People cry at weddings for the same reason they cry at happy endings: because they so desperately want to believe in something they know is not credible.

--from The Blind Assassin, Margret Atwood

Fair Warning: this Card Talk is different than most of the others. It’s a little more serious. It's not very funny, at all. It's also longer than most. And the F-word makes an appearance a few times. Reader discretion is advised. 

Historical Note (8/19/17): We've been writing this Card Talk for a while. But the confluence of the Lectionary, preaching schedules, and the events in Charlottesville, VA last weekend caused us to finish it. 

People are overly satisfied with happy endings. 

People walk away from this passage happy because the characters all lived happily ever after. Even though they didn’t. Not really. 

For those unfamiliar, and those needing a reminder, here is the story:

Jesus and His disciples are met by a screaming Canaanite woman (specifically, a Syrophoenician woman according to Mark). The woman is not crazy, she is grieving and in desperate need of help. Her words: “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David! My daughter is tormented by a demon!” She keeps screaming this. Over and over. And over.

Jesus ignores her and keeps on walking. 

She follows and keeps on screaming for His help.  The disciples, bothered by all of the screaming, ask Jesus to “send her away.” Finally, Jesus responds, saying “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”  

The woman, still screaming, throws herself at His feet. On her knees, face buried in the hem of His garment, tears washing His feet, she cries “Lord, help me!”  

Jesus, the one full of love and compassion, the fullness of the Godhead on earth, the one who cares for all, looks down at her and says,

“It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”  

As a young Bible nerd, I grew to hate this passage because of what it made me think about Jesus. More accurately, I hated what it made me feel about Him. This was the first time I equated “Jesus” with “God” in a negative way. 

It’s easy to rail against “God”: belief in a personal deity doesn’t fully remove the image of an abstract figure, distant from us. The image of a transcendent, sovereign being with an agenda we can’t always understand. The one we ask the age-old questions, “why do bad things happen to good people?”, “why do good things happen to bad people?”, and “why me?” The “God” of the Job, Ecclesiastes, Lamentations, and Psalms gives us liberty to interrogate when our lives seem unfair, when the world seems not all that it should be. “Why did you allow/cause X to happen…?”

This is a question we ask of “God” in the abstract. Or, when our orthodoxy matches our orthopraxis, when our head matches our hearts, these are the questions we ask of God the Father. But how often do we ask the Son?

How often do we blame the Son when things go wrong?

Serious exploration of this passage was the first time this happen to me. When Jesus, the Son, was the target of my questioning. The focus of my disconcerted mind.

People are overly satisfied with happy endings, which is why this passage often gets a pass. The reason why more people aren’t pausing to ask, “Jesus, wait: WTAF?!” For as the story ends:

The woman, (apparently) unperturbed by Jesus’s reply— because she was so incredibly desperate, or so used to this sort of abuse from men, or from Jews, or from everyone— replies quickly: “You’re right, Lord, but  even dogs get to eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”  

Jesus (apparently) appreciating this answer, answers her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” 

And her daughter was healed instantly.

There’s the happy ending. The woman got what she wanted. Jesus keeps His New Testament record: no one is denied the healing that they request.

But this is not like making an eye-salve out of dirt and spit, or allowing someone to touch the hem of your garment, or sticking your fingers in someone's ears and grabbing their tongue, or simply telling them to rise up and walk. No. The road to this healing is very different.

But we love happy endings. So we sanitize the passage’s problems to fit the synoptic syllogism:

A is in pain
B loves A
B asks Jesus to help A
Jesus helps A

But that is not this story. This story reads differently:

A is in pain
B loves A
B asks Jesus to help A
Jesus ignores B
Again, B asks Jesus to help A
Jesus emotionally kicks B in the teeth for a while
B, through broken teeth, asks Jesus to help A
Jesus eventually gets around to helping B

The Problems with this Story

There are many things to be bothered about in this story: things the story itself points out as problematic. We'll highlight only three

1. The Rejection

Jesus does not begin by addressing this woman's pain, this mother's anguish. He completely ignores her for the majority of the story, either through silence, or by directing His comments at the disciples and the rhetorical middle-distance. We could make a case that this is like God answering our prayers with "wait" (instead of a "yes" or "no," or whatever Christian cliche we learned as children), but this is hardly satisfactory. 

Notice that even the disciples are uncomfortable with the events. They've never seen Him shun someone like this before. He's usually the one yelling at them for pushing people away. They don't question Him, but they ask Him to act. If He won’t heed her cries and heal her child, then at least tell her that, and send her on her way. Imagine ADHD Peter sliding up to His side, disturbed, and stage-whispering, "Jesus, at least get rid of her!”  

But how some writers need to defend Jesus: one went so far as to accuse the woman of being a prostitute, because no woman would go up to Jesus and speak to Him in public like that. Because Jesus would be social bound not to speak to a prostitute (deep sigh). Apparently this writer never read Matthew 21:31-32 or Luke 7:36-50.

2. The Racism

Jesus calling her a "dog" was racially charged. Commentary writers over the centuries have recognized this and tried to smooth it over, make excuses. 

In verse 25 the writer uses the Greek word proskyneō for the word for "knelt" or "worshiped" (depending on your translation). This is pretty standard usage in the New Testament. However, the word is a compound containing the Greek for "dog" as a root, and whose etymology most likely stems from the prostrated devotion one sees from canines to masters. Jesus' response to the woman plays on this dog-like subservience. He sees her action and follows it up with a pun, calling her a dog. The woman plays along, continuing the analogy of her as a dog, but what else can she do? As a moment in biblical literature, this is classic. Puns and double meanings are among the things that make the Text so rich. But as a depiction for how Jesus treats a human being in pain: what the actual fuck? This is how God treats people?

Commentary writers have seen the problem with this event and run to the defense of Jesus' reputation.  Some point out that the Greek word for dog (kynárion υνάριον) directly translates to "little dogs" and they attempt to shift the focus to the role of dogs in contemporary society. Some say this means that he was referring to puppies or dogs that were pets in the home, who normally sit under the table. However, there is much historical debate as to whether or not Jews kept dogs as pets in their homes; that it is anachronistic to apply our relationship with dogs on a previous culture. Jewish sages before, during, and since the time Jesus walked the earth, debated whether dogs were even allowed in Jewish homes. This is borne out in the Mishnah, the Talmud, and other works.  But even if this were the case that dogs were pets, why should we be satisfied with this answer? It is still dehumanizing. Is this how we are supposed to feel: less than human in the hands of God? 

Other commentary writers are honest: they acknowledge that Jews of the time period called gentiles in the region “dogs.” It was a racial slur rooted in gentiles being seen as not holy or "clean" in terms of Jewish law. 

They point to Exodus 22:31 for a foundation, and question whether the other word for "dog" used in the New Testament ( kýōn κύων) has any significant difference in the Aramaic Jesus was speaking (c.f. Matthew 7:6, Philippians 3:2, 2 Peter 2:22, and Revelation 22:15 none are positive references).

And let us not forget that this woman is a Canaanite. Remember them? The ones the Jews were supposed to completely kill off (see Deuteronomy 20:16-18). 

(At this moment, before moving on to the final reason, we should point out the moments shortly before this encounter. Moments where Jesus explained to the disciples that the words that come out of our mouths that defile us (Matthew 15:20). Oh Jesus, but what has just come out of yours?)

And we're back where we started. But it gets a little worse when we consider the final point...

3. The Reason

When finally pinned down to explain why, Jesus gives a classic answer for why He isn't paying attention to the woman: it's not His “mission” to speak to gentiles (vs. 24). In other words, Jesus pulled not my circus, not my monkeys. 

But wait. Aren't you the Son of Man? God incarnate? Aren't all the peoples of the world made in your image? Red and yellow, black and white, aren't we all precious in your sight? Don't you love all the little children of the world? So again, what the ever-supposedly-loving fuck?

So Jesus won't do good to all who come before Him if they are the wrong ethnicity? His resources are so limited that He was afraid that He didn’t have a miracle to spare? Was He worried about setting a bad precedent among the Jews or His disciples (“look He loves everyone! Boo! Burn Him! He's a witch!”) Isn’t that exactly the sort of negative press He seemed to engender throughout the gospels, empowering the lower/lowest classes, eating, teaching, loving the worst of the worst. But that’s okay because those people were Jews and this woman is a gentile? If that's the case, then Jesus is a racist on par, if not worse than, Jonah. 

This argument is further complicated by Jesus' own words and actions earlier in the book of Matthew. In Matthew 11:21-22 Jesus chastises the Jews before Him for not believing in His “mighty works,” comparing them to the very location He is meeting this woman in chapter 15. So He talks about doing hypothetical mighty works in the area, but then hurls racist slurs when someone asks when He gets there instead?

Again, commentary writers have wrestled with justifying the ways of God to men on this account. Being overly satisfied with the happy ending, they work from the end of the story and focus on Jesus' planning and/or foreknowledge of her faith. "Yes, He made her work for, but there is a good reason," or some variation on that theme. 

Those variations include:

• Jesus had to bring the woman to a place where she understood how unworthy she was to receive Jesus' help. Because she was filled with some form of pride, Jesus needed to break her down before she could receive His help. (Multiple Commentary writers have said something like this and there is a special place in Hell for them)

• Jesus knew she would persevere and could take the abuse. It was all a test of her faith that He knew she could pass.

• If her she had walked away, Jesus would have stopped her or made a house visit later to heal the child, because Jesus never lets anyone go unhealed in the Gospels.

Some answers move beyond the woman, making her merely a foil for some larger lesson:

• Really this was a lesson for the disciples about speaking up and acting. That they had already been given the power to heal in Matthew 10, but were doing nothing to help the woman now. That Jesus was exposing their racism and inaction.

• Really this was a lesson to the early church about God’s grace extending to all nations (even reluctantly). That Jesus is the bread of life, broken and shared to all peoples (or causally swept under a Jewish table to the Gentiles begging on the floor).

Another "solution" looks forward in the unfolding story in Matthew:

• Jesus had no intention of healing her, but her faith actually changed His mind and mission. This time “extracurricular healing” on His part had a larger impact.

When Jesus leaves the woman to return to her healed child, He and the disciples travel along the coast of the Sea of Galilee and after they climb a mountain

Great crowds came to him, bringing with them the lame, the maimed, the blind, the mute, and many others. They put them at his feet, and he cured them, so that the crowd was amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the maimed whole, the lame walking, and the blind seeing. And they praised the God of Israel. (vs 30-31)

After this, Jesus performed a food miracle and fed four thousand people. Gentile people. Those crowds He healed and fed were Gentiles.   

But does this happy ending excuse His treatment of a mother fighting for life of her child?

The Problem With this Story as Life  

People are overly satisfied with happy endings: this is dangerous because not all stories end happily. At least not on this planet. Yes, we can claim a happily ever after in heaven, but regardless of whether that is "enough" for you mentally/emotionally/spiritually, it's not what this story is about. This story is about pain in the here and now. On this planet. And how God, how Jesus, chose to respond to a woman in pain. 

I don’t understand this passage, not really. I don’t accept the answers I’ve read. Not fully. This doesn’t “feel” like how God “should” work. So I am left still searching. 

But this might be the story of my life – crying out to God, advocating for the pain of someone I love, being rebuffed, and awaiting an answer.

I know I'm not alone.

The Bible makes it easy to be an anti-theist sometimes. Stories like this come to the fore in that conversation. I am reminded of words C.S. Lewis wrote following the death of his wife:

I tried to put some of these thoughts to C. this afternoon. He reminded me that the same thing seems to have happened to Christ: 'Why hast thou forsaken me?' I know. Does that make it easier to understand?

Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him. The conclusion I dread is not 'So there's no God after all,' but 'So this is what God's really like. Deceive yourself no longer.'

Our elders submitted and said, 'Thy will be done.' How often had bitter resentment been stifled through sheer terror and an act of love — yes, in every sense, an act — put on to hide the operation?

Of course it's easy enough to say that God seems absent at our greatest need because He is absent — non-existent. But then why does He seem so present when, to put it frankly, we don't ask for Him?

- A Grief Observed

As true as I find this, that God continues to exist, perhaps it is equally true that there are versions of God that have died in my mind/heart, and that's the problem. 

Starting at a Different Ending

We are left with more questions than answers with this story. None are compelling. Some of you reading this are still wondering "so do you really think Jesus was a racist or not?"

We might respond

No. Of course not.

or 

No, but the writer of this story sure as sheol makes Him sound like one.

or

Is there a difference between being a racist and using racist epithets in front of your friends? (Not that we haven't heard this argument used since the beginning of the last election cycle)

or

I hope not.

or

...

It's disturbing that the closet biblical analogy to this story is The Parable of the Widow and the Unjust Judge (Luke 18:1-8). In summary:

There was a judge who didn't not care about the opinions of God or man. However, a widow who had been wronged by someone kept coming to him demanding justice. The judge continually refused. The woman continually bothered him. After a while the judge said, "screw this. I don't care about the ways of God or man, but if I give this woman what she wants, she'll leave me the Hell alone." And so he did.

According to the text, the purpose of this parable is Jesus' need for the disciples "to pray always and not to lose heart" (vs 1). Jesus said that God (the Father) will grant requests a lot more quickly, and for better reasons, for the faithful (vs 7-8).

The mother in Matthew had faith and she was granted her request. Faith is one thing: persistence is another. Especially persistence when you don’t know what God will do next. Jesus called her faith “great" (vs 28), megas in Greek. She stood nose to toe with Jesus calling her a metaphorical dog, and she didn’t heel.  

"Mega faith" seems fitting. Maybe that's the lesson.

But this requires ignoring or excusing Jesus' actions which, as argued above, we have some issues with.

So what now?

Unlike most preachers, speakers, commentary writers, and scholars, we think a better way of finding meaning in this story is to focus on the woman, not on Jesus. Unlike the answers above, not focusing on what was going on in Jesus' mind, but in the woman's.

She is the most forthright, loving, and patient character in this story: She always spoke her mind, directly to the person she was addressing; she was always motivated by the love of her child; she was always patient with Jesus. Focusing on her faith, the one thing everyone, including Jesus, agrees on. 

This woman was a mother fighting for someone she loves, taking on the burden of another as her own. She did something about her problem, took her pain to a place she thought she could gain succor. She advocated for someone else despite the apparent odds of success. And This is one of the few lessons I can take from this passage:

to advocate for others regardless of the apparent barriers to advance. 

A clergy friend once said, "it is not our job to make excuses for God." We recognize that this Card Talk has largely explored the ways in which those who have come before us have tried to do just that. 

And perhaps our friend is right and it is not our job to make excuses for God. 

Perhaps we won’t understand everything that Jesus did/does, but we are still asked if we trust Him regardless.

Perhaps this is more an example of "faith" than an example of an intellectual cop-out.

Perhaps this story is an example of how we disapprove of Jesus’ methods, but trust His heart.  

Perhaps this story is an example of why some people question how much the gospels represent Jesus, rather than different conversations within the early church (esp. with Matthew's gospel being considered the most sensitive to Judaism of the four gospels).

Perhaps all of these contradicting queries are what lead our elders in the church to say we must simply believe He knows what He is doing.

Perhaps this is what it means to "believe on His name," remembering that the Hebrew for "name" is shem, the word for "reputation." 

Perhaps this leads us back to the question of what a story like this does to Jesus' rep?

Perhaps we can wrestle with this without failing to be like the woman, the mother, who can lay these issues aside long enough to fight for someone she loves. 

But what do we know: we made this game and you probably think we're going to Hell.