We depend to a great extent on the work of biblical historians to help us understand the scriptures better – to get a sense of the context, the best interpretation of language, and the authenticity of the many ancient manuscripts that are available. And I learned something this week that I have to share with you, something that these historians use in their work: the criterion of embarrassment.
The criterion of embarrassment says this: if a story in the bible is something that is, potentially, kind of embarrassing, then it’s probably true. Some of the stories in the Bible might not have happened quite the way they are written. But if they are embarrassing, then they probably did happen like that. Because why would they make up something that might make Jesus, his followers, or the church, look foolish?
By that standard, I think the story of Jesus healing the deaf man is authentic, because it’s a silly image. Jesus sighs, like he’s on his last nerve, and then does some weird stuff with fingers and ears and tongue and spit. Who would make that up?
And by the same standard, the story of the Gentile woman who schooled Jesus has got to be real.
It is uncomfortable that he stands corrected by a woman, a Gentile woman at that. Just prior to this he was traveling through Galilee with his disciples, taking questions and criticisms from the Pharisees. The Pharisees, who were regarded as the authorities on religious matters, surely felt confident of their abilities in an argument with a common Nazarene like Jesus. But time and again they found themselves on the losing side. Again and again, we learn higher truths when Jesus corrects the religious authorities.
So it is surprising and even hard to accept when a Gentile woman corrects Jesus. But perhaps it really shouldn’t be too surprising.
A clear thread that we see running through the scriptures is that humans are vulnerable to being corrupted by power. We are forever wanting to take power into our own hands, and to assert power over other people, but the story of the Bible, from beginning to end, is that all power and glory is rightly attributed to God. and whenever power is put in our hands, it should be understood, this is through God’s goodness and for God’s purposes.
Yet, it is just so hard to keep that perspective. Power makes us giddy. It makes us greedy for more of it. It makes us say ridiculous things like, “I, alone, can fix this.”
Jesus had the power of God in him. People could see that, and they hungered for it, to meet their needs. They wanted healing and feeding and comforting and salvation. They wanted wholeness. Shalom. They were constantly coming to him, wanting and needing, begging and pleading, because Jesus had the power of God.
But Jesus was tired.
At the moment this Syrophoenician woman found him, he was trying to hide. But she found him, she bowed low before him, she begged him – for the sake of her child. “Take this demon away from her, please.” His response to her is cruel, calling the woman and her daughter dogs. Yet, she, this powerless woman, has an answer to him. “Even the dogs under the table get to eat the children’s crumbs.”
And her words shifted Jesus’ perspective. Now, we know, he is seeing her as fully human, created by God and loved by God.
And this is the Jesus we know and love, isn’t it? The one who colors outside the lines, all the time. The one who shows us there is no boundary on God’s love, and that peace – God’s shalom – belongs to all, not just some.
In truth, there is no peace and wholeness for any, unless it is available to all.
And so as we begin our season of peace this morning, I want to say this one thing: Peace begins when we look at the whole human family as beloved by God and, of course, worthy of our love. Peace begins when we learn to look at another human being who is in need and see a reflection of ourselves.
May it be so.
Picture from ChurchArt.Com
