First, thanks very, very much.
Once upon a time I was an amateur photographer. In fact I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have a camera. It had something to do with growing up near Rochester, NY, home of Eastman Kodak. My grandfather taught me how to make prints in his darkroom. I had a part-time job as the official photographer for the seminary I attended. I didn’t actually get paid, but the job did give me the use of a dark room which was more than enough compensation.
Time went by. My sons grew up and went off, one to a state college and the other to a private art school. There were groceries to buy and mortgage payments to make. With the cost of film and processing every time I took a picture, I saw dollar signs, so I took fewer and fewer. Eventually I gave away my best equipment, and that was the end of it. It was just a hobby, and there were more pressing needs.
This summer a friend insisted I borrow his digital camera while I was on vacation. He pointed out a crucial difference between the new technology and 35mm. One can shoot pictures all day long at a cost of zero dollars and zero cents.
You can guess what happened. In three weeks I took 398 pictures, two of which were in last Sunday’s bulletin to illustrate the sermon. Eventually I’ll burn them all onto a single disc at a cost of roughly zero dollars and zero cents. I’m hooked on photography again, but I had to give the camera back.
The internet is wonderful. In no time I figured out exactly which camera I wanted. I also figured out there was no way I could afford it. At least I thought so until I was reminded of the twentieth anniversary celebration. A year ago last June members of the church were exceedingly generous in marking my 20 years in Greenbelt. You provided me with a new pulpit robe, a beautiful, engraved crystal bowl, and a night out at the theater. I had a vague recollection there was money left for me to get something I wouldn’t ordinarily buy for myself. You were so generous there was a substantial amount left over, enough to purchase this camera. So thank you very, very much.
There is however, a glitch. The camera is great, everything I could possibly want and more. The glitch is with me. I still hesitate to take the shot. Years of experience with 35mm film conditioned me to be careful, avoid waste, and look for just the right scene. Mistakes were expensive. With digital photography the calculation is reversed. Since they don’t cost anything there’s every incentive to take gobs of pictures on the theory that one will turn out. New technology changes the situation. I haven’t completely adjusted.
Change is difficult. It’s human nature to resist change. If we’ve gotten along fairly well with things as they are we fear change might make matters worse. Even when we know the change will be beneficial it can be difficult to alter deeply ingrained habits of thought and action. Any American who has driven a car in England knows how much effort it takes to stay on the left side of the road.
When it comes to matters of faith change is even more difficult. For many of us images of God go all the way back to childhood and our parents. It wasn’t so much what our parents told us about God. It was whether they were there when we needed them, whether they scolded us when we got lost or welcomed us with a warm embrace, whether they were critical and harsh or warm and supportive. Parents are big and strong and they know everything. The image of God we start with is the image of our parents. My parents were fine people, but they were not the God I have come to know in Jesus. That takes some adjustment.
Then there is the fear that a change in faith might make matters worse. If I hesitate a split second and miss a shot of Nathalie scoring a winning goal for her soccer team I’ll be disappointed. In matters of faith many of us were taught that any change from current orthodoxy held worse consequences than straying into the right lane of an English road and a head-on collision with a dump trunk. A change that turned out to be wrong might have eternal consequences of a most unfavorable nature. Who wants to take that chance?
Jesus was confronted by a Canaanite woman. Her people lived in the region long before the arrival of the Hebrews. Hostility between the two groups was deeply entrenched. Her religion and that of Jesus could not have been more different. At the time it was a scandal for a man to sink so low as to speak to a woman in public. Her daughter is possessed by a demon. Everyone knew that was a sure sign of the bad character of the whole family. There couldn’t have been a more difficult person for Jesus to accept.
To begin with Jesus didn’t accept her. People have tried to explain away his stony silence and stinging insult. He was pondering how best to help the woman. What he meant was she was a sweet little puppy. He had a twinkle in his eye; I thing that’s bunk. Such explanations obscure just how difficult this confrontation was for Jesus. History, religion, culture, and morality stood between Jesus and the Canaanite woman. It was a real struggle for him to accept her.
That he struggled does not diminish Jesus in my eyes. Rather, his struggle blesses our struggles to adapt faithfully to new situations, new information, new challenges, new people. Even Jesus found it difficult to live out the fullness of God’s love in the world. That meant change. That meant breaking down the sharp divisions and stark limitations of the past. If you and I don’t struggle from time to time to live our faith it’s not because we’ve reached some blissful state of perfection. It’s because we’ve quit trying. Jesus didn’t quit. When childish faith will no longer suffice, when we are challenged with unfamiliar questions that have no pat answers, when we confront an ever changing world with a living faith change is required of us. That is difficult, and Christ is with us.
There is also the larger picture that isn’t obvious from this story by itself. In the Gospel of Matthew God’s plan is clear. Jesus came “only to the lost sheep of Israel.” Earlier he sent the disciples with clear instruction to “go nowhere among the Gentiles.” In this Gospel Jesus never enters the home of a Gentile. There will be a mission to all nations, but it will not start until after the resurrection, after Easter. That order is iron-clad, rock solid.
But there are exceptions. Now and then, as in the case of the Canaanite woman, Jesus does respond to the pleas of a Gentile. God’s purpose and plan revealed in the Gospel of Matthew is not absolute. God can not be contained in any formula, not even the orderly progression proclaimed by Jesus himself. As important as it is to attempt to understand who God is and what God is doing, no answers to those questions can stand in the way of divine compassion.
When we think we’ve got God figured out, we don’t. When we suppose we know exactly what God requires of us we don’t. A measure of humility is required. Given our limitations and God’s limitless compassion our theological debates need not be so contentious. Our religious divisions need not be rigid.
Jesus received and ministered to a Canaanite woman. It was a struggle for him, but he did it. When our faith takes us beyond our comfort zone, into foreign territory, into the realm of mystery, Christ is with us. We don’t need to have all the answers. We can’t have all the answers. We do need to be open to faithful change.
Amen.