Mercy
A Sermon by the Reverend Mother Crystal J. Hardin on the Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost (B), September 5, 2021.
Isaiah 35:4-7a, James 2:1-10, 14-17, Mark 7:24-37
A recent article claims that:
[There is hardly any Christian concept] more unnerving yet more urgently needed today than mercy–a word steeped in Scripture yet almost biologically encoded into human nature; a word deceptive in its seeming softness, for beneath its surface radiance lurks a dark core: the very concept of mercy only exists because of and as a counterpoint to our capacity for cruelty. . .
Without cruelty, there is no mercy. [1]
Mercy is often translated, scripturally speaking, as steadfast love. In this way, mercy, the counterpoint to our capacity for cruelty, ensures that our love is not cheap. That our calls for justice are not cruel, are not self-serving. That our faith is not fickle.
Mercy costs something, sometimes, it costs everything, because to hold both mercy and justice in your heart and mind is to follow the way of the cross. It is to truly see your neighbor, to seek to know your neighbor, and to love your neighbor, not so that you might change them, but so that you might be changed. So that the world might be changed.
Famed novelist Toni Morrison, in her eulogy for James Baldwin, remarked:
I never heard a single command from you, yet the demands you made on me, the challenges you issued to me, were nevertheless unmistakable . . . : that I work and think at the top of my form, that the world is before me and I need not take it or leave it as it was when I came in, and that I stand on moral ground but know that ground must be shored up by mercy. [2]
This concept of mercy is explored again and again in Scripture and in our liturgies. This morning, our Collect reminds us that God never forsakes those who make their boast of God’s mercy. In James we are assured that mercy triumphs over judgment. And in the Gospel of Matthew, which also contains the story told in today’s Gospel, Jesus commands us: Go and learn what this means: I desire mercy and not sacrifice (Matt. 9:13).
And yet, what then do we make of Jesus’ interaction with the Syrophoenician woman? Jesus, who walked in love –Jesus, the very Son of God, whose property it is always to have mercy (BCP 337). This same Jesus who, in today’s Gospel, speaks a discordant and severe word.
The Syrophoenician woman approaches Jesus and calls for mercy. She is a mother with a suffering child, and she has thrown herself at the feet of Jesus. And Jesus at first ignores her. And when he does speak, well, it’s hard to hear. He essentially says that He isn’t for her, He didn’t come for her, she is not within the purview of His mission. And He calls this woman a dog.
What are we to make of this?
Interpretations of this passage abound, of course, because it is unsettling. Attempts have been made to domesticate it, contain it, to frankly make it less embarrassing. Many of them are theologically sound and Spirit-led. And yet, seemingly at odds with one another like this passage is seemingly at odds with so much we know about Jesus.
In seminary, we were taught Biblical exegesis; to thoroughly examine a text from every possible angle and then to submit a singular thesis-driven, well foot-noted, paper of considerable length to our professors. As a former attorney, you can trust that both the length and number of footnotes in my papers exceeded expectations.
In rabbinical schools, the exegetical process is a bit different. Students are asked not to develop a singular understanding from their research but a dozen understandings of the same passage to the end of approaching the Word of God from a variety of perspectives, including understandings that may be diametrically opposed.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks takes this exegetical discipline to the next level when he applies it to the practice of living in community. He says, “The supreme religious challenge is to see God’s image in one who is not in our image.”
Jesus commands us: Go and learn what this means. I desire mercy. And the Syrophoenician woman pleads (literally in the Matthew’s telling of this meeting) she pleads: Have mercy on me, Lord.
In this moment, the Good News of Jesus Christ intersects with a particular claim on that Good News. A claim that the Good News should be and is truly Good News for everyone, even those to whom the world wants us to believe that we are diametrically opposed. Not our people. Not our way. Not our mission.
Have mercy on me.
a Gentile, not of the house of Israel
a woman, with little status or protection
alone, no protector or representative, all propriety out the window
undeserving, needy
Have mercy on me.
She is not in their image, and she demands to be seen. Sure, I’m not one of you. Not even close. Perhaps I am a dog, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table (BCP 337).
Where’s my Good News?
Where’s my seat at the table?
Isn’t there enough to go around? I’m in desperate need of what only you can give.
And thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy.
And it is in this broken and vulnerable posture that she herself extends mercy and preaches grace to Jesus Himself.
In the words of one preacher: “Sometimes it takes a nobody to remind somebody that anybody should be loved by everybody.”
Sometimes it takes a nobody to remind somebody that anybody should be loved by everybody.
Bryan Stevenson, founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, writes:
There is a strength, a power even, in understanding brokenness, because embracing our brokenness creates a need and desire for mercy, and perhaps a corresponding need to show mercy. When you experience mercy, you learn things that are hard to learn otherwise . . . You begin to recognize the humanity that resides in each of us. [3]
As we learn and practice mercy, we are opened to the truth –there is no other, there is only us.
There is no other, there is only us.
Jesus sees the Syrophoenician woman, hears her, and changes His mind, both about her and about His mission. She is no longer other. Just beloved.
Her faith which embraces her brokenness provokes mercy on the part of our Lord.
Jesus who had just traveled far from home into foreign and potentially unsafe lands, putting himself and those around him in a vulnerable position, allows her, an outsider, an other, to teach him that God’s purpose for Him was far more expansive than he thought.
Go and learn what this means: I desire mercy and not sacrifice. And Jesus went and Jesus learned.
Thanks be to God, this is the Jesus we follow; a Jesus who throws open doors and widens gates; a Jesus who calls us to open our hearts to a mercy that will transform us; Jesus, Son of God, whose property is always to have mercy.
Amen.
[1] Maria Popova, “Hallelujah Anyway: Anne Lamott on Reclaiming Mercy and Forgiveness as the Root of Self-Respect in a Vengeful World,” Brainpickings, https://www.brainpickings.org/2017/04/10/hallelujah-anyway-anne-lamott-rediscovering-mercy.
[2] CJ Green, “Moral Ground Must Be Shored Up by Mercy: In Memory of Toni Morrison,” Mockingbird, 6 Aug. 2019, https://mbird.com/literature/moral-ground-must-be-shored-up-by-mercy-in-memory-of-toni-morrison.
[3] Bryan Stevenson, Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption (New York: Spiegel & Grau, 2014).