It's Personal

August 20, 2023 + Lectionary 20 +Pr. Craig Mueller

I don’t think Jesus knew how hateful his comment was. A racial slur, really. Jesus was calling me a dog.

I’m the Canaanite woman in today’s gospel. I’m not Jewish, like Jesus. I’m what you would call indigenous. The Canaanites and Israelites were ancient enemies. And you may recognize some Canaanite women in some of your genealogies—Rahab and Tamar.

Where am I from? I’m from the district of Tyre and Sidon. North of what you now call Israel, in what is now Lebanon. Jesus had ventured there and was on my territory. Gentile territory.

I am not just a nameless woman of course. But since the third century, some of your Christian writers have given me a name: Justa. I don’t think your pastor is smart enough to know Latin or other ancient languages, so he had to check the web to find out that Justa means “fair” and “upright.”

Anyway, word spread throughout my village that a man called Jesus would be passing through. Was he on a speaking tour? Would he feel safe? Maybe he needed to get away from all his fans.

As I said, life was hard. Just putting food on the table was enough. But my daughter had been acting strange, saying weird things. We would say she had a demon. You might call it a mental health crisis or a psychotic break.

Back to the story. Sorry your pastor makes me add all these side comments. I don’t know how you put up with it. You should ask him to just get to the point.

Anyway, when I heard that the miracle worker Jesus would be in town, I ran up to him. I knew I was a woman, a Gentile, a nobody, really. But I made a scene. I screamed. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me. Look at my daughter. She has a demon. Help me, help me, help me.”

I thought I was being respectful. Calling Jesus, “Son of David”. Honoring his Jewish roots.

But he ignored me. He was silent. He moved on.  It felt like he brushed me off. And my heart sank.

I forgot to tell you that Jesus had a band of guys with him. Disciples, I guess they were called. They seemed very protective of Jesus. Anyway, these disciple-dudes got pretty perturbed with me. I think I made them uncomfortable. So they said to Jesus, “send her away. She keeps shouting. She needs to learn what her place is.”

And then Jesus said it. Some of you didn’t know it was in your Bible. The racial slur. Or maybe your mind was wandering when the pastor read the gospel. I get it. Your Jesus-Son-of-God said this. And I quote. “It’s not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

Did Jesus make a slur against me of a different race, ethnicity, religion?

When Jesus called me a dog, it was personal. And in my day, dogs weren’t the cute little pets that you have in your homes. A dog was an unwelcome scavenger, a pest. And even though the word that Jesus used was a diminutive, more like Doggy, it was no term of endearment. It was a racial slur. As one Jewish scholar notes, when referring to a dog, “little bitch” is no nicer than “bitch.”

Maybe Jesus didn’t realize what he said. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe that’s just the way he was raised. Maybe it’s the difference between what you call individual prejudice and systemic racism. It permeates everything.

But let me tell you, for me it was personal.  You all can talk in generalities about race. Or being trans. Or bathrooms. Or being queer. Or affirmative action. Or reparations. People in power pontificate as if they know what it’s like. They write books and blogs and opinion pieces. Often with hatred and arrogance. And not realize they are dealing with people. And families. People like me. Maybe people like some of you. Or people you know. And it’s personal.

Hatred, racism, violence, animosities. We dealt with it. And so do you. As your pastor tells me, despite all your technological, scientific, social, and psychological advances.

Not to mention that most of the people in your country read the Bible, describe history, or give their opinion from the perspective of the winners, the people in power, the people on top.  One theologian, who is a person of color, calls it “Disney princess theology.” You’re the princess in every story. You are the Jews escaping slavery, never the Egyptians. Peter, but never Judas. The woman anointing Jesus, never the Pharisees. And certainly not me, the assertive outcast woman who makes a scene. And let me tell you, for a country that enslaved both Native and Black people, “Disney princess theology” can really warp your understanding of reality.

I’m getting like your pastors now, kind of preachy. So back to the story.

I can’t explain it. But after Jesus’ hurtful comment, then something came over me. I decided to take Jesus on. To challenge him. Some would say, to call him out. That could have ended everything for me, I realized. But I said it anyway. “But Jesus, even the dogs eat the crumbs from the master’s table.”

And something changed on Jesus’ face. I know he considered his mission to the lost sheep of Israel. But I think I helped Jesus realize that his message was everybody. Or as you just read from Isaiah, the house of Lord will be a house of prayer for all nations, all people.

I don’t know if you believe that Jesus could learn something. A lot of Christians wouldn’t agree with that. They would say he was just testing me. But I’m not so sure. This might be one of the only times in your Bible-book . . . that Jesus lost.

Here’s what Jesus said to me. “Woman, great is your faith. Let it be done as you wish.” And my daughter . . . she was healed.

And I was healed. Maybe those around me, in that moment were also healed.

And I know that your preacher-man and the preacher-lady here, would want to make sure you hear loud and clear the good news. There is healing for you. There is healing in the word of grace that sets you free. There is healing as you eat and drink at this table. There are more than crumbs. There is enough for all. There is healing as you gather in this house of prayer for all people. There is healing whether you said the hateful word, even without thinking, or whether were the one who received it.

You may not be able to be as assertive or persistent as I was with Jesus. But remember, when you talk about other people, that they are created in the image of God. Whether trans or queer. Or Black or brown or red. Or evangelicals or those in red states. Or those with demons or those facing mental or physical crises. They’re people. Like me. And you. So be gentle with one another.

I don’t think I see an icon of me, who some call Justa, in your space. Though, I love the diversity of the ones I see. But I ask you, remember me. And if Jesus could learn and if Jesus could change his ways, maybe you can. Maybe we can, too.