This Canaanite woman shows us the power of persistent faith in God’s abundant mercy that is for all people. Despite Jesus’ reaction to her, she courageously trusts that he shows the face of that divine compassion.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 20 A
Text: Matthew 15:21-28

Beloved friends in Christ, grace and peace to you, in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sometimes when we read stories in the Bible, we wonder: Did it really happen like that? Did Jesus really say those exact words? When we hear this story from Matthew, about Jesus dismissing a woman begging for his help, comparing her to a dog, we might be tempted to say, “No way. Someone misheard him or wrote it down wrong. Jesus certainly didn’t say that.”

Interestingly, some Bible scholars think that unflattering stories about Jesus are actually more likely to be historically accurate. Why would Jesus’ own followers invent stories that make him look bad? And, let’s be honest: this story makes Jesus look bad. It makes him look indifferent at best, and downright cruel at worst.

But Matthew isn’t the only Gospel writer who tells this story; Mark does, too. Jesus did and said a lot of things during his thirty-some years on earth that didn’t get written down, didn’t get passed down to us in scripture. But this did. So we are invited to ask: what do we learn about God through this passage? If Jesus shows us the face of God, what face do we see here?

For one thing, we learn that Jesus was human. In this story, as in others throughout the Gospel, we see some of the emotional experience of Jesus, who was a real person. A person who got tired, angry, sad. A person who ate, wept, bled. It can be easy to forget that. In light of the “fully divine,” it can be easy to forget the “fully human”

In the context of this story, Jesus is worn down. He’s been clashing with authorities, and recently, his relative John the Baptist was publicly executed. Jesus has been trying to get some time away to process his grief, but he’s in high demand, so he’s been caring for people constantly, healing and feeding and teaching. Maybe he’s just tapped out, and he doesn’t feel he has the capacity to help this woman.

This woman who is also a very real person. That can be easy to forget, too. We learn so little about her; we don’t even get her name. We learn only where she’s from and that she’s a mother to a daughter, who is also real, and is suffering acutely.

If you’ve seen the news this past week, you’ve seen faces that look just like the face of this nameless woman. In the text she’s called a ‘Canaanite,’ or a ‘Syro-Phonecian,’ names of ancient empires that sound foreign and far away. But the region where she lives, near the cities of Tyre and Sidon, is about 40 miles south of Beirut, in present-day Lebanon.

This week, as Lebanese faces have flashed across my screen – faces in shock from a massive explosion that should have been prevented, faces enraged by the corruption and neglect of their government, faces desperate for help as they navigate an economic collapse, faces covered by masks in an attempt to survive a global pandemic – as I’ve seen these faces, I’ve wondered: Are any of these very real people the descendants of that woman who knelt before Jesus, descendants of her daughter who survived thanks to her tenacious faith?

Because, you know, in some ways, it is as easy to forget the realness of those people as it is to forget the realness of this nameless woman who lived 2000 years ago. It is easy to turn off the news, to turn away from those Lebanese faces, to think to myself, “We have plenty of our own problems here, plenty of our own shock, and rage, and need. We have our own economic collapse and rampant pandemic to deal with. I do not enough compassion or charity left to offer to those foreign faces, when I am already struggling to meet the need in my own neighborhood.”

And then I know something of how Jesus might have felt when he said, “It isn’t fair to give to the Gentiles what belongs to the Israelites.” Except he didn’t say it quite so diplomatically.

He’s been clear that his mission is to the Israelites. When he sent out his disciples as missionaries, he told them: “Don’t even bother to go to Gentile cities; we’re focused on the ‘lost sheep of the house of Israel.’” And they repeat that now. This woman is not a sheep of Israel. She’s a Gentile. It’s as though Jesus and his disciples tell her: “It’s not that we don’t care, but there isn’t enough to go around. We have our own problems, and you’re not our people.”

In some ways, it isn’t Jesus’ statement that’s shocking. Jesus might have expected ‘Canaanites’ like this woman to think just as dismissively of him, a Jew. The antagonism and suspicion between these groups was mutual and longstanding.

And don’t we know what that’s like. 2000 years and a world away isn’t enough to make the reality of prejudice seem surprising. Don’t we know how cultural, racial, geographic, economic, political barriers can seem obvious and intractable. Don’t we know how easy it is to treat someone who looks different than us, who speaks a different language, who practices a different religion, to treat them like they are not our people so they are not our problem. Or, even worse, to treat them like “dogs,” not just with our name calling, but with our actions. In many ways, Jesus’ statement to this woman is not the surprising part of the story. That’s the part we already know, in our own context, our own lives.

The surprising part of this story is her. This woman, who knows when shout and when to kneel. This woman, who knows that, despite her social status, she matters. Her daughter matters. Their lives matter. This woman, who knows that the pull she feels in her heart, to go toward Jesus, to reach for him, is good and right and true. She knows a savior when she sees him. And even when he ignores her, denies her, derides her, this woman knows that God’s mercy is abundant. When Jesus says, “There’s not enough for you,” she says, “Oh yes there is! There is always enough.”

She may not have heard Jesus tell the parable about how the kingdom of God is like yeast that catalyzes rising dough. She may not have seen Jesus’ feed thousands with only a few loaves of bread. But still she knows that even crumbs at God’s table are more than enough. The bread of life does not run out.

That is the shocking part of this story, and boy is it good news. Despite all the challenges of this passage – the questions it raises, the discomfort it causes – the good news sings out anyway, in the voice of an nameless woman: God’s abundant grace is for everyone, and there is always enough to go around!

As soon as he hears it, Jesus knows she’s right. Of course, of course he has healing for her daughter. He says her faith is “great,” and it is great: admirable, heroic, steadfast, resolute. One might even say dogged. Her dogged faith, her persistence before Jesus, tears down any barrier that might have stood between him and her. There is no ‘his people’ and ‘her people,’ Just people, real people. Like the faces we see in need in our own neighborhood, like the faces we see in need across the world.

May we, too, have faith dogged enough to tear barriers between people. That doesn’t mean that we have to respond to every disaster you see on the news. Even when we’re not navigating a pandemic, compassion fatigue is real, and right now, everything feels exhausting. That also doesn’t mean that we have to love this story about Jesus. You can always keep wrestling with scripture. God is big enough for all your questions.

What it does mean to have dogged faith is that you never give up on living as though God’s grace is abundant for every single person, because it is. When you hear the message that “There’s not enough to go around. There’s not enough h for her, or for her, or for her” you say, “Oh yes there is! Through God there is.”

Jesus leaves this conversation with the woman revived and recommitted. He immediately heals and feeds so many people that there are mass conversions. The woman’s great faith was well-placed after all. Jesus was who she thought he was: the savior of the world, the bread of life that never runs out, the incarnate one who shows us the face of God. And God is not prejudice or rejecting. God’s mercy abounds and overflows into the whole world. God loves the whole creation, no exceptions.

This nameless woman knew that truth. She saw that love shining in the face of Jesus, and, despite the pain in her life, despite the reality of her circumstances, and she trusted that love. We can trust that love, too.

Amen.

God meets us in the wilderness places, providing what we need and equipping us for the journey.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 18 A
Texts: Genesis 32:22-31; Matthew 14:13-21

Grace and peace to you all, in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Jesus just wants a little time away.

He’s just received some devastating news about the death of his relative John the Baptist, a man whom Jesus admired greatly. It isn’t necessarily unexpected news: John’s popularity and outspokenness had long irritated the local ruler, Herod, who’d had John imprisoned.

Still, even if John’s death had been a long time coming, this had to have been tough news for Jesus and his disciples – not only because they’d lost an influential teacher of the Gospel, but also because John’s execution served as a reminder. It’s dangerous to be on the wrong side of those in power. It can cost you your life. That’s a lesson Jesus certainly won’t be able to forget.

Although he just wants a little time away to process this news, crowds of people end up following him way out into the wilderness, to “a deserted place,” as the text says. The crowds are hungry to hear Jesus’ healing words, to feel his healing touch. And then, as the day wears on, they’re just plain hungry.

All these people have walked a long way, and now everyone realizes there is no good plan for supper.

No one packed picnics. There are no food trucks. They can’t drop by the nearest falafel joint. Thousands of tired and hungry people gathered way out in the middle of nowhere. How will the mood shift when they realize they’re in for a long night without a meal?

The disciples get nervous and tell Jesus it’s time to send the people away. Let them travel back to their villages and buy their own dinner there. But Jesus feels differently. Sometimes the wilderness is exactly where you’re meant to be. “They don’t need to leave,” he says, “We’ll just feed them here.” “Here? We have nothing here,” the disciples respond, holding up a few loaves of bread and prepared fish. Too meager a meal for even a few, let alone a crowd. That may be so… but not in the hands of Jesus.

Have the disciples already forgotten all those parables that Jesus told about the abundance of life in God?

The kingdom of God is like a tiny seed, Jesus had said, that grows into an untamable shrub. It is like a pinch of yeast that transforms flour into rising dough. It is like a fishing net that is unable to contain the weight of its copious catch. Life in God expands and overflows. In God’s realm, there is enough for everyone!

When Jesus had told the disciples those stories and asked them, “Do you understand what I’m telling you?” they’d said, “Yes, sure, we understand.” So why don’t they know that in the kingdom of God, a few loaves and fishes can become a meal for thousands, with leftovers besides? Why do they see scarcity where God can create plenty?

Perhaps it’s the gnawing hunger in their own bellies. Perhaps it’s the growing anxiety in their own hearts. It can be easy to trust in God’s provision when it’s a story about someone else, when it’s just a metaphor about a farmer or a fisherman. It’s harder to trust in God’s abundance when you’re tired and hungry. It’s harder to trust when you’re far from home and night is falling. It’s harder to trust when you’re coping with news of death and violence and your own future feels uncertain.

Despite the disciples’ fear and doubt, God-in-Christ is right there with them, present with them and providing for them.

Providing for everyone, actually. Jesus makes a way where there seemed to be no way. Somehow, out in that deserted place, with so few provisions, there is healing and food to go around. The text says “all were filled.” Everyone gets what they need.

It’s an encouraging reminder that God can provide even when there seems to be so little, even when the wilderness surrounding you seems so barren.

Actually, today we heard two stories of God’s unexpected provision in the wilderness, because this is also Jacob’s situation in the Genesis reading.

Jacob, too, has traveled a long way and finds himself out in the wilderness as night draws near. He has sent his household caravan ahead of him, so he is empty-handed, without supplies. Jacob is journeying to meet his brother, Esau, the same brother he deceived and stole from, the same brother he’s been avoiding for years. Jacob must have been nervous, wondering how that reunion would go. Facing an uncertain future, Jacob is left alone in the dark, alone with his fear and doubt.

Except, of course, he isn’t really alone; God is there with him in the wilderness.

And, again, God provides. Certainly not in the way Jacob expects, though. God shows up like a force to be reckoned with. Sometimes when God meets you in the wilderness, you will be healed and fed, and sometimes, you will be wrestled to the ground and irreversibly changed – but both can be gifts.

Jacob leaves that mysterious encounter with a limp. But he also leaves with a blessing and a new name. Like the crowds who followed Jesus into the wilderness, Jacob gets what he needs. His future is still uncertain, to be sure; he still has to face the consequences of his past and the realities of his future. But he can be confident that God goes with him into the unknown. He can know that, even in the darkest wilderness, God is present and God provides.

I know for many of you, these last few months have felt like a journey into a barren wilderness.

Perhaps you have faced nights when all you are left with is your exhaustion and longing. The news is so scary, the future is so uncertain, and you’re so unprepared. So much has been taken away that it’s hard not to focus on what’s missing, not to be aware of what you don’t have.

Out in that deserted place, the disciples looked at their situation and told Jesus: “We have nothing here.” But of course, they didn’t have nothing. They had five loaves of bread, two fish, and one savior whose love for them could conquer anything– scarcity, fear, even death.

You have that, too.

No matter what has been taken away from you, no matter what you’ve lost, no matter what you’re hungering for, no matter how uncertain a future you face, your savior is present with you, right now, right where you are. There is no wilderness place, literal or spiritual, that is so remote that God won’t meet you there.

And however little it feels like you have to contribute, it is enough for God to work with.

Like Jesus did with the disciples, putting that food in their hands that they might share it with others, God can work miraculous generosity through your hands, your actions. Like God did with Jacob, transforming him and guiding him that he might become an ancestor of the faithful, God can use your life, your story to tell of God’s goodness and mercy.

So, when you’re out there in the wilderness feeling like you have nothing left, feeling like you have no idea what comes next, trust in God’s abundance. Know that even in the wilderness, it is enough for you, enough for everyone, enough forever.

Amen.

God’s vision for our world is like an abundant garden in which there is plenty for all. We become part of that vision by reflecting God’s generous love in our own lives.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 15, year A
Texts: Romans 8:1-11; Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

Dear friends in Christ, grace to you, and peace, in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus tells this story about four different kinds of soil. There’s the soil of the road that’s been packed down and is too hard for seeds to take root in. There’s rocky soil that only allows for feeble, shallow growth. There’s thorny soil that’s too crowded with competing weeds. And then there’s good soil, in which the seeds can take root and be nourished and grow.
And hearing this story, naturally we want our hearts to be all good soil, all of the time, right? We want our spirits to be fertile ground in which God’s word can flourish, filling our lives with the bountiful fruits of the spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness.

But, maybe if you’re like me, you’ve noticed that some days lately, the soil of your heart does feel a little packed down, trampled by the constant bad news day after day, wearied by the isolation of quarantine. Maybe, some days, the soil of your heart feels a little looser, and a seed or two starts sprouting, but they don’t get very far because the rocks of grief and anger and dread limit how deep the roots of those little shoots can go. Or maybe some of your heart soil has been invaded by the prickly weeds of distraction that start crowding in and pulling your heart away from the truth of God’s voice.

Have you had any of those experiences? Have you wanted to be like the Psalmist who says to God: “I incline my heart to perform your statues forever, to the end”? (Psalm 119:112, NRSV) But then you realize that forever is a tall order. Eventually, your heart wanders in other directions, and looks less and less like that good soil of obedience to God’s word.

There’s a temptation to judge yourself, to imagine that if you just tried harder, you’d be all good soil all of the time. You just need to tend to your plot a little better. Maybe you can add a little fertilizer of extra prayer, or do some serious weeding of confession, or if things are looking really ugly, maybe you need to rent one of those giant tillers to dig everything up and just start over. It’s easy to think it’s your fault if the soil of your heart isn’t all healthy and fertile.

But the truth is: that kind of self-condemnation has no place in the Christian life. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. That’s what Paul writes in Romans. The Spirit of God dwells in you, giving you life! You’ve been set free by God’s grace! So Jesus isn’t telling this story about the seeds and the soil because he wants to highlight your failure, because he wants to condemn you for finding some rocks or thorns in the plot of your heart.

Listen to what Jesus says: God who is love has sown these seeds. The great gardener is doing this work in you. This isn’t an exacting farmer, carefully choosing the best soil, the most deserving soil, in which to plant these precious seeds. This sower is extravagantly, ridiculously generous. There are plenty of seeds, so many that they can just be thrown anywhere and everywhere. It’s like that joke about Oprah giving away prizes to everyone in her audience: “You get a car, and you get a car, and you get a car!” That’s how this farmer treats all kinds of soil: “You get seeds, and you get seeds and you get seeds!” You don’t have to earn the gift of God’s word. God’s word is given for you, and for you, and for you.

If that sounds like an inept, maybe even wasteful, farmer, that’s because this farmer isn’t concerned with efficiency. This farmer is willing to plant the seed of God’s word in any and all kinds of soil. No matter what the soil of your spirit looks at this particular moment, there is always the possibility of growth. And it doesn’t take much! The tiniest seed with the tiniest roots can grow into a plant that bears fruit. And then, it multiples exponentially, thirty-, sixty-, hundred-fold increase! It’s not just the farmer that’s extravagant, so is the growth! The yield is lavish! Plants that grow into more plants that grow into more plants – and all these yield fruit that creates more seeds.

According to Jesus, that’s what life is like when God is in charge: a wild and overflowing garden. There’s no miserly calculation of who deserves the resources of God’s grace. It isn’t about harsh condemnation of those who are undeserving or inadequate. In telling this story, Jesus describes a God who is recklessly generous, and whose dream for our life together is one in which there is not judgment but generosity, not competition but compassion. There is plenty and richness for all: all people, all creatures, all creation.

In this time we face of economic and social crisis, when so many people are out of work, when food lines are long and health care bills are high, and we are given the message again and again that other people getting enough will mean less for us, when we are told that there isn’t enough health care, or stimulus money, or jobs to go around… in this context, we need to remember that God’s vision for our world is radically different than that zero-sum outlook. God’s vision is the abundant overflowing garden. God’s vision is seeds for all kinds of soil, over and over again. God’s vision is a bountiful harvest.

You are a part of that vision. Whatever state your spirit is on a given day. Whether you’re feeling dry, or rocky, or weedy, or covered in compost and full of nutrients, you are a part of that vision. God, the tender gardener, isn’t waiting to condemn you but to transform you, to bring about radical new growth in you. We say at Mount Olive that we are “always in the presence of God,” so don’t doubt that this magnanimous God is, right now, cultivating that transformation in you, even on the days when it doesn’t feel that way. And boy there are days lately when it doesn’t feel that way. Yet, we are – always – in the presence of God.

We also say at Mount Olive that we are “always being the presence of God.” That’s your part in this vision, too. God’s word has come to you as gift. God’s word has grown in you as blessing. What will you do with that yield? How will your life reflect God’s boundless grace? Don’t be afraid to go out and sow love with the same reckless abandon that you’ve seen in God. There are plenty of seeds, more than enough. And in sowing more, we make more. Or, rather, God makes more, and for that, we rejoice!

Amen.

When you commit to the Gospel, you commit to take up the cross and follow the way of Jesus. That way can be uncomfortable and costly, and yet, it is the way of life.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 14 A
Text: Romans 7:15-25a; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace, in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Let’s set the scene for this Gospel text. Jesus had recently sent his disciples out as missionaries to bring the Gospel to new communities. Some places had been receptive to their message, but some places had just run them out of town. John the Baptist, who was in prison, heard rumors about the stir that Jesus and his disciples were causing. John sent concerned messages to Jesus, who responded by saying: “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me” (Matthew 11:6). It seems clear that some people were indeed taking offense at Jesus and his teachings.

That’s where our Gospel reading today picks up today. Jesus is frustrated! He’s frustrated that some people refused to listen to John the Baptist, refused to listen to Jesus, and refused to listen to his disciples.

Instead of receiving the message, people were criticizing the messengers, saying: John the Baptist was too strict; Jesus is too wild! If Jesus had known the story of Goldilocks and the three bears, he might have compared these people to Goldilocks grumbling that ‘this porridge is too hot; this porridge is too cold!’ Instead of really hearing the Gospel teaching just as it is, they were waiting until it felt just right. They were waiting for it to be comfortable on their terms.

The lectionary actually cuts out Jesus’ harshest words of condemnation. The Gospel writer says, “Jesus began to reproach the cities in which his deeds of power had been done, because they did not repent.” Jesus names some of those cities by name: “Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida!” (Matthew 11:20-21). Jesus concludes: It would have been better if they’d just brought the Good News to someone else.

No wonder some people were offended! This is not a warm-and-fuzzy Jesus. This is a turning-over-tables Jesus. Can you imagine being called out like that? Can you imagine Jesus saying: “Woe to you, Minneapolis! Woe to you, St. Paul! Other people took the Gospel seriously and repented. Why didn’t you?”

You can see why the lectionary left those lines out. It’s uncomfortable to listen to the Jesus we find confusing or offensive! Sometimes we just want to skip ahead to the Jesus we find relatable or reassuring. Sometimes we, too, want the Gospel message to feel just right. We don’t want to sit in the discomfort of realizing that, even though we don’t live in Chorazin or Bethsaida, a word of conviction might come for us. We might be reminded that we have not been listening to God. That the same God who offers us reassurance, also calls us to repentance. The same God who offers us comfort, calls us to transformation. Sometimes change is uncomfortable, so we’re tempted to just avoid it.

It’s important to realize, though, that Jesus isn’t just angry when he cries woe on certain cities. He’s sad. We don’t use the word “woe” very often, but the Greek word here is used throughout the New Testament. It’s a cry of frustration and dismay. It expresses sorrow that the inevitable consequences of an action will not be good. My seminary professor liked to translate this word as ‘alas!’ “Alas for you, Chorazin! Alas for you, Bethsaida!”

Jesus isn’t cursing these cities; he’s grieving. Jesus is distraught that they didn’t accept his teachings, that they didn’t change their hearts when they heard the message of the Gospel. He wants them to listen. He wants them to hear. He wants them to change. Jesus is bringing good news, even if it’s hard news. Discipleship might be challenging but it’s worth it. Jesus wants good for these communities who are rejecting him.

But Jesus doesn’t give up on even the most recalcitrant of people. That’s just not Jesus’ way.

He knows that his message can be hard to hear, That it can sound backwards. Jesus is teaching the way of sacrificial love that will lead him to death on a cross. That way will looks like weakness to those who have been considered powerful; like foolishness to those who have been considered wise. Jesus’ teachings resonated instead with those on the margins, those who suffered, those who were poor in wealth or poor in spirit; those who truly were truly hungry and thirsty for righteousness.

So Jesus offers the invitation again: “Come to me, you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens.” The strong and powerful, the intelligent and successful, they might have missed it. But if you’re tired and weighed down, this good news is for you. If you’re lost and afraid, this good news is for you. If you’re struggling and hurting, this good news is for you. If you’ve been labeled an outsider, this good news is for you. If you feel like you’ve failed, this good news is for you.

And what good news it is! Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you, and I will give you rest.” Taking on the yoke of Christ, following the teachings of Jesus, brings rest for the soul. Who among us is not longing for that right now? Those who come to Christ are be received not with condemnation, but with gentleness.

No wonder Jesus is grieved that so many have rejected such a gift! Alas, alas, for them! This promise of Jesus, this gift of soul rest, is for those who follow Jesus’ teaching, who take up his cross. You can’t wait for the Gospel message to feel just right. You can’t think, “I’m strong enough to do this on my own, without God.”

But you can come just as you are, with all the mistakes, shortcomings, and burdens you bring with you, and you can put those things down at the feet of Christ. You can put down the despair that has been weighing on you.

Then you can pick up the yoke of Jesus’ teachings. You can love your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself. And that sounds hard! That is hard.

But you don’t carry that weight alone – no one carries a yoke alone. You are yoked to Christ, who bears it with you, You are yoked to one another, the community of believers, You are yoked to the great cloud of faithful witnesses who have come before you. You are never alone, you are never left behind, not even when you stumble.

As the apostle Paul says in Romans, even when you can’t live up to being the person you strive to be, when you end up doing the things you don’t want to do, and you can’t do the good you do want to do – even then, Christ is your rescue! Even then, you stand in God’s grace. Even then, you are filled with God’s holy spirit. God’s mercies are made new again and again, forever.

It turns out that the yoke that seemed so burdensome is light. It turns out that the love of neighbor that seemed so demanding is rewarding. It turns out that the journey of discipleship that seemed arduous is filled with joy. It turns out that the cross that brought death is the way to life.

You are invited to that life, you who are weary and weighed-down. You are invited that rest, the kind of soul-rest that revives you for the rest of the journey. You are invited to follow the way of Christ. It will change you and it will cost you, and it will also save you over and over again.

Amen.