Lectionary Commentaries for September 8, 2024
Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost
from WorkingPreacher.org
Gospel
Commentary on Mark 7:24-37
Courtney V. Buggs
First Reading
Commentary on Isaiah 35:4-7a
Lisa Davison
Although this week’s reading technically falls within the chapters of First Isaiah (Isaiah 1–39) attributed to the 8th-century prophet Isaiah of Jerusalem, most scholars agree that this salvation oracle comes from a later time period and was added by the final redactors of the book. In fact, some have even suggested that Isaiah 35 was intended as a “bridge” between the pre-exilic warnings of coming destruction and the exilic promises of restoration.
If this is the case, then the author(s) of these words would have been familiar with the words of Isaiah of Jerusalem (and perhaps even Isaiah of the Exile), thus dating the composition of this text to a time no earlier than the very late 6th century or early 5th century BCE. Based on this theory, the historical backdrop for Isaiah 35 would have been the post-exilic period when many of the Babylonian exiles had returned to Jerusalem, but the full restoration of the Jewish community had not yet been realized. The need for a hopeful vision of the future remained strong.
As 21st-century believers, we read Isaiah 35 as part of the whole book of Isaiah. The arguments for a later date are very strong, but what if this oracle was spoken in the 8th century BCE? The tendency of many scholars is to declare any hopeful words found in the pre-exilic prophets to be from a later hand. They seem unwilling to entertain the idea that, among words of judgment, prophets could also express the possibility of a better future. There is no reason to make this conclusion. After all, most of the biblical prophets were really optimists (like the Holy); they believed that people could change and that the future had not yet been determined.
By sending prophets, the Divine was always providing a way for people to make different choices and to return to the covenant they had with the Holy. Prophets were the equivalent of the Divine tossing humanity a life-preserver, an opportunity for them to save themselves from a future of feeling exiled from the Divine. Even when that exile became a reality, the Holy would hold out an invitation to come home.
The words of Isaiah 35 paint a picture of how the Holy will extend this invitation, bringing life out of barrenness. “A highway shall be there … a holy way” (verse 8). When the present seems to be a vast wilderness, the Divine will transform that lifeless landscape into a place blossoming with joy and abundance (verses 1–2a). The least likely of places, the desert, will become as bountiful as Lebanon and as awe-inspiring as Mount Carmel, and the desert will sing of the Divine’s glory and majesty (verse 2b). Those who have lost all hope can trust that the Holy can transform their weakness into strength and wipe away those things that make them fearful (verses 3–4).
When the highway out of desolation appears, all must be ready to make the journey. The prophet has the audacity to proclaim that the Divine will provide vision for those who cannot see, understanding for those who cannot hear, mobility for those who cannot walk, and voice for those who cannot speak (verses 5–6a). Whether these promises are meant to be taken literally (for example, the blind will be able to see) or metaphorically is not clear in the passage. What seems to be most important is that the Holy will remove all obstacles (real or perceived) that might prevent someone from being able to accept God’s invitation to return home.
Reading verses 5–6a with a contemporary lens, we might ask: Who needs a vision of a new way into the future? Perhaps those with power need this way of seeing. Maybe those who are unable to envision a way out of the circumstances that keep them in the throes of poverty. Who needs to hear in new ways? Perhaps leaders who refuse to hear the cries of the oppressed because they are awash in greed. Maybe those who have been unable to hear any good news because the Bible has been weaponized against them.
Who needs to move beyond their current inability to walk in a different path? Perhaps those who have maintained the status quo because it seems too dangerous to step out in faith. Maybe those who are captive to systems that declare their very existence to be “alien.” Who needs the ability to speak of an alternative path in the wilderness of life? Perhaps those who sit in seats of privilege and have forgotten that they must speak out on behalf of the silenced. Maybe those whose protests are squashed before they have a chance to speak of their experience as those who are outside the “norm.”
While such a journey into the future might seem fraught with danger—with lions and beasts, oh my!—this prophetic oracle assures the people that they will be safe (verse 9). Those who accept the Holy’s invitation to return will reach their destination. Their homecoming will be a time of joyful singing.
This vision for the future would have been welcomed by both those who were facing possible destruction and those living on the other side of the tragedy. It is a message that continues to speak to anyone who needs assurance that, no matter how bleak things may seem, the Divine’s invitation is always there.
The prophet’s words paint a picture of a new way of living in covenant with the Holy, our neighbor, and ourselves. It may seem overwhelming at times to imagine the barren places of our life renewed and the arid times we encountered filled with water. But in Isaiah 35:4–7, we find the possibilities of how things can be if we trust in the Holy and take the journey.
Alternate First Reading
Commentary on Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23
Megan Fullerton Strollo
This pieced-together pericope from Proverbs offers the reader a clear message for those functioning in capitalist markets in any time and place: material wealth is not the key to a wise and fulfilled life.
The “book” of Proverbs is more correctly identified as an anthology or, rather, an anthology of anthologies. It contains several collections of sayings and instructions. The date and provenance of these collections are wide-ranging, and their influences include ancient material from Egypt, Persia, and Mesopotamia. Despite its amalgamated construction, Proverbs offers us a relatively straightforward ethical standard, one that
- promotes the welfare of the poor over and against the benefits of the rich,
- seeks to elevate the household as a paragon for society, and
- is ordained by God, who has created the world and all things in it.
The current pericope (22:1–2, 8–9, 22–23) is a micro-amalgamation, being a small selection of nonconsecutive verses. In fact, scholarship generally marks chapter 22 as a split between two larger collections in Proverbs. The first 16 verses of chapter 22 make up the end of a large collection known as the “Proverbs of Solomon” (10:1–22:16). Proverbs 22:17 begins a new collection: the “Words of the Wise.” This latter collection extends to 24:22.
Delineating these collections is important, as they likely have different provenances. The collection attributed to Solomon (10:1–22:16) most likely contains the oldest proverbs and sayings in the whole book—some dating perhaps to the 10th century BCE1—making it a core around which the other collections are assembled. It can be further divided into two sections. The first (10:1–15:33) has a high density of antithetical (contrastive) statements and focuses on the question of the benefits of a life guided by wisdom. By contrast, the second section (16:1–22:16) contains reiterative and synthetic or complementary statements. Though still reviewing the benefits of wisdom, it covers a larger variety of topics, including many statements about kingship and court life.
The third collection, the “Words of the Wise” begins at 22:17. This section likely dates to the 8th–7th centuries BCE and bears a strong connection to the Egyptian Instruction of Amenemope (13th century BCE, 19th Dynasty), an instruction of 30 sayings for young men who would become bureaucrats.
Although encompassing two larger collections, the verses selected from chapter 22 all relate to matters of wealth and poverty. What’s more, this pericope speaks quite directly to those in positions of power and privilege. In its historical context, these verses were likely meant to be instruction for young people about to enter into public (prominent) society. For readers in all times and spaces, the proverbs remind us that God is and always has been on the side of the poor and disenfranchised; if we are to live wisely (in other words, according to God’s will), we should be too.2
The rest of this commentary will provide a closer look at the proverbial sayings in this pericope:
Verse 1—The free agency of the individual is notable here; the establishing of one’s reputation (Hebrew shem, “name”) is something that a person prioritizes in life over the accumulation of wealth.
Verse 2—The relatively lower value placed on wealth (as compared to reputation or regard) in verse 1 leads to the proverb here. Through the use of a perfect verb, the Hebrew imagines a meeting or coming together of two people, one rich and the other poor. The juxtaposition reveals a key theological truth: God is maker of all. This is not a question of origins, but of value: God places value on all people, regardless of their economic situation.
Verse 8—This is not a statement of punishment, but rather an affirmation that actions beget consequences. The meaning of “rod” (Hebrew shevet) here is of a hand thresher or flail, consisting of a wooden handle on which hangs a shorter stick that swings freely. Laws of physics come into play, more than human will or control, when using such an instrument. In other words, the consequences of one’s unjust and evil actions are beyond one’s own control.
Verse 9—The New Revised Standard Version’s translation of the Hebrew here gets to the point, but sidelines a beautiful and poignant Hebrew idiom. The Hebrew tob-ayin (“good eye”) refers figuratively to those who are generous. In contrast, a “bad eye” (Hebrew ra-ayin) refers to one who is stingy with money (Proverbs 28:22; Sirach 31:13). In the cultural spaces out of which this proverb comes, the “eye” revealed a lot about a person’s character. The term tob (“good”) had a broad range of meaning, including “good,” “kind,” “pleasant,” and “generous.” The sharing of sustenance in the second half of verse 9 suggests “generous” as an appropriate sense of meaning. “Happy” (Common English Bible) is a weak translation of the verb here; a more theologically poignant translation would be “blessed.” God’s ordination to help the poor comes out in this verse.
Verse 22—The admonitions here speak to a specific action as opposed to a general prohibition. The reason for the first admonition—“because they are poor”—is most likely meant to inspire compassion rather than pity. Rather than being the reason someone would rob the poor (implying their vulnerability to a trap), the proverb contends that it is especially evil to rob the poor. In other words, as Michael V. Fox puts it, “because a lowly man is lowly, do not rob him.”3
Verse 23—The pericope closes with a culminating theological statement: God is on the side of the poor, the downtrodden, the marginalized. Not only that, but the legal imagery here implies that God serves as their defender and advocate in the face of injustice (see verse 22). As above (verse 8), the proverb does not speak negatively of divine punishment, but rather positively that God will stand by the poor against those who are unjust and who, consequently, place the poor in peril. It is a serious matter, made all the more emphatic by the placement of “life/soul” (Hebrew nephesh) at the end of the phrase. If one is to follow wisdom, they, too, should be on the side of justice (see also Proverbs 31:20).
Notes
- The final compilation and editing of the entire book of Proverbs likely took place in the postexilic period, or the 6th–5th centuries BCE. The framing sections of the book, namely chapters 1–9 and 31, are most certainly postexilic compositions.
- See Working Preacher commentaries by this author for Proverbs 1:20–33 and 31:10–31 for feminist connections to this passage.
- Michael V. Fox, “Part IIIA: Proverbs 22:17–23:11,” in Proverbs 10–31: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 707–733. (New Haven: Anchor Yale Bible, 2009), accessed June 3, 2024, http://dx.doi.org/10.5040/9780300262124.0008.CH003.
Psalm
Commentary on Psalm 146
Joel LeMon
Talk of politics and government are in the air these days. They are even in the lectionary.
As the U.S. approaches a presidential election, many of us are wondering how we can achieve a just, secure, and prosperous society. Who can take us there? What sort of leader do we need to realize this vision for our land? These questions are not unique to our own time. Long before American-style representative democracy, people were thinking about what good government looks like and how leaders can create just societies. In fact, Israel’s prayers in the Psalms reflect an intense concern with the issue of creating and sustaining just societies.
The psalms and politics: The royal psalms
So what is the biblical witness? What does the Bible say about right governance? A group of psalms called the “royal psalms” provide a witness to what a just government looks like in the context of the ancient Near East (Psalms 2, 18, 20, 21, 45, 72, 89, 101, 110, 132, 144, though there is some argument about which psalms belong in this category). In short, the royal psalms envision a king, divinely appointed and authorized, whose responsibility is to secure justice within the land. Some of these royal psalms present the actual words of the king in prayer. We find him pledging to rule with integrity, pledging to maintain his own righteousness, and claiming he will administer the government so as to foster righteousness throughout the land (for example, Psalms 2 and 101).
In this context, righteousness means that the poor are cared for, unjust systems are rooted out, the oppressed have an advocate in the highest office. The king stands ready to take up the cause of the poor, especially when the wealthy and powerful would seek to take advantage of them; the king guards the poor from oppression and abuse.
The royal psalms also include prayers for the king. These texts also show us what the king’s ideal governance looks like. In Psalm 72 we hear these words:
May he judge your people with righteousness,
and your poor with justice. (verse 2)
For [the king] delivers the needy when they call,
the poor and those who have no helper.
He has pity on the weak and the needy,
and saves the lives of the needy.
From oppression and violence he redeems their life. (verses 12–14a)
The psalms have a notion that this sort of righteousness in the highest office will yield prosperity broadly across the land. When justice and truth are the priorities of the government, the land will be fruitful and the economy will hum right along.
The psalms present a picture of a just king who is also strong—very strong—one who ensures security as well as righteousness and prosperity. The king enjoins the full power of the state to bring about justice for all those who suffer violence. Again, Psalm 72:
May he defend the cause of the poor of the people,
give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor. (verse 4)
These oppressors may be internal, but more often in the psalms they are external, understood as foreign powers hostile to God’s people and purposes. Indeed, as much as we read about the king promoting justice within society, we read even more about the king as uniquely positioned to execute violence in the name of God for the protection of the people from external threats. In short, the royal psalms present a clear picture of a strong leader of a just government.
So, despite the difference in time and location, many of us concerned with issues of government and power might look at the psalms and recognize that we’re looking for roughly the same things in leaders: persons with integrity, compassion, and strength to bring about a righteous society. In fact, this vision of leadership resonates broadly across the modern American political spectrum.
The psalms and politics: The hallelujah psalms
This discussion of royal psalms is important background for understanding the lectionary text of Psalm 146, which is the first of another group of psalms, the five that conclude the Psalter. These are sometimes called the “hallelujah psalms,” because each begins and ends with the Hebrew phrase hallelu-yah. Grammatically speaking, this is a command, an imperative statement addressed to a community that we can translate “All y’all must praise!” Who gets the praise? Yah, a shortened form of the divine name. Halleluyah means “Hey, everyone, praise Yahweh.” Praise the Lord.
The hallelujah psalms can be interpreted as a reframing of the royal psalms and their notion of a king’s just governance. Coming as they do at the end of the Psalter, the hallelujah psalms put the royal psalms in a whole new light. In their constant calls to praise Yahweh, these psalms upend and replace any confidence one may have in any earthly king. Instead, we find here the exaltation of Yahweh alone. The Psalter concludes with the celebration of the sole kingship of Yahweh, which stands over and against all other sources of authority in the world. No king, no human, nothing on earth or in the heavens can compare with God’s glory and power. At the end of the Psalter, all creation is called to praise Yahweh, the true and only king (Psalm 150).
In Psalm 146, the introduction to these final hallelujah psalms, Yahweh assumes the throne. Yahweh personally takes on all the duties of just leadership. All the kingly actions mentioned in the royal psalms become the actions of Yahweh. In verses 7–9 we read that
- Yahweh executes justice for the oppressed.
- Yahweh gives food to the hungry.
- Yahweh sets the prisoners free.
- Yahweh opens the eyes of the blind.
- Yahweh lifts up those who are bowed down.
- Yahweh loves the righteous.
- Yahweh watches over the aliens.
- Yahweh upholds the orphans and the widows.
- But Yahweh brings the way of the wicked to ruin.
The justice that was the king’s domain now belongs to Yahweh. Yahweh takes total responsibility here at the end of the Psalter. The psalm is insistent. It repeats its claim over and over: It’s Yahweh who does this kingly stuff. It’s Yahweh. It’s Yahweh alone. So, all y’all, praise Yahweh.
And it makes a further claim, in verses 3–4: Do not trust in princes. Don’t rely on them. Don’t lean on them. Nor should one trust a mortal (in Hebrew, ben-adam; literally, “a son of man”). There is no help in him. “Help” here in Hebrew is the word teshua. This is the word often translated “salvation” elsewhere in the Old Testament. This is “big-time” help, salvation from peril. And there is no salvation in a prince, nor a mortal.
The Hebrew syntax in verse 3 is wonderfully ambiguous. It could be read that there is no salvation coming from that mortal. It can also be read that there is no salvation coming for that mortal. The psalm claims that those princes, those most noble and celebrated in the land, have nothing at all to do with salvation, so don’t rely on them. They’re not getting saved, and they can’t save you. Instead, “Praise Yahweh,” argues Psalm 146. Yahweh alone reigns. Yahweh is the true leader and the one who administers a just government.
Political analogies and Psalm 146
What effect does a psalm like this have on those who sing it and pray it?
First of all, as we sing this song over and over again, we are disabused of our notion that any leader can inspire our ultimate trust. Our trust should remain in Yahweh alone. All other allegiances, all partisanship, all cults of personality—be they political, religious, or even academic—dissolve in light of this psalm. This is actually a difficult and painful realization. We are drawn to these “princes” or “princesses,” as the case may be. We clamor for their inspiring leadership, for all they stand for and all they have done, and for the way they can stir us with their words.
Yet the psalm says “No!” Yahweh alone emerges as the one who acts. And Yahweh acts in particular ways for particular people. Yahweh acts for the poor, the hungry, the prisoner, the oppressed, those who have no advocate, those outside the structures of power, the alien, those bowed down. These are Yahweh’s people. Yahweh doesn’t act on behalf of the princes. There is no salvation in any way associated with them. Princes don’t receive salvation, and they don’t give it either.
When we praise Yahweh, when we pray this psalm over and over, when we sing it, when we meditate on it, we as Yahweh’s people who praise find ourselves bound to Yahweh’s people who suffer, to those who are bowed down. When we come across the widow and the orphan, the oppressed, we recognize them from our songs. We realize: Hey, these are Yahweh’s people, and we are Yahweh’s people. We are wrapped up with these people through Yahweh. And if we are the oppressed, we can take hope that Yahweh’s mission is to bring justice for us.
When we truly praise Yahweh as king, that worship leads us necessarily to action on behalf of those for whom Yahweh acts. Our prayers, our songs of praise shape us. As we praise, we are inclined to seek justice and advocate for the poor. As we praise, the God we worship is shaping our politics.
Our worship of Yahweh as king inexorably draws us into politics, into the life of the community. Yet as we praise God, we also continually affirm that our trust is never in politics, never in politicians, in these princes of this world. We do not trust a prince, nor a mortal in whom there is no salvation.
A Christian approach to psalms and politics
When Christians praise Yahweh as king, the Holy Spirit reminds us there is a prince in whom we can trust, one in whom there is salvation. We have a Prince of Peace, the Son of Man, a faithful witness to God’s work of justice in the world. In our praise, we realize we are God’s people and that, as God’s people, we serve God’s suffering people. For as we praise, God is shaping us, shaping our actions, even shaping our politics. And because of our praise, we must act for God’s people, for those who are bowed down.
The power of the Holy Spirit orders us through our worship. Praising the King of kings teaches us how our actions can reflect God’s will and how we might realize God’s righteousness in our land.
Second Reading
Commentary on James 2:1-10 [11-13] 14-17
Kelsie Rodenbiker
James is a letter that does not pull any punches. The rhetorical style of this passage is not intended to comfort and assure, but to jolt readers into action. Where some New Testament texts appear to draw a distinction between faith and works, James is rather blunt on the issue: faith without actions that evidence that faith is not actually faith at all. In James 1, it is made clear that duplicity of being—dipsychos, literally being “double-souled” or “double-selved”—has an expiration date. Duplicity leads to doubt (1:6–8), unsteadiness (James 1:9–11), and being easily tempted (James 1:12–18). Those who are “doers of the word and not merely hearers,” on the other hand, endure, care for the poor, and are blessed (James 1:19–25).
Here in James 2, the author condemns favoritism in no uncertain terms. Where “pure and undefiled” religion (or worship, thréskeia) is caring for the vulnerable, the “religion” of the self-deceived is worthless, nothingness, in vain (James 1:26–27).
It is this extreme pronouncement of the uselessness of stagnant “religion” that leads into the present passage from chapter 2. Here, the author describes several unacceptable scenarios, addressing readers directly as “you.” A string of rhetorical questions follows each example, to which the answer is given in the asking. First, two people enter your midst: one obviously wealthy and the other obviously poor. If you treat them differently, offering a good seat to the rich person and demanding that the poor one sit at your feet, “have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts?” Answer: Yes (James 2:2–4).
Second, it is good to follow the “royal law according to scripture” to love your neighbor as yourself, but showing any partiality reveals you have still transgressed—stepped outside of—the law (James 2:8–10). “What good is it … if you say you have faith but do not have works?” Answer: It is no good at all (James 2:14).
Third, if you encounter someone without food or clothing—and we might add any number of vulnerabilities: homelessness, displacement, enslavement—and you pass by with simplistic well-wishes—as James puts it, “Go in peace, stay warm and eat your fill”—without providing peace, warmth, or sustenance—“what is the good of that?” Answer: Words alone are useless (Jamess 2:16).
The “royal law” of James 2:8 is drawn from Leviticus, central source material for both the author of James and the teaching of Jesus. In Leviticus 19, instructions are given that fields are to be left alone after the first harvest and not reaped up to the edges, so that poor and itinerant people can glean what remains, for “I am the LORD your God” (verses 9–10); stealing, lying, and swearing oaths are prohibited (verses 11–12); oppression, robbery, wage theft or withholding, and cursing or intentionally tripping up those who are deaf or blind are all forbidden (verses 13–14), as are injustice in court, partiality to anyone, slander, hatred, unreasonableness, and grudge-keeping (verses 15–18). Instead, “you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the LORD” (verse 18). This is what it looks like to follow the “royal law.”
The same instructions appear later, in the New Testament. In the Gospel of Mark, a grammateus, an official scribe or scholar, overhears Jesus debating with the Sadducees and challenges him to name the greatest commandment. Instead of a straightforward answer, Jesus provides two.
The first is the Shema, the central recited prayer of Judaism from Deuteronomy 6: “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength” (Mark 12:28–30; Deuteronomy 6:4–5). In other words, the Lord is whole, sound, unified; therefore, you should love the Lord with your own whole being. The second is, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:31; Leviticus 19:18). And “after this,” offers Mark, “no one dared to ask him any question” (verse 34).
In Matthew, the one who approaches Jesus is a Pharisee who is also an expert in the law. After a more clipped version of the two commandments, Matthew’s Jesus gets the last word: “On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets” (Matthew 22:34–40).
Just as duplicitousness is a fracture of being, favoritism—and therefore injustice—is a fracture of its own. Instead of showing partiality, we are to speak and to act as those who will be weighed not against an arbitrary law of legalism but against one of freedom and mercy, “for judgment will be without mercy to anyone who has shown no mercy; mercy triumphs over judgment” (James 2:12–13). Rather than unjust bias, oppressive and manipulative legal structures, and priority handed to those with the money to buy it, we must show mercy, because we know that “the Lord is full of mercy” (5:11). There is a crucial distinction between legalism and justice.
For the author of James, to show preference to the wealthy, especially those who performatively demonstrate their riches, while overlooking or even actively oppressing the lowly and poor is not only dishonorable but starkly revealing of a person’s rotten inner being. After all, “has not God chosen the poor of the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom?” Answer: Yes (James 2:5).
James has explained what faithful action entails. Faithful living, in this sense, is a two-sided coin: inaction is also faithlessness. Belief without works is not faith; conviction without action is emptiness. The author presents a challenge: show me your faith without action—I dare you—and I will provide confirmation of my faith through action (2:18). The rhetoric is clear: this separation is impossible, because faith works.
Today’s Gospel reading is a tale of two healings (Mark 7:24–30 and 7:31–37).
Jesus is on the move again, in the region of Tyre. He enters a house, hoping to be undetected. The first healing recipient is the nameless daughter of a persistent mother, a mother who will not be dissuaded. The second healing recipient is the nameless acquaintance of “they,” who beg Jesus to touch the man who is deaf with a speech impediment. In both narratives we get the sense of desperation and deep need. There is no question of Jesus’ capability to heal, but will Jesus heal?
While I workshopped this text with a group of pastors, they expressed their discomfort with the passage, specifically Jesus’ words. One pastor said, “I’m so distracted by Jesus’ exchange with the woman, I forgot that her daughter does receive healing. The story does end well.” More often than not, it is the reverse—we skip over the disturbing words so we can get to the happy ending. But the tension of the text is in the details.
The contrast in the healings is what Jesus says to the mother who entreats for her daughter, versus what Jesus does to the man brought by nameless neighbors. In the first case, the mother approaches Jesus at a time when he did not want to be noticed. He wanted to hide, and she shows up with a pressing need. It is healthy for the sake of ministry to seek alone time for refreshment, rejuvenation, and relaxation. Perhaps Jesus needed a moment. But somehow, she is made aware of his presence. The author carefully identifies her by her ethnicity, a Gentile of Syrophoenician origin (Canaanite, in Matthew 15). The reader must ask: What is Mark getting at here? Jesus is in Gentile territory.
She bows before him and begs on behalf of her daughter. Despite efforts by preachers and interpreters to tidy up Jesus’ response to the woman, the text says what it says: He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Some interpreters suggest that “dogs” is better translated as “puppies” or that it was common for Gentiles to be referred to as dogs. Neither of these explanations is sufficient to navigate the harsh refusal in Jesus’ words. The dehumanizing metaphor is jarring to many contemporary readers. We prefer to read past it to the happy ending.
The use of “dogs” to refer to this woman (and her community) recalls the derogatory terms used to describe Black women in modern society. Vice President Kamala Harris, former First Lady Michelle Obama, tennis extraordinaire Serena Williams, and Presidential advisor Valerie Jarrett are but a few women who have been publicly maligned with harmful language. These critiques target individuals, yet function to denigrate persons of African descent as a whole. To justify Jesus’ language makes room to justify comments and behaviors toward certain people-groups that today are misogynistic and, in some cases, xenophobic and racist. The metaphor is less than affirming in context, and even more so contemporarily.
And the woman talks back. In Matthew’s telling it is the woman’s faith to which Jesus responds, even as the disciples urge him to send her away. But in Mark’s telling, there are no disciples (visible) and Jesus responds to her words, not her faith: “For saying that you may go—the demon has left your daughter” (verse 29). It is her faith-full talk back that moves Jesus. She dares to speak on behalf of her people, to the “Lord” whom she knows can change her daughter’s situation. Jesus’ ministry of inclusivity is made visible when she talks back.
Many Christian ethicists tend to emphasize Jesus’ acceptance of those outside his ethnic group, rather than the details of this riposte. Feminist scholar Elaine Wainwright remarks, “The woman’s great faith makes possible a life free of oppressive restrictions for herself and for her daughter. The subversive power of this story goes far beyond the traditional boundary breaking.” Even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs. She will not be denied.
The details of the second healing account are quite different. Rather than peeping in on a conversation, we witness a series of actions with minimal words. Jesus has traveled to the region of Decapolis. There, some people bring a man who is deaf with limited speaking ability. Apparently, Jesus is no longer hiding from the crowd.
They beg Jesus to touch the man, and Jesus responds. Jesus takes him away from the crowd, puts his fingers in the man’s ears, spits, and touches the man’s tongue. He looks up to heaven and says, translated, “Be opened.” Immediately, he is healed, and Jesus issues a gag order that is ignored. “Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one, but the more he ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it” (verse 36). Can we blame them?! This was news worth telling!
The active physical engagement of Jesus with this man is such a contrast to the previous healing account. Yes, the daughter is healed, as is the man, but the pathways to their healing look different. Perhaps that is the point—the life of faith is not homogenous; every journey is distinct. At times it may look and feel unfair, unbalanced, even unjust. When we are tempted to compare our story with the stories of others, Psalm 146 helps shift our attention:
1 Praise the LORD! Praise the LORD, O my soul!
2 I will praise the LORD as long as I live; I will sing praises to my God all my life long.
3 Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals, in whom there is no help. …
9 The LORD watches over the strangers; he upholds the orphan and the widow, but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.
10 The LORD will reign forever, your God, O Zion, for all generations. Praise the LORD!
References
Allen, Ronald J., Dale P. Andrews, and Dawn Ottoni Wilhelm, eds. Preaching God’s Transforming Justice: A Lectionary Commentary, Year B. 1st ed. Louisville, Ky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011.
Avalos, Hector. The Bad Jesus: The Ethics of New Testament Ethics. The Bible in the Modern World 68. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2015.
Schussler Fiorenza, Elizabeth. Searching the Scriptures. Vol. 2. Herder & Herder, 1997.