This past Saturday I got to listen in on a Zoom call that an organization called DurhamCares organized. The meeting’s topic was “Racism: The History of a Problem,” and Willie James Jennings, my professor in seminary, spoke. If you have paid attention to anything I’ve said in my 3.5 years at North Raleigh, then you have probably heard me say Dr. Jennings’ name and pass on to you something he taught me. Toward the end of the hour-and-a-half long call, Dr. Jennings gave three suggestions on how to engage and begin to dismantle whiteness in our churches right now. The first way is to tell the real story of our faith, and for the next three blogs, that is exactly what I’m going to do.
I told the story of our faith a couple of sermons ago when I preached on Jesus sending out the disciples. His first instruction was “Do not go anywhere among the Gentiles.” That could be half of the one sentence summation of our story. I want to start, though, with the story of the Canaanite woman in Matthew 15 because this story helps us realize how we have imagined and read ourselves wrongly in the biblical story.
Jesus is leaving a place and heading toward Tyre and Sidon, which is a coastal region known for its wealth and port-like atmosphere, if you know what I mean. Tyre and Sidon are recipients of God’s wrath and judgment in the Old Testament (see Jeremiah 25:17-22, for example). As Jesus is walking toward this region--which is strange in its own way because Tyre and Sidon is Gentile country (Is this Jesus going to get the lost sheep of the house of Israel?)--a woman(!), a Canaanite(!!) came running up and shouting(!!!) for Jesus to heal her demon-possessed(!!!!) daughter. The exclamation points are all the ways that this woman has no business being around Jesus. These two should have nothing to do with one another, but this woman takes upon her lips the words of Israel’s faithful: “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” This plea coming out of a Canaanite woman’s mouth is absolutely crazy. She speaks of the need and hope of which only Israel has spoken. She comes to the place where only Israel belongs: before God. She assumes the position of worship that only Israel practices: on her knees. She is doing what ought not be done by someone like her.
Jesus and the disciples know her actions and words are extraordinary. Think about what Jesus does. This woman begs for help for her daughter and Jesus turns his back to her! That is the beginning of our story of faith. We are those who came running to Jesus, and he turned his back to us. We asked for help, and he turned the other way to help those for whom he was sent. Jesus does not belong to us. We belong to him, but not yet, not first. The disciples just get mad at her, “Send her away, Jesus!”
The woman begs again, but Jesus will not be deterred. He says, “It is not right to give to the dogs what is meant for the children.” Jesus says that. Jesus calls a woman a dog. Jesus ignores her plea and then outright denies her. Again, she’s not asking for money or possessions. She’s asking for her daughter’s life, and Jesus says no. Again, Jesus says no. This woman, though. She keeps pressing. Still on her knees she says, “Yes, Lord, but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table.” Talk about boldness! This woman will not accept Jesus’ no to her, and now Jesus turns toward her and says, “Woman, great is your faith!” There is shock in Jesus. There is learning going on in Jesus. Even a Canaanite woman can have faith? Yes, even a Canaanite woman. Jesus learns and opens up to the Spirit’s desire and love, which is a desire and love that will not accept the separation of Jew and Gentile. The way is opening up and Jesus is turning toward a Gentile and saying “Yes.” This is our story.
We have not told ourselves this story, though. We have read ourselves as the disciples. When we read the story of the Canaanite woman, we read ourselves as the disciples standing there with Jesus asking, “What are we going to do with this woman, Jesus? Get her out of here!” We see ourselves standing over this woman, who is on her knees, looking down on her in superiority. When we hear Jesus talk about the children’s food, we hear him talking about us. We think our seats are at the master’s table. We think we are God’s chosen people, inheritors of great faith.
That is not who we are, and that is not our story.
The Canaanite woman is our mother. She tracks our movement into life with the God of Israel. She begs not just for her daughter but for us, too. She shows us our real story: we are outsiders, those who do not belong, running to the God of Israel, begging for help, taking on our lips the faithful words of Israel, falling on our knees, and asking for what does not belong to us. We are guests, unwelcome ones at that. Yet, the way opens by the movement of the Holy Spirit who will not yield. Jesus learns.
You might be asking, “What does this have to do with understanding and dismantling whiteness?” This story is necessary for dismantling whiteness because forgetting this story of radical inclusion, of our gentile existence, is the engine inside of whiteness. We have bypassed Israel and made ourselves the chosen ones, the masters, and whiteness is the drive toward mastery.
What would it be like for us not just to remember but to live as the question, not the answer? What if we entered each interaction and engagement not as teachers but as students looking to learn? What if we saw ourselves as guests instead of hosts? That imagining and living out our story of radical inclusion will help us get there and help us begin to address and dismantle whiteness in our church and community.
Peace,
Brandon
I told the story of our faith a couple of sermons ago when I preached on Jesus sending out the disciples. His first instruction was “Do not go anywhere among the Gentiles.” That could be half of the one sentence summation of our story. I want to start, though, with the story of the Canaanite woman in Matthew 15 because this story helps us realize how we have imagined and read ourselves wrongly in the biblical story.
Jesus is leaving a place and heading toward Tyre and Sidon, which is a coastal region known for its wealth and port-like atmosphere, if you know what I mean. Tyre and Sidon are recipients of God’s wrath and judgment in the Old Testament (see Jeremiah 25:17-22, for example). As Jesus is walking toward this region--which is strange in its own way because Tyre and Sidon is Gentile country (Is this Jesus going to get the lost sheep of the house of Israel?)--a woman(!), a Canaanite(!!) came running up and shouting(!!!) for Jesus to heal her demon-possessed(!!!!) daughter. The exclamation points are all the ways that this woman has no business being around Jesus. These two should have nothing to do with one another, but this woman takes upon her lips the words of Israel’s faithful: “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” This plea coming out of a Canaanite woman’s mouth is absolutely crazy. She speaks of the need and hope of which only Israel has spoken. She comes to the place where only Israel belongs: before God. She assumes the position of worship that only Israel practices: on her knees. She is doing what ought not be done by someone like her.
Jesus and the disciples know her actions and words are extraordinary. Think about what Jesus does. This woman begs for help for her daughter and Jesus turns his back to her! That is the beginning of our story of faith. We are those who came running to Jesus, and he turned his back to us. We asked for help, and he turned the other way to help those for whom he was sent. Jesus does not belong to us. We belong to him, but not yet, not first. The disciples just get mad at her, “Send her away, Jesus!”
The woman begs again, but Jesus will not be deterred. He says, “It is not right to give to the dogs what is meant for the children.” Jesus says that. Jesus calls a woman a dog. Jesus ignores her plea and then outright denies her. Again, she’s not asking for money or possessions. She’s asking for her daughter’s life, and Jesus says no. Again, Jesus says no. This woman, though. She keeps pressing. Still on her knees she says, “Yes, Lord, but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table.” Talk about boldness! This woman will not accept Jesus’ no to her, and now Jesus turns toward her and says, “Woman, great is your faith!” There is shock in Jesus. There is learning going on in Jesus. Even a Canaanite woman can have faith? Yes, even a Canaanite woman. Jesus learns and opens up to the Spirit’s desire and love, which is a desire and love that will not accept the separation of Jew and Gentile. The way is opening up and Jesus is turning toward a Gentile and saying “Yes.” This is our story.
We have not told ourselves this story, though. We have read ourselves as the disciples. When we read the story of the Canaanite woman, we read ourselves as the disciples standing there with Jesus asking, “What are we going to do with this woman, Jesus? Get her out of here!” We see ourselves standing over this woman, who is on her knees, looking down on her in superiority. When we hear Jesus talk about the children’s food, we hear him talking about us. We think our seats are at the master’s table. We think we are God’s chosen people, inheritors of great faith.
That is not who we are, and that is not our story.
The Canaanite woman is our mother. She tracks our movement into life with the God of Israel. She begs not just for her daughter but for us, too. She shows us our real story: we are outsiders, those who do not belong, running to the God of Israel, begging for help, taking on our lips the faithful words of Israel, falling on our knees, and asking for what does not belong to us. We are guests, unwelcome ones at that. Yet, the way opens by the movement of the Holy Spirit who will not yield. Jesus learns.
You might be asking, “What does this have to do with understanding and dismantling whiteness?” This story is necessary for dismantling whiteness because forgetting this story of radical inclusion, of our gentile existence, is the engine inside of whiteness. We have bypassed Israel and made ourselves the chosen ones, the masters, and whiteness is the drive toward mastery.
What would it be like for us not just to remember but to live as the question, not the answer? What if we entered each interaction and engagement not as teachers but as students looking to learn? What if we saw ourselves as guests instead of hosts? That imagining and living out our story of radical inclusion will help us get there and help us begin to address and dismantle whiteness in our church and community.
Peace,
Brandon
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