By
Paul Mugane
A Commentary on the Sabbath
School Lesson for April 30–May 6, 2005, "The Passion
Predicted"
The story of the Syrophoenician
woman breaks the pattern of all the encounters Jesus has in
the Gospel of Mark. The previous encounters happen around
Galilee and Capernaum, close to his home. Until we get to
this narrative, Jesus has managed to overcome every hurdle
placed in his way. He has prevailed against sickness, demons,
and the multitude’s hunger, and he has exposed every
well-thought-out argument of the Scribes and Pharisees as
theological snobbery and foolishness.
Then Jesus travels north
to Gentile country, and there he encounters a native woman,
and for the first time he loses an argument, indeed, he seems
to learn from this woman. Thus, the question at the onset
of the lesson seems to ignore what the evangelist has established
so far, and I hazard to change it from "Why did Jesus
talk to the Syrophoenician woman as he did?" to
"Why did Jesus set himself up to lose an argument to
this woman?" If he had to lose an argument, wouldn’t
it be better to lose to the Torah scholars than this beggar?
The last question above
betrays a particular notion common to all ages. In general,
most of us have a need to be associated with people of "importance,"
and if one is to lose face, it better be to someone of "greater"
importance. For example, in sports, if the team I love loses
a playoff game, I want it to lose to the eventual winner of
the championship.
The Scribes followed Jesus
around, for he demonstrated some skill above their own: "they
were astonished at his teaching, for he taught them as one
who had authority" (1:14). Though their confrontations
were argumentative, they were nevertheless in the company
of an individual of renown and were occupying front row seats
in the unfolding drama that was his ministry. They had the
currency of access. If Jesus’ behavior did not offend
them so much, I venture to think they would have gladly offered
him membership in their club.
There are three healing
stories in the Gospel of Mark that all involve women, and
I think they should be taken together. The context of these
stories is best understood when one remembers that women were
among the voiceless, invisible, and powerless people of the
time. A woman’s worth was attached to a man, first to
her father then to her husband. In marriage, her wish and
prayer was that she would honor her husband by bearing a son.
In the first story, proper
cultural decorum is observed, when Jairus, a father, and a
"leader" in the synagogue, one who had access, comes
to plead for his daughter. The second story happens in the
procession toward Jairus’s home, whereby a woman not
identified as a Jew or Gentile, married or not and at the
point of despair for being chronically sick, pushes her way
from the margins. She hopes to get relief, albeit by stealth.
Jesus validates her initiative by acknowledging her. He gifts
her access.
In the third story, the
lack of access has markedly escalated. Traveling to the northern
region, Jesus encounters a woman who has come from the societal,
geographical, and religious margins, and she throws herself
at his feet, pleading for healing on behalf of her demon-possessed
daughter. This is exactly opposite to the encounter with Jairus.
However, this display of disregard to decorum is the pivotal
point in this Gospel for Jews and the Gentiles.
This is a transitional
moment, for she makes a claim to Jesus equal to that of the
insiders, asserting, in fact, that Jesus is the healer of
both the Jew and the Gentile simultaneously. There is no hierarchy
here, just simple equality. No one community should have a
person like Jesus all to itself. Moreover, word about Jesus
had come to her country long before he got there. Jesus concedes
her point, seems to rethink his initial resistance, and grants
her prayer. In this story, Jesus travels to her (the margins)
to afford her access.
There is another lesson
here, one that’s not too palatable for many of us. The
lives at the margins have lessons to teach us. The Syrophoenician
woman comes from a position of powerlessness and prevails.
She had nothing to lose in the onlookers’ eyes, but everything
to lose in the death of her daughter. Moved by the "womb
thing"—or compassion—she risks embarrassment
and shame to save her beloved daughter. Human wisdom is thwarted,
where victory comes from lowliness, weakness, and dependence
on another, and the joy of blessings come from persistent
vulnerability.
Jesus was also transitioning
the Disciples’ thinking from their expectation of a powerful
king and, in their thinking, the probable "cabinet"
appointments that awaited them. Jesus was demonstrating that
regardless of one’s station in life, the important thing
is to act out of compassion for others with a determination
that will accept neither the despair of the status quo nor
any loss. The victory that comes from such a pursuit is granted
by God and it’s granted over powerful forces of alienation,
oppression, and injustice, whether human or otherwise.
In predicting the passion,
Jesus was pointing out similarities between this woman and
himself. Having lowly origins, he would be ostracized and
appear weak, vulnerable, and doomed to meet the fate of a
common thief or dog. But like this courageous woman, he would
gladly accept this Cross because he was moved to act by compassion
for the Scribe, the Pharisee, his Disciples, and, yes, for
the "nations" or Gentiles—one and all simultaneously!
To be actuated by compassion for others comes
with the price of "a" cross, for at times one must
stand apart from societal, economic, political, religious,
and theological multitudes and speak up for God’s people.
One must also include where others would exclude and resist
with all one can muster the despair of the status quo or the
loss of any soul. Thus, God bids us go and through compassion
transform our communities into the "new creation,"
where "shalom" or "wholeness" of the other
is at the core of our coexistence.
EMAIL THIS ARTICLE
|
