Speaking and Listening
A Sermon on Mark 7 24-37 and James 2:1-17 for Season of Creation 2, 2024
Mark 7:24-37 and James 2:1-17.
In today’s Gospel reading, we find Jesus healing two very different people in two very different ways, and they are tied together by a beautiful, uncomfortable and challenging interweaving of listening and speaking.
I usually send out my Sunday sermons on Saturday morning for St Paul’s people who won’t be able to get to church, and also for clergy friends who might be in need of sermon ideas. Please make use of anything that is useful for you and leave anything that is not. You will continue to receive emails in the Faith of our Mothers series each Tuesday.
It starts with Jesus withdrawing, crossing into gentile territory, seemingly because he needs a break from the pressures and conflicts he has experienced among his own people. He wants to be alone there – to have a break from all the voices incessantly calling for him to do something, to use his power to feed, to heal, to release. He needs to rest and recover before heading back into what he knows will be the hardest year of his life.
We all know what that’s like, don’t we? When we just really, really, really need a break. When we see something ahead that will require all our wisdom, all our energy, all our resilience, and we know we need to look after ourselves so we will be able to do what we are called to do for others.
We know what that’s like. Jesus knows what that’s like too. Jesus understands.
But in his place of retreat, he is brought face to face with someone who not only demands his healing power but who also demands that he reassess his mission. A Greek woman makes these demands of him.
Gentiles don’t get to make demands on the Jewish Messiah! “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs!”
Listening and speaking. We are there too. As we listen to this passage being read, as we read the words on the page, we are part of the listening and the speaking. We listen to Jesus speaking words of racial insult to a gentile woman, and we freeze. Because most of us are also gentile women, and most of us also come to Jesus to ask for his help with our children’s needs.
Would he also call us dogs?
Everyone knows that I love dogs. If someone accused me of being like a dog, I would take it as a compliment. But first Century Jews did not welcome dogs as companions into their homes the way we do. They thought of dogs as impure animals. Dangerous animals. And of course dog breeds were very different 2,000 years ago.
It was a racist insult. There is no getting around that. So, how are we hearing that? How are we responding to that? Do we feel uncomfortable, maybe even a little fearful?
Good, we are listening. That is the appropriate way to respond to any racist insult, any time we hear it. The first step toward genocide is always to dehumanise the group we wish to destroy. That’s why Hitler spoke of exterminating the groups of people he hated. “Exterminating” is what we do with cockroaches. And when we hear political leaders talking about their enemies like they are animals or insects or viruses, we know where that is heading.
We know that trajectory. So it is scary to hear Jesus use that language. It is good to notice our discomfort: To let ourselves feel it. Because there are so many people who are not here this morning because they feel exactly that discomfort. People who believe they wouldn’t be welcome here this morning. People who fear Jesus might not want them here because of who they are or because of what they have done or because of how they look. People who have gained the impression that church is not for them.
Our reading from James shows us that even in the first century, churches were making some people feel welcome while they were pushing others away. Rich people were being given preferential treatment. People who seem to have more to offer were being made to feel more welcome than people who turn up with nothing but their need of Christ.
We know this Gospel story ends well but we should not rush to the end. There are things to be learned by sitting in the discomfort. There is compassion and understanding to be gained here.
A lot of people over the years have told me that they don’t dare come into church because the roof might fall on them. I have often joked that we could give out hard hats at the door. But it is not a joking matter to be someone who thinks God wants to hurt them. I have no personal experience of ever feeling that way, but I can imagine. I can place myself in the position of this woman who has just heard Jesus call her a dog. And when I imagine myself in her place, it is impossible for me to imagine answering Jesus back the way she did.
She is such a hero!
She challenges Jesus. She changes Jesus’ mind. She teaches Jesus and expands his understanding of his mission. That would have taken more wisdom and courage than I could manage.
She is a hero.
And you know who else is a hero?
People who challenged the church over its complicity with the slave trade.
People who challenged the church over its refusal to ordain women.
People who challenged the church over its covering up of abuse.
People who are challenging the church over the rejection of rainbow Christians.
People who are challenging the church over its failure to fully repent and repair after the harm done to Aboriginal and Torres Strain Islanders over the past 250 years.
There have always been a few such heroes around, and this little story reminds us to honour them. To celebrate them. As Jesus did.
You can read more about this story in the reflection I sent out on Tuesday in the Faith of Our Mothers series.
But now let’s look at the other story of healing in Mark 7.
This one is not comfortable either! But it is uncomfortable in a completely different way – it is a bit disturbingly graphic, with Jesus putting his fingers in a man’s ears and mouth.
We know from other healing stories in Mark, including the one we have just looked at, that Jesus is perfectly capable of healing people from a distance, without touching them. So why is this story different?
I can’t say I have the one definitive answer to that, but it seems to me that Mark tells it this way to get our attention: to make sure we know that THIS IS IMPORTANT! Listening and speaking are vital in any community.
Anyone who has lived with impairment in their hearing or speech knows how isolating it can be. My left ear has been blocked for a few months – a little parting gift from Covid – and I am finding it so hard to keep asking people to repeat themselves. And this is – hopefully – a temporary challenge. The thought of living with complete hearing loss at a time many centuries before the development of hearing aids is truly scary. It is very hard to remain fully integrated in a community if you are unable to listen or speak.
So, Jesus releasing a person from that burden, enabling them to hear and speak clearly – maybe for the first time – that is a miracle story worth telling in graphic detail! I suspect, though, that Mark gives this story prominence for its symbolic importance just as much as its literal importance.
Community life is seriously impaired when any member of the community is unable to listen or is prevented from speaking. We need to hear everybody – and everybody needs to listen. We all need Jesus to heal our tongue so we will speak only that which is loving and kind. And we all need Jesus to heal our ears so that we listen out for the people who tend to be ignored. With the healing of tongues and ears we are at least halfway to a completely reconciled, renewed and restored community.
And the symbolism in this story goes further than that. It seems to me that one of the things that stops us from listening well is the constant din of background noise. That was probably the case, even in the first century when this Gospel was written but is so much more of a problem now. We can know what is going on anywhere in the world at any time.
We are constantly bombarded with such a jumble of information
– some true, some not – how do we tell?
And if we speak our mind openly, we can be sure of all sorts of criticism coming back at us
– some helpful, some not – how do we tell?
And those of us with soft hearts are constantly aware of all the needs of the people around us, so many thousands of voices crying out for help
– some we are able to help, some not – how do we tell?
And even as we experience the reality of climate change in a year which is likely to be the warmest on record, there is still a lot of confusion swirling around about how to interpret and respond to this.
With our brains trying to process all that information all at once all the time – no wonder we sometimes have trouble hearing the small voice creation, or even the small voice of the person right in front of us. Don’t we all sometimes need to ask Jesus to stick his fingers in our ears, to remove all that exhausting background noise so we can attend to what is most important? I know I do.
Sometimes we can become better listeners by reducing what we hear.
Next week I will be co-leading a retreat for clergy. It will be a largely silent retreat – to give exhausted clergy the gift of silence so they can attend to the most important things. But there are simpler ways to give ourselves that gift. We can go for a walk in the bush. Or we can spend an evening at home with the television off and the phone on silent and find joy the absence of entertainment.
Our ears need a lot of rest and a lot of healing.
And then there is our tongues.
This story is at the end of the first half of Mark’s Gospel, just before the big turning point where Peter declares Jesus to be the Messiah. At this point Jesus is telling people not to talk about him. He needs a bit of anonymity at this stage, so he can spend time teaching his disciples, and not be distracted by the crowds. But when we get to the end of this Gospel, after Jesus has died and risen, the women who discovered the empty tomb are told to tell the others that he is going ahead of them. Their tongues have been released. The time of silence is over. Now is the time to speak.
But they don’t.
They can’t.
Because they are afraid.
And that’s where this Gospel ends – with people given a message to communicate but being afraid to speak it. And that is where this Gospel leaves us, too, isn’t? With good news to announce to the world, but with lips shut tight through fear.
And so, we need to come back to this story, and come back to Jesus – individually and as a parish community – to ask him to touch our tongues and release us from fear, so that we can go out and tell our community the good news about the risen Jesus who is still releasing, still healing, still reconciling, restoring and renewing. Amen.
With Love from Rev Margaret
ps. I won’t be preaching next week but there will be a Faith of our Mothers post on Tuesday.