Tenth Sunday after Trinity 2020

Lectionary Gospel reading: Matthew 15:21-28

Again and again, Matthew’s Gospel presents us with a stark contrast between those who recognise Jesus and those who reject Jesus, between those who submit their lives to him and those who set their lives against him. Here is one presented as being sent by God, by the god of the Jewish people, to call them back to living faithfully as a chosen people, the descendants of Abraham through whom all peoples will be blessed. And what we see is that those with power and influence, from Herod the Great at the time of Jesus’ birth to the Pharisees and Sadducees throughout his years of activity, seek to kill him, to silence him; while most unexpected people recognise him as the one sent by God, with authority. Magi travel from the east, from the empires who had carried Jesus’ ancestors off into exile, to pay homage. A Roman centurion, official of an occupying empire, appeals to Jesus to heal his servant. Two demoniacs in Gentile territory recognise him as Son of God. Crowds in Gentile territory bring their sick from across the whole region to be healed. And here in chapter 15, a Canaanite woman appeals to Jesus to deliver her daughter of demonic torment.

And so we find ourselves confronted by this strange exchange:

‘But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done to you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.’

What is going on here? I would suggest that Jesus is engaging this woman, and his disciples, in active learning. And there are four things we might also reflect on: what is, or is not, fair; who are the children; the food of those children; and who are the dogs.

First, what is or is not fair. The word Jesus uses here (kalos) conveys the sense of being beautiful, praiseworthy, of good that inspires others to do good. And he sets out the proposition that it isn’t praiseworthy or inspiring to give the children’s food to the dogs. It is an observation in search of a response.

Second, who are the children? The word Jesus uses here (teknon) refers to little children, dependent children, and is used to convey anyone—of any age—who lives in utter dependence on God. Not, automatically, every descendent of Abraham.

Third, the food of those children. The word Jesus uses here (artos) refers to bread, but conveys the sense of God’s provision for his dependent people. And crucially in the biblical narrative, God’s provision—whether manna in the wilderness or the feeding of 5,000 families having started with only five small loaves and two fish—God’s provision never runs short; there is always enough for everyone to eat and be satisfied, with excess left over.

Fourth, who are the dogs. The word Jesus uses here (kunarion) refers to a puppy, that is a dependent dog, in parallel with the dependent children. But a dog, nonetheless. And whereas the British consider themselves to be a nation of dog lovers, for whom there is little that is more adorable than a litter of puppies, for the Israelites dogs have an unhappy connotation. In three of the Psalms, David uses the imagery of a pack of dogs to describe those who attack him without cause, his enemies. But in the following generations this image is subverted, with dogs coming to symbolise agents of divine judgement. In particular, in the histories of successive idolatrous dynasties recorded in 1 Kings & 2 Kings, prophets declare that those who put their hope in wicked kings will die and their bodies be eaten by dogs, while in the very place of their wickedness the dogs will lick the blood of the wicked rulers. In Matthew’s Gospel, the Pharisees and Sadducees harass Jesus as the dogs harassed king David. But, also in Matthew’s Gospel, it is the Pharisees and Sadducees who are leading the people astray, and the Gentile dogs—the centurion, this woman—whose dependence on Jesus passes divine judgement on God’s own unfaithful people. Just like the parables, this account is working at multiple levels.

What, then, do we make of this contention that “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs”? The Canaanite woman rejects it, saying, yes, it is fair: there is enough. Jesus agrees.

On social media and in the news in recent days we have witnessed, yet again, the demonisation of desperate asylum seekers trying to cross the Channel in flimsy dinghies. They are, apparently, an invading army who are over-running us. It is not praiseworthy that we should have any empathy for their plight. It is not praiseworthy to suggest we might share our resources with them, because there is not enough to go round, and charity begins at home. We need to think about our own families first, for a change.

What would Jesus say in response to such a stance? In particular, what would Jesus say to those in this nation who call themselves Christian, who might agree with such nationalism?

No, you will not be praised for having empathy for asylum seekers. You will be unlikely to inspire too many others to join you. But, where do you want to invest your hope? With the rich, who warn that the immigrants want to steal your crumbs, while keeping the bread for themselves while others queue at food banks? Or with those who are utterly dependent on God’s faithful provision? With the powerful, who warn that immigrant whelps grow up to be vicious curs, while themselves devouring the flesh of the poor? Or with those sent by God to pass judgement on our indifference to the plight of our fellow humans? Will we share our bread, extend the bounds of God’s mercy? Will we live as those sent by God to preserve life, in a world in prolonged crisis?

Matthew’s Gospel presents us with a stark contrast between those who recognise Jesus and those who reject Jesus, between those who submit their lives to him and those who set their lives against him. Which choice will we make today?

 

Harvest Thanksgiving 2017

Deuteronomy 8:7-18 and 2 Corinthians 9:6-15 and Luke 12:16-30

Today is our Harvest Thanksgiving. Today, we come bringing food for the foodbank, recognising that the good gifts God gives us are for the relief of those in need as well as our own well-being; and recognising the injustice that results when, as a society, we choose not to look beyond ourselves. As we come, I want to draw out some principles from our readings that might help us to go deeper.

Turn with me to our reading from Deuteronomy. Moses has led the people through the wilderness, but will not be the one to lead them into the land that God had promised to their ancestors. So, Moses gives them his final words of wisdom. The first thing I want to draw out is the idea that the land God is giving them has within it everything they need, either directly or through resources to trade. Of course, it will require effort—God will no longer drop manna and quail into their laps; they will need to sow and reap, mill and bake; they will need to mine and smelt and forge—but the land itself contains everything they need. And I wonder whether we believe that the same is true of the ‘land’ God has settled us in, Sunderland, in the north east of England? Are the resources we need, if we are to flourish in this place, to be found in this city, this region, this nation? What do you think? Is what being true then and there also true here and now? Is this a good land too, or a scorched earth?

The second thing I want to draw out relates to the experience of plenty and the experience of need. Moses goes on to tell the people that the resources of the land will multiply. If you have a male goat and a few female goats, you will get a flock of goats. In an agricultural society and a trade-based society, resources tend to multiply, at least in the long-term. And Moses understood that there was an inherent danger in that: the danger that when we have plenty, we attribute it to ourselves. We believe that we deserve it, that we have earned it through our effort. And because we attribute plenty to ourselves, we must equally attribute lack or need as earned or deserved. Moreover, we must believe that the earth is not fruitful as abundant gift, and so we must compete for resources: which in turn casts those in need as a threat to our plenty. Moses confronts such a tendency head-on: all we have is a gift from God. At times we might need to lose everything to rediscover that in our inability to meet our own needs, God provides: and, in his mercy, the times that humble and test us may turn out, in the end, to do us good. We may be invited by God to experience such times, and may discover them to do us good. We do not, however, get to discover that for anyone else: we do not get to decide that having to rely on a foodbank will do other people good.

Where, then, do we experience multiplication? And where do we experience the humbling of vulnerability and need? Perhaps we experience both in our Iranian brothers and sisters, a community that has grown from one person to many. Their faith has greatly encouraged many of us in our faith. But their lack of resources has also become our lack of resources, our shared need: and our shared opportunity to experience God’s provision.

Turn with me to our reading from 2 Corinthians. The context of this passage is this: the church in Jerusalem is experiencing the hardship of a local famine, and Paul is mobilising the churches he has planted in Greece to send financial support. They have been blessed—spiritually—by the church in Jerusalem; now they can bless them—materially, in this instance—in return. The church in Corinth had committed to give a certain amount, but were now struggling to raise it. Paul encourages them to give as they have made up their mind to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, but cheerfully and as a way of entering-into God’s abundant provision.

Each year, the Bishop of Durham writes to the parish churches of the Diocese asking them to prayerfully consider what they will contribute to the shared cost of providing ministry across our communities. The Parochial Church Council has agreed that we will give £30,000 this year, and the same amount next year. In fact, we would like to give more, but in considering our circumstances as a congregation, this is the amount that we believe is enough beyond our financial resources to require faith while not being beyond the faith we have at present.

This is, indeed, where we find ourselves. Financially, we are behind on our target; but we have faith that it is what God would have us give, and that God will provide. Indeed, I know that this is a congregation that knows God’s generosity and has been set free to be generous ourselves, because again and again I am blown away by the generosity of the Minster congregation. But we need to talk about our financial commitments and needs, because we have a turnover of committed givers who move on, or have died, and new people joining our community.

Even as we bring generous gifts to help those in need of food, this passage from 2 Corinthians gives us the opportunity to think about our committed financial giving. There are two things you can do. The first is, if you do not at present give a regular, committed donation—that is, giving that enables us to plan a budget—then please consider doing so, and talk to Sandra. If you already give, thank you. Please review your giving regularly. You may be able to increase it, cheerfully; you may need to reduce it, if you are to remain cheerful, in order that it doesn’t become burdensome: what matters is that it is an active decision you can act on.

The second thing is this. On Sunday 3^rd December—Advent Sunday—we will be holding a Gift Day, on which we will celebrate the generosity of this place and this people, expressed in the giving of our time, our skills, our money. We will take up a collection towards our Parish Share, and I invite you to prayerfully consider what God might be asking you to contribute, over-and-above your regular, committed giving, and to bring your gift that day. More on that to come.

Finally, turn with me to our Gospel passage, from Luke. The famous parable of the rich fool, who hoarded his wealth for himself instead of blessing others; contrasted with God’s abundance on display in the goodness of the land. I am struck by God’s words to the man whose land produced abundantly: ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’

I think we assume that God says this because the man will die that night—and indeed, that is implied. But I wonder whether his demise is incidental, or, rather, simply becomes the point at which it is too late to change? I wonder whether the point of the story is this: that our life is demanded of us by God continually—not as slaves, but as covenant partners in creating a society marked by loving-kindness and steadfast fidelity and mercy and justice. And that, therefore, all the resources we have been given are always to be shared: so, we are to continually ask, who else will benefit, who will share in what we have? In this way—all that we are and all that we have freely given to God—we discover ourselves to be truly rich. And discovering this may we increasingly be known for ‘blessing our communities in the name of Jesus for the transformation of us all.’*

*this, from the Durham Diocese mission statement.