t just another supposed healer. She’s a believer, her faith is strong, and He rewards her for her conviction and her humility. He heals her daughter.

As I walk down the streets of Peterborough, avoiding and stepping over the outcasts of our society, I know why I’m feeling guilty. After praying and reflecting on this passage, my guilt doesn’t come from not giving money to the panhandler, my guilt comes from not ‘seeing them’. In my work on the street back in Toronto, in the time I spent with people at Out of the Cold, I had the privilege of spending time with and getting to know the people who exist on the fringes of our communities. I saw them and I acknowledged them. It is only when I don’t embrace the humanness of others, when I don’t see them as human beings that share this world with me, that I feel guilty.

All the Syrophoenician woman wanted was for her daughter to be healed. She was asking something of Jesus not even for herself but for her child. Her response to Jesus’ challenge revealed an acknowledgement of her place in society but in no way would this be a sign of her weakness. With humble strength, while laying at Jesus’ feet, she spoke up and demanded to be seen, heard, and blessed.

I am no different than that person on the street. Through no action on my part, I was blessed to be born into where and who I am. I do not suffer from serious mental illness, I do not suffer from substance use disorders, I do not suffer from home or food insecurity. But I too yearn to be seen, I yearn to matter and to be saved from the mistakes and, yes, the sins I've committed. Don’t we all? Are we not all prostrate before Jesus begging to be seen, praying to be saved? Isn’t that why we are here?

I believe it is. We come together at this Eucharist to hear God’s word, to ask for forgiveness of our sins, to be absolved of our sins, to express our loving forgiveness of one another in the sharing of the peace, and to recall and celebrate Christ’s passion for us in the Holy Eucharist. Like the Syrophoenician woman, we are also the recipients of God’s blessed miracles when we come before Him, in humble awareness of our weaknesses and with profound conviction in our salvation through Jesus Christ. And when we do, God sees us, God saves us. 

Amen.