The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 20, Year A

Only Human

Readings: Gen 45:1-15; Ps 133; Rom 11:1-2a, 29-32; Mt 15:21-28

Once again Jesus is trying to get away from the crowds. For someone in his position it is not an easy task. People follow him everywhere. They hope for a miracle, his healing touch, words of hope and wisdom. They constantly lay claim on Jesus’ time and energy. Even as he withdraws, a woman, a Canaanite, a Gentile, an outsider, comes after him shouting for help. Her daughter is ill.

He ignores her. He is weary. He just wants to get away from the crowds. He hopes that in ignoring her pleas she will give up and leave him alone. Maybe she will decide that it is not that urgent after all. Maybe she will think of someone else who can help. And after all, she is a Canaanite, a foreigner, and his ministry is to the people of Israel.

But she does not give up that easily. She keeps calling after Jesus until he and the disciples are beside themselves. “Send her away!” They say to Jesus. “She keeps shouting after us.” They are embarrassed by her outburst.

She pushes forward. Throwing herself down at Jesus’ feet, she pleads. “Lord, help me.”

There is sharpness to the point of rudeness, in Jesus’ response. It takes us aback. It is so unexpected. “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs,” he retorts. It does not deter her for one moment. She knows that Jesus can help her; in fact she is certain that he is the only one who can.

Still on her knees she responds, “Yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Her reply is piercing. Even if she must crawl and grovel to get help for her child she will do it. Her love for her child, her trust that Jesus can help, her determination to do whatever she needs to do, give her the strength to continue. Mothers with sick children are like that. They won’t let anything get in the way of taking care of their child. Not unsympathetic doctors, health regulations, lousy insurance, or even a narrow minded Messiah will stop them.

Jesus sees through to the faith of this woman that he is trying so desperately to ignore. He knows that he cannot ignore her need any longer. Compassion wells up in him. He gets beyond his weariness. He loses his frustration. God shines out from him.

“You have great faith,” he says to her. “What you have asked for is done.” Her daughter is healed at that very moment.

This is a difficult story, because Jesus is hard-hearted towards this woman, not treating her with compassion because her daughter is suffering, but ignoring her and refusing her because of her heritage. In the end, Jesus gets the last word, and it is gracious, quite a change from his earlier exchange with the woman.

It is Jesus at his most human. His response to the Canaanite woman is cultural. He is struggling against all the norms of his society. It shows itself in all sorts of attitudes that are typical of the Jewish society in which he lives. His comments are racist and exclusionary. Do we find it embarrassing that Jesus is so human? Or does it help us to look at our own prejudices and shortcomings and find a way to achieve a sense of compassion that enables us to reach out to those in need?

We do not have to look very far to find events that mirror such behaviour in our own society. Consider the flyers that were posted this past week on the York University Campus. They show images of what they claim were students at York in the 60’s, saying that the student population was totally white. Below is a photo of a more diverse group of students with text saying that whites will soon be in a minority. I am certain we are all appalled that such attitudes could possibly be held in a city as diverse as Toronto. But what about our own attitudes? Whom do we reject? Whom do we try to keep out? I look back at my own life and see many times when such cultural norms affected my views of the people around me.

I grew up in an inner city rectory before the era of food banks and shelters. There was a steady stream of homeless people at our door every day looking for help. We did what we could, often feeding them from our own table. It usually fell to the rectory children to make the sandwiches and coffee and take it out to them on the back verandah. For a time my mother had fed them in the kitchen, until one person let it slip that he had just got out of prison on murder charges. On the surface, what we did was good. It was certainly the best we could offer. We were taking action at a time when society did not take responsibility for homelessness and hunger. But when I reflect deeper I know that we failed to give them what they really needed. We didn’t see them as people. We never asked them their names, although we had nicknames for some of the regulars. There was Rudolf and Pinhead. How unkind that was! We did not try to change their situation. In fact, if anything we blamed them for their dysfunction.

When I was a theological student I did a placement at the Church of the Holy Trinity at the Eaton Centre as part of a program in Urban Ministry. I worked with the street people who frequent the area as part of an initiative of the local churches to find suitable housing for them. My job was to get to know them and talk to them about their housing needs. The biggest challenge for me, however, was to do a plunge, a requirement of the course. We had to spend one rather cold November weekend on the streets with only our own resources. I talked to the street people about what to do. They told me that I would not survive it, and then proceeded to tell me about the best shelters and gave me advice about how to ask for money. Their advice was excellent, I must say. I ended up staying in a shelter for abused women, a long story that I will not get into today. I was treated with kindness and respect. The other women in the shelter, as needy as they were, reached out to help me. One person truly befriended me, took me under her wing. She told me of her hopes of reuniting with her children. Her story was one of exclusion and hardship, and yet she was one of the most compassionate people I have ever met. She had a strong faith, not only that things were going to improve for her, but also faith in God. She invited me to go to church on Sunday morning. “You look like the kind of person who goes to church,” she said to me. And off we went dressed in our old ratty clothing. I don’t know what I had hoped for, but we ended up in a large prestigious church that will remain nameless. My inclination was to sneak into the back pew, but she was having nothing to do with that. She marched me up the aisle right to the front where she lustily sang every hymn, much to the consternation of the fine parishioners who tried very hard to ignore these two women who didn’t know their place. As I reflected on the experience I realized it was a transformative time in my life.

I must say, I still find times when it is difficult to get past my middle class views. Then I think back to the woman from the shelter, and I wonder how she is doing. And I smile thinking of how she pushed back against all of the preconceived notions of that congregation. I think of her faith and how much she had to overcome

The good news of the gospel is that we are only human. Jesus had to learn to put aside the prejudices of his upbringing. He had to learn to deal with people with a sense of compassion. Maybe there is hope for me. Maybe I can learn to follow his example. The Canaanite woman exercised an extraordinary power over Jesus. She nagged at him. She made demands. And yet at the core of it was her trust that he could make a difference in her life. She trusted that he could help her. She had faith. She kept on until she was heard.

Jesus dared to walk among us. He was trapped in our world. He was trapped in our ways. What hope that gives to us! Like Jesus, we can find the way to live compassionately. We can find the way to open our hearts to those in need. We can learn to risk. We can find the words and works that build up God’s realm. We can share one another’s pain. We can learn to see Christ in others. We can place all that we have and all that we are before God. Then we will begin to see the miracles happening in our own lives and those of others.

Proper 15, Year C

The Road from Jerusalem to Jericho

Readings: Amos 7:1-17; Psalm 82; Colossians 1:1-14; Luke 10:25-37

A lawyer comes to test Jesus. “What should I do to be saved?” Jesus does not give him the answer. He seldom does. Instead, he turns tables on him, asking him, “What do you think you should do?” The lawyer gives the correct answer. “Love God and love your neighbour.” He knows the law. He says all the right things. He does all the right things. He lives a respectable life. He knows that he cannot be challenged on his knowledge of the law. But he wants to justify his actions, so he asks another trick question, “Who is my neighbour?”

Jesus responds, but not in the way we might expect. He does not argue with him about the law. He does not write a pastoral letter. He does not form a committee to talk about the issue. He does not give a theological reflection on the subject. He tells a story that hits home.

A man travelling from Jerusalem to Jericho is robbed of everything and left for dead. Several people pass by him on that busy road, amongst them a priest and a Levite. Maybe they are in a hurry to reach Jericho before nightfall. Perhaps they fear being made unclean. Or they may fear being attacked themselves. For whatever reason, they don’t stop. But a Samaritan, an outcast of society, does stop. He cannot pass another human being in pain without wanting to relieve that pain. He takes care of the man, binding up his wounds. He takes him to an inn and looks after him as long as he can. He gives the innkeeper enough money to care for the man until he is well. His are not simply band-aid solutions; he accepts the responsibility for this person who is in desperate need.

Jesus asks the lawyer one last question. “Who was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He knows there is only answer. “Go and do likewise,” Jesus tells him.

I suspect the lawyer was expecting an argument from Jesus, something he could really sink his teeth into. He is a person looking for a debate. And what Jesus gives him is an opportunity to judge himself. Hopefully he discovered that if we are motivated by law rather than love we are robbing others of real justice.

The story of the Good Samaritan is one that we all know only too well. But I wonder, how many of us have truly heard the story? How many of us have found ourselves on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho? What was our response? Did we respond out of love?

In a university course, a teacher once the class if they had ever heard the story of the Good Samaritan. They all looked at her incredulously. Of course they had heard the story. In our society we call people who help other people “Good Samaritans”. But she went on. “I am not asking if you have listened to the story. I am asking if you have ever heard the story.”

One young woman began to sob. “I know exactly what it you mean,” she said. I was just a child of seven at the time. My father was driving me to the beach to join the rest of the family at the start of the summer holidays. As we were driving along the highway my father had a heart attack. He managed to pull the car over to the side of the highway and told me to try to get help. I got out, waved my arms frantically, but no one on that busy highway would stop.”

“After what seems ages, someone finally stopped to find out what was the matter. He alerted the police, but by the time help arrived my father had died. He was only thirty-four years old.”

Those listening to her story vented their anger and resentment at the motorists who passed by, finding it incomprehensible. One person, however, piped up and said, “I can understand it totally.” He related his story.

“One cold winter night, very late, just as I was about to go to bed, there was a knock at my front door. It was a stranger looking for a place to spend the night. He was travelling back to university, had run out of money and was hitch-hiking. It had not gone well. He needed a place to sleep for the night.”

He went on. “I looked him over. He sounded genuine, but I felt angry at him for not being better prepared. I found every reason in the book not to help him. My own safety, his lack of foresight! I closed the door on him. I watched him disappear into the night. I admire the person who acted. He was a real hero. I wish I had.”

A third person began to relate her story. “You don’t feel like a hero when it happens. I was in my apartment one evening when there was a knock on the door. My neighbour from the next apartment was there holding the limp body of her young child. She was hysterical and had no idea what to do. I took the child in my arms, pointed to the phone and told her to call 911. I proceeded to do mouth to mouth on the little one. An ambulance arrived a short time later. One of the attendants said that if I had not acted the child would surely have died. Mother and child were taken to the hospital. She made a full recovery. I was lauded as a hero, but honestly, I just did what I had learned in my First Aid course.”

Who heard the story? They all did.

There have been many stories this past week from the town of Lac Megantic of people who heard the story and responded as neighbour to neighbour. Crisis so often brings out the best in neighbours. But it should not take a crisis.

So the question remains for us; dol we hear the story? What will we do to put Jesus’ vision of justice into practice in our world? How do we offer gestures of kindness to others? This passage is a revealing and judgemental condemnation of much that passes itself as Christian. It makes many professions of faith seem less than authentic. If we take it seriously, we can no longer simply say the right words or belong to the right church. The parable demands that we account for our actions. We cannot say, "I turn to Christ" without making a commitment to love God and to love neighbour.

Who is my neighbour? Is my neighbour the one who lives next door to me? Is it others who are like me, who share my heritage, my interests? The fact is that every human being is my neighbour. It can have nothing to do with colour, background or social status. It cannot have to do with how clean the person is. It cannot have to do with how well they speak. It must simply be the one who needs my help.

Jesus knew what it meant to be a neighbour. He was tortured, stripped and left in a ditch to die. Do we bear the marks of the wounded Christ in our lives? Are we neighbours to the wounded in our society? Those wounded by life, those burdened with cares, poverty, sickness and despair? Do we know who is our neighbour? Do our actions show that we know? What impact is our congregation having on the community around us? Those are questions we need to be asking.

A teacher once asked his pupils, "How do you know when night ends and day begins?"

One student answered, "You know that night ends and day begins when you can look into the distance and know which animal is your dog, and which is your sheep."

"That is a good answer," the teacher said, "but it is not my answer."

"You know that night ends and day begins," another student said, "when light falls on the leaves and you can see whether it is a maple or an oak."

"That too is a good answer," the teacher said, "but it is not my answer."

"What is you answer, teacher?" they asked.

"When you look into the eyes of a human being and see a brother or sister you know that it is morning. If you cannot see a sister or brother you will know that it will always be night."

Let us look in the face of our neighbour and see Christ. Amen.

The Second Sunday after Pentecost, Year C (Proper 10)

God's Compassionate Love

Readings: 1 Kings 17:8-24; Psalm 146; Galatians 1:11-17; Luke 7:11-17

The word of the Lord came to Elijah and he answered immediately. Not an easy thing to do, for in responding to God’s call Elijah is deliberately moving into the heart of enemy territory. It is an area where the religion of Baal has its stronghold. He finds lodging with a widow. Without the support of family, she is one of the most vulnerable in her society. Indeed, this particular widow is no exception. She and her son are on the brink of starvation. It is a Catch 22 situation for her. To help him could put her at great risk. Not to do so will mean starvation for herself and her child.

She takes a chance in helping Elijah, and for many days things go well. There is enough food for the household. They seem to be weathering the storm. Then her son becomes gravely ill and dies. “What have you against me, O man of God?” she rails at him. It is a cry from the depths of the human heart. She has lost her child. She searches for meaning where there is none. She turns on the one who has helped her. It is pain, bereavement, loneliness, fear, all pouring out of her.

And then she turns against God. The real culprit is God. After all, God could have prevented the tragedy. God is the villain. Isn't that our human response? Oh, we may not give voice to it. We may fear that if we do then something even worse may happen. Our faith mistakenly teaches us that God is a God of vengeance who will wreak even worse things on us if we do not toe the line. But she rails. In her anger and fear, she rails against Elijah. She rails against God.

And Elijah acts once again. Not without blaming God himself! But he springs into action. “Let this child's life come back into him again,” he prays fervently. And God answers his heartfelt prayer. The child is revived. Elijah returns him to his mother.

It is a wonderful story of the compassion of our loving God and of our need as the people of God to care for the stranger, the weak and the vulnerable.

Fast forward! Two processions, one entering the town of Nain, one leaving. Entering the town is a large and joyful crowd filled with hope for the future following their charismatic leader. Jesus is becoming known as the healer, as the compassionate one who cares for the sick and the downtrodden. Everywhere he goes a crowd follows. Leaving the town is a somber funeral procession. At the head of the procession is a woman, a widow, who is now burying her only son. For her there is no future, only private memories and regrets.

Here on the edge of town the two processions meet. Silence falls over the crowd as the mourners give voice to human loss and bereavement. Jesus has compassion on the widow. He knows that without her son she faces a bleak future. “Don’t cry!” he says to her. He is not telling her that crying is not a necessary human response to her loss. He is not telling her that she is weak for succumbing to her tears. He is not saying that there is something wrong with her. He is simply saying that there is no need for her to cry.

And then he speaks some words which must have startled the onlookers. “Young man, I say to you, rise!” What happened next must have shocked them even more, for the dead man got up and began to speak to his mother.

We could get into the usual arguments about this healing. We have no way of testing the reality of what might have happened, whether the son really was dead, whether symbolism or legend created the account, whether it emerged in a creative attempt to link Jesus with Elijah. What we do know is that the early Christians believed this account. In the whole scheme of things it did not make a great impact on society. It did make a huge impact in the life of one particular widow whose son was restored to her. It made all the difference in the world. At that moment Jesus becomes the source of new life to a young man and his family. By extension, we need to understand that Jesus is the source of new life to us.

It is certainly evident from Paul's story. His story is an amazing witness to God’s life giving action in the world. He loves to recount the transforming miracle of his conversion. Indeed, it almost sounds like bragging. He remembers the Damascus Road, the blazing light, the crashing fall, his blindness, the voice of God calling out to him. As surely as God gave new life to the dying child held in Elijah’s arms, as surely as Jesus gave new life to the young man outside Nain, so Christ gave new life to Paul. And he rejoices in it.

Let us fast forward once again to our own time. A friend of mine says that the saddest thing she had to do was to sell the family home following the death of her father. It brought home the reality of his death. As she packed up his things, memories welled up in her of shared family times, of her growing up years, and of wonderful family gatherings centered around food and always, she told me, there was music. The thing she remembered most about family events was gathering around the piano to sing.

The sale of the home didn’t go well. The house was in a state of disrepair. The decor was less than up to date. The price had to be dropped several times. It finally sold, but for far less than she had expected. And along with it went her treasury of memories.

Some weeks later she had the opportunity to meet the new owners. Not only were they lovely people, but they had children and grandchildren and a wonderful sense of family. The most astounding thing was that they were a family of musicians.

Now looking back at her reaction to the sale, she reflects, “Who cares about money? If Dad’s home continues to be filled with love, life and music, then it was the perfect sale.”

Our human condition is such that there are many ways in which we can be regarded as dead. Our faith can be dead. Our love can be dead. Our sensitivity, or joy, or hope, or trust can be dead. All that Jesus can say to us is, “I say to you, rise!”

Whatever we want to believe about miracles, they have a definite role within the Christian perspective. This miracle in particular has a powerful message for the way we live out our Christian faith. This is Jesus doing the ministry to which he was called by God. His ministry addressed the real needs of people. He did not simply preach. He lived the gospel. His loving and compassionate actions reached out to those in need in real and tangible ways. That is God's mission for each one of us. God loves humanity. Our mission is to reflect that great love as we reach out to those in need. Our compassion and love can bring about miraculous changes in the lives of those around us.

As surely as God gave new life to the dying child held in Elijah’s arms, as surely as Jesus gave new life to the young man outside Nain, as surely as Christ gave new life to Paul, so God offers new life to us.

So rise, and rejoice in it. Amen.