The Hinge
13th Sunday after Pentecost
Matthew 15: (10-20) 21-28; Romans 11: 1-2a, 29-32
I can’t take you far enough this morning. I can’t remove us from the safety and knowledge and experience of our salvation so that we can feel the lostness that so much of the world feels. But we must try.
I could take us to the world of true poverty. The last time that Larry and Jan Frey and I went to Juarez, I was reminded of the distance that separates the poorest of poor people from the richest nation in the world. It’s not very far. From the second floor balcony of the Hyatt Regency of the garbage dump, the Catholic compound where we stay in Juarez, you can actually see the United States. You can see the land of promise, the land where dreams can come true, where people can pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, the land where people can move from one economic status to the next – if they dare to dream and work as though their lives depend on it. But as we moved and worked that week among the residents of the old city dump, where men are paid $5/day to work at the Adidas factory, and the women sweep the dust from the bare, dirt floors, and the children run out to the 55 gallon drum in the front yard to collect water for cooking the evening meal, and where electricity to their cardboard home comes through a single wire which has been carefully stolen from the electric poles scattered through the community – it occurred to me – there are children living in this dump who can see the promised land just on the other side, and they will never cross over. They will never cross over because they don’t have the money, and their world is the only world they will ever know. The promised land is just a few miles away – but it might as well be 1000 miles. They will never see it. They will never go there.
Or I could take us to another world. I could take us into the world of mental illness. Thursday evening, I listened to the angels from NORCE play handbells in the sanctuary of St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church. They played the Bach/Gounod Ave Maria, and it was the most beautiful music I have ever heard. But that is the result of perspective. Technically, the music was flawed and imperfect. These mentally handicapped adults live in another world. They live in a world where they hear the words, and they wear the clothes, and they go through the motions of what we so casually refer to as “normalcy” – but they live in a different world. Living with a mentally handicapped person for so many years has taught me that – they live in a different world, and their realities are so very different from our realities. Having seen the beginnings of infant life, you and I realize that the miracle is that no more of us are mentally handicapped than there are – so traumatic and fragile is that process. Some do not escape unscathed – some bear the trauma of birth, and are affected for life, and bear the stigma and the horrors and the unrelenting trappings of an accident of birth. Their's is a world where things do not come easy – where life is a struggle – to understand, to comply, to fit in, to succeed, to contribute, to even exist. And yet they hold our hands, and sit at our tables, and attend our schools and play our handbells and wind up in the same hospitals at the end of their lives – but they might as well be 1000 miles away, so great is the distance that often separates their reality from ours.
When Jesus wandered into the region of Tyre and Sidon, He encountered a different world, with different people from those who were “His own.” This was the land of the Canaanites – the half-breed Gentiles who were so despised by the Jews. They used denigrating terms to refer to them – uncircumcised, Gentile dogs is the translation of their favorite term. Jesus is confronted by a woman. In His eyes, she would have been a three time loser - she was prohibited from speaking to him on three levels – race, gender, and status. Perhaps it troubles us that at first, Jesus plays out this conversation just as He would have been expected to play it out – He ignores her. Her first request is for mercy – for her daughter who was demon-possessed. He doesn’t say a thing. His disciples suggest that He send her away, and His answer to them is rather confirming of His thinking – “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” She doesn’t relent – she begins to bow down in front of him, begging for mercy saying, “Lord, help me.” He continues with His distanced posture – I personally think He didn’t so much answer her as He continued to speak to the disciples. “It is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” Even the Son of Man, our Lord and Savior, referred to her in the common language of the day – offering an accepted denigration of her existence as a person.
But then she uttered perhaps the most important words ever uttered – the hinge. I’ll tell you my reality on this passage. My life was forever changed when I watched the ABC movie presentation of the life of Jesus some years ago. My life was forever changed when the move came to this point in the story. It played out much the way I’ve just described it – Jesus played the part of the good, Jewish Messiah, and this woman continued to press Him for mercy – and then she uttered these words – “Yes, Lord; but even the dogs feed on the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.”
In the movie, Jesus paused for a moment. He had a bit of a surprised look on His face – a look as though this idea had never dawned on Him before – “Gentiles – receive My mercy? Non-Jews – receive My mercy? Women, as well as men – receive My mercy? Sinners – receive My mercy? Blacks and Mexicans and Chinese – receive My mercy? English and Spanish and Americans – receive My mercy? Thieves and murderers and harlots – receive My mercy? Rich people and poor people – receive My mercy? Heterosexuals and homosexuals – receive My mercy? People other than the children of Israel – receive My mercy???? And finally, He answered and said to her, “O woman, your faith is great; be it done for you as you wish.”
This scripture has stretched me this week. I have traveled far – farther than I ever thought I could travel in a week. I have traveled in my mind into the world of those who know a poverty that I can only suspect. I have traveled in my mind into the world of those who lack the mental acumen to cognate on the same level with most of society. I have traveled in my mind this week into what you and I casually describe as the dark world of sin and degeneracy. I have traveled far – and yet, I still cannot take us far enough to know the gulf that was traversed in this exchange between Jesus and this woman.
She is the hinge.
Her faith is the hinge upon which our faith hangs. Her faith opened the door to salvation to every person who sits in this room this day. I look around and I don’t see any of you who are Jewish. Before this moment in time, it very well may be the case that none of us had a hope of salvation. It may very well be the case that Jesus understood His mission to be only to the lost sheep of Israel, and that this encounter opened the door for us – for all of us.
I read Paul this week. At first I was just going to use the gospel as text for the sermon. But Paul says something – something that is profound, even by Paul’s standards. Chapter 11, verse 32 – “For God has shut up all in disobedience that He might show mercy to all.” On Friday, as I blogged some of my thoughts about this subject, I said, “You'd think by this time in my journey, I'd be confident on the point of whom God will save. I have come to grips with the concept that whoever is saved, God is the One Who does the saving. We can't save ourselves. I have a pastor friend, who when presented with the question ‘Pastor, don't you think pretty much everyone will ultimately be saved?,’ responds with the answer, ‘When it comes to that question, I find that I must separate my hope from my belief. My hope is that God will indeed save everyone - but my belief is that there's more to it than that.’
Generally, that's where I fall on the theological scale - I suspect that there's more to it than that, and that at least part of the equation involves some response on our part to the love of God. But then, this week, I am confronted by two ideas. One of them, the actual words of the Apostle Paul - Romans 11:32, where he says, "For God has shut up all in disobedience that He might show mercy to all." Paul says "all." So part of the question hinges upon what your definition of "all" is. The other part of that question hinges upon what your definition of "shows mercy" is.”
I can’t answer all of those questions. All I can do – all any of us can do – is to do exactly the same as this woman. We turn to Jesus for mercy. We recognize that if there is mercy to be found, we will find it in the words and comfort of Jesus. We go to Him, and we ask for mercy. Then we beg for mercy. If we have to, we argue with our Jesus for mercy. We do all that we can do in the confidence that He will do what He must and will to save us – and to show us mercy.
Three years ago, on this passage of scripture, I suggested that grace and mercy are two sides of the same coin. There’s a third side to that coin – it’s the concept of forgiveness. I need to preach a sermon on forgiveness sometime soon – if for no other reason than to straighten out my own theology. I think we would be hard pressed to argue which comes first – grace, mercy, forgiveness – I do know this – the three of them are intimately related.
Sister Tracy was in a bit of a panic on Friday, looking for the perfect illustration for her sermon on forgiveness. I don’t blame her – she loves good stories, and she’s really good at telling good stories. As the much older, much stodgier brother, I submitted again and again to her that the greatest story of forgiveness is the story of Jesus’ forgiveness of us – of you and me.
This day, we pause to thank Jesus for hearing the pleas of a woman who, according to the law, had no business asking Jesus for anything – mercy, grace, or forgiveness. Aren’t we glad He listened to her?
Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.
Matthew 15: (10-20) 21-28; Romans 11: 1-2a, 29-32
I can’t take you far enough this morning. I can’t remove us from the safety and knowledge and experience of our salvation so that we can feel the lostness that so much of the world feels. But we must try.
I could take us to the world of true poverty. The last time that Larry and Jan Frey and I went to Juarez, I was reminded of the distance that separates the poorest of poor people from the richest nation in the world. It’s not very far. From the second floor balcony of the Hyatt Regency of the garbage dump, the Catholic compound where we stay in Juarez, you can actually see the United States. You can see the land of promise, the land where dreams can come true, where people can pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, the land where people can move from one economic status to the next – if they dare to dream and work as though their lives depend on it. But as we moved and worked that week among the residents of the old city dump, where men are paid $5/day to work at the Adidas factory, and the women sweep the dust from the bare, dirt floors, and the children run out to the 55 gallon drum in the front yard to collect water for cooking the evening meal, and where electricity to their cardboard home comes through a single wire which has been carefully stolen from the electric poles scattered through the community – it occurred to me – there are children living in this dump who can see the promised land just on the other side, and they will never cross over. They will never cross over because they don’t have the money, and their world is the only world they will ever know. The promised land is just a few miles away – but it might as well be 1000 miles. They will never see it. They will never go there.
Or I could take us to another world. I could take us into the world of mental illness. Thursday evening, I listened to the angels from NORCE play handbells in the sanctuary of St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church. They played the Bach/Gounod Ave Maria, and it was the most beautiful music I have ever heard. But that is the result of perspective. Technically, the music was flawed and imperfect. These mentally handicapped adults live in another world. They live in a world where they hear the words, and they wear the clothes, and they go through the motions of what we so casually refer to as “normalcy” – but they live in a different world. Living with a mentally handicapped person for so many years has taught me that – they live in a different world, and their realities are so very different from our realities. Having seen the beginnings of infant life, you and I realize that the miracle is that no more of us are mentally handicapped than there are – so traumatic and fragile is that process. Some do not escape unscathed – some bear the trauma of birth, and are affected for life, and bear the stigma and the horrors and the unrelenting trappings of an accident of birth. Their's is a world where things do not come easy – where life is a struggle – to understand, to comply, to fit in, to succeed, to contribute, to even exist. And yet they hold our hands, and sit at our tables, and attend our schools and play our handbells and wind up in the same hospitals at the end of their lives – but they might as well be 1000 miles away, so great is the distance that often separates their reality from ours.
When Jesus wandered into the region of Tyre and Sidon, He encountered a different world, with different people from those who were “His own.” This was the land of the Canaanites – the half-breed Gentiles who were so despised by the Jews. They used denigrating terms to refer to them – uncircumcised, Gentile dogs is the translation of their favorite term. Jesus is confronted by a woman. In His eyes, she would have been a three time loser - she was prohibited from speaking to him on three levels – race, gender, and status. Perhaps it troubles us that at first, Jesus plays out this conversation just as He would have been expected to play it out – He ignores her. Her first request is for mercy – for her daughter who was demon-possessed. He doesn’t say a thing. His disciples suggest that He send her away, and His answer to them is rather confirming of His thinking – “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” She doesn’t relent – she begins to bow down in front of him, begging for mercy saying, “Lord, help me.” He continues with His distanced posture – I personally think He didn’t so much answer her as He continued to speak to the disciples. “It is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” Even the Son of Man, our Lord and Savior, referred to her in the common language of the day – offering an accepted denigration of her existence as a person.
But then she uttered perhaps the most important words ever uttered – the hinge. I’ll tell you my reality on this passage. My life was forever changed when I watched the ABC movie presentation of the life of Jesus some years ago. My life was forever changed when the move came to this point in the story. It played out much the way I’ve just described it – Jesus played the part of the good, Jewish Messiah, and this woman continued to press Him for mercy – and then she uttered these words – “Yes, Lord; but even the dogs feed on the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.”
In the movie, Jesus paused for a moment. He had a bit of a surprised look on His face – a look as though this idea had never dawned on Him before – “Gentiles – receive My mercy? Non-Jews – receive My mercy? Women, as well as men – receive My mercy? Sinners – receive My mercy? Blacks and Mexicans and Chinese – receive My mercy? English and Spanish and Americans – receive My mercy? Thieves and murderers and harlots – receive My mercy? Rich people and poor people – receive My mercy? Heterosexuals and homosexuals – receive My mercy? People other than the children of Israel – receive My mercy???? And finally, He answered and said to her, “O woman, your faith is great; be it done for you as you wish.”
This scripture has stretched me this week. I have traveled far – farther than I ever thought I could travel in a week. I have traveled in my mind into the world of those who know a poverty that I can only suspect. I have traveled in my mind into the world of those who lack the mental acumen to cognate on the same level with most of society. I have traveled in my mind this week into what you and I casually describe as the dark world of sin and degeneracy. I have traveled far – and yet, I still cannot take us far enough to know the gulf that was traversed in this exchange between Jesus and this woman.
She is the hinge.
Her faith is the hinge upon which our faith hangs. Her faith opened the door to salvation to every person who sits in this room this day. I look around and I don’t see any of you who are Jewish. Before this moment in time, it very well may be the case that none of us had a hope of salvation. It may very well be the case that Jesus understood His mission to be only to the lost sheep of Israel, and that this encounter opened the door for us – for all of us.
I read Paul this week. At first I was just going to use the gospel as text for the sermon. But Paul says something – something that is profound, even by Paul’s standards. Chapter 11, verse 32 – “For God has shut up all in disobedience that He might show mercy to all.” On Friday, as I blogged some of my thoughts about this subject, I said, “You'd think by this time in my journey, I'd be confident on the point of whom God will save. I have come to grips with the concept that whoever is saved, God is the One Who does the saving. We can't save ourselves. I have a pastor friend, who when presented with the question ‘Pastor, don't you think pretty much everyone will ultimately be saved?,’ responds with the answer, ‘When it comes to that question, I find that I must separate my hope from my belief. My hope is that God will indeed save everyone - but my belief is that there's more to it than that.’
Generally, that's where I fall on the theological scale - I suspect that there's more to it than that, and that at least part of the equation involves some response on our part to the love of God. But then, this week, I am confronted by two ideas. One of them, the actual words of the Apostle Paul - Romans 11:32, where he says, "For God has shut up all in disobedience that He might show mercy to all." Paul says "all." So part of the question hinges upon what your definition of "all" is. The other part of that question hinges upon what your definition of "shows mercy" is.”
I can’t answer all of those questions. All I can do – all any of us can do – is to do exactly the same as this woman. We turn to Jesus for mercy. We recognize that if there is mercy to be found, we will find it in the words and comfort of Jesus. We go to Him, and we ask for mercy. Then we beg for mercy. If we have to, we argue with our Jesus for mercy. We do all that we can do in the confidence that He will do what He must and will to save us – and to show us mercy.
Three years ago, on this passage of scripture, I suggested that grace and mercy are two sides of the same coin. There’s a third side to that coin – it’s the concept of forgiveness. I need to preach a sermon on forgiveness sometime soon – if for no other reason than to straighten out my own theology. I think we would be hard pressed to argue which comes first – grace, mercy, forgiveness – I do know this – the three of them are intimately related.
Sister Tracy was in a bit of a panic on Friday, looking for the perfect illustration for her sermon on forgiveness. I don’t blame her – she loves good stories, and she’s really good at telling good stories. As the much older, much stodgier brother, I submitted again and again to her that the greatest story of forgiveness is the story of Jesus’ forgiveness of us – of you and me.
This day, we pause to thank Jesus for hearing the pleas of a woman who, according to the law, had no business asking Jesus for anything – mercy, grace, or forgiveness. Aren’t we glad He listened to her?
Richard W. Dunn, Ph.D.
posted by the sojourning pilgrim | 8:13 PM
2 Comments:
Have forwarded this link to several friends, though it preaches better than it reads....
Apostle Paul - Romans 11:32, where he says, "For God has shut up all in disobedience that He might show mercy to all." Paul says "all." So part of the question hinges upon what your definition of "all" is. The other part of that question hinges upon what your definition of "shows mercy" is.”
Check the King James Version. It says that God converted all Jews back into unbelieving Gentiles, thus ending the Jewish -Mosaic economy for ever. After that God could show mercy to everyone alike, because the Jews, just like the Gentiles, could come to the Father but only through faith in Jesus Christ.
mac
mac@tribulationhoax.com
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