A sermon by Sylvia Keesmaat, preached at Wine Before Breakfast on March 8, 2022.
They met in the borderlands.
He: a travelling preacher,
who fed those who were hungry,
healed those who were sick,
spent his time amongst the poor villagers of Galilee.
She: a Syrophoenician woman
from the wealthy district
of Tyre and Sidon,
a Greek woman,
cultured, well-heeled.
Her people had the power that mattered:
access to the seaports,
economic control,
a hand in all the trade that
passed too and from his land.
His people provided the power
that had no status:
supplies, labour, and cheap food.
His people kept in poverty
by her people.
Her people: the powerful,
his people: the exploited.
They met in the borderlands,
as he sought respite from the relentless
needs of his people:
needs heightened by the exploitation
caused by her people:
sickness caused by the lack of nutritious food,
mental illness caused by the uncertainties
and violence of poverty.
A hunger for food,
a hunger for justice,
underlying the needs
that shaped the rhythm of his days.
Perhaps here,
perhaps in this house,
perhaps in this liminal space,
there would be rest,
there would be peace.
They met in the borderlands,
as she sought healing for her daughter,
her daughter left at home,
lying in a proper bed,
not the straw pallets common
for his people.
She sought healing for her daughter
in a world where daughters were disposable,
not usually worth a trip to a healer.
Did she know already that
Jesus had healed the daughter
of a synagogue leader?
Perhaps.
They met in the borderlands,
the woman of high status,
lowering herself before
this peasant healer,
begging in a way
that she had never begged
for anything before.
Was this because she sensed
that she had already taken
more than her due
from his people?
Did she beg because of her shame in
asking for more?
She, who commanded
and it was done.
Was she worried
about a refusal?
Or did she assume
that healing would be granted?
Was she surprised at his response?
Was she surprised at the hostility?
Or did she recognize the justice
in his words:
“First let the poor,
those you have exploited,
finally be satisfied,
for it is not good to take their food
and throw it to the well-fed dogs,
who have always had enough.”
Perhaps she saw justice in his words.
For her response
accepts the rebuke:
“Yes, but even the dogs under the table
can eat the children’s crumbs,”
she says.
Even the dogs under the table
can eat the children’s crumbs.
She is willing to forgo a seat at the table,
willing to be counted among the dogs,
willing to accept the crumbs
that are usually all that the poor receive.
They met at the borderlands,
where she willingly gave up her status
for the healing of her daughter,
where he willingly recognized
her well-chosen words,
and offered the oppressor healing.
He challenged her, yes.
But she also challenged him.
Who changed whom in the borderlands?
But perhaps there was more.
For Jesus’ trek into the borderlands
is bordered in Mark,
by stories about food,
stories about crumbs,
stories about leftovers.
Did the woman know that Jesus
had previously fed far more than 5,000
people with five loaves and two fish?
Did she know
that the whole exploitive economy
on which her people relied,
was being undermined by this teacher,
this healer,
who was able to take crumbs
and turn them into a satisfying meal,
into abundance for all who came?
Did she know that this abundance
was more than they could ask or imagine,
that twelve baskets of leftovers
were carefully gathered up,
that in this economy all were fed,
and excess was carefully gathered,
gleaned for the feeding of those who still hungered?
Perhaps she did.
Perhaps she knew that
at the table Jesus set,
there was always enough,
always enough for the hungry,
always enough for the overfed,
always enough for those who need healing,
no matter who they are.
And if she didn’t know this,
Mark seems intent on letting us know.
For when Jesus heads back
out of the borderlands,
into the land of Galilee,
he once again provides bread.
This time there are more than 4,000 people.
This time he begins with seven pieces of bread
and a few small fish.
This time there are seven baskets left over.
Numbers have meaning in this story.
In the first feeding, Jesus creates abundance
out of five loaves and two fish:
a minuscule amount to feed so many.
And there are 12 baskets left over:
one basket for each of the twelve tribes of Israel.
The leftovers of Jesus’ abundance
are enough to feed all of Israel.
In the second feeding,
Jesus begins with seven loaves of bread.
Seven.
In the Bible seven is the day of completion,
of enough,
of fulfilment.
This time, instead of creating abundance
out of the crumbs of empire,
Jesus is working out of the abundance
of the reign of God.
Of course there is enough for all:
there always was.
And there are seven baskets left over.
Even after all have eaten there is abundance for all.
But that is not all.
There were seven Gentile nations
named in Deuteronomy 7
when the people entered the land.
Seven Gentile nations to be destroyed,
seven Gentile nations
who were not to be shown compassion.
Could it be,
that after Jesus heals this Greek woman,
that after a Syrophoenician woman
is offered the crumbs from the table,
that Jesus is making a statement
about the abundance of the kingdom
being for those seven Gentile nations as well?
If the 12 baskets of leftovers are the twelve tribes,
do the 7 baskets of leftovers represent the fulness of the Gentiles,
all welcome to share in the overflowing abundance
of the bread of life?
Perhaps the leftovers of Jesus’ abundance
are enough to feed the whole world.
* * * *
How do we read this story?
We who have much
and we who have little?
How do we live into this community
that Jesus is shaping?
A community of welcome
for oppressor and oppressed,
a community of abundance,
where those who live with crumbs
are offered abundance,
and those used to abundance
offer to be satisfied with crumbs.
What do we sacrifice so that
there is abundance for all?
They met in the borderlands.
He challenged her world.
And she challenged his.
Both went their ways
with a fuller vision
of the healing on offer,
with a new vision of abundance.
Perhaps the borderlands
is where we should be.
Amen.