"From there Jesus set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. He said to her, 'Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs.' But she answered him, 'Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs.' Then he said to her, 'For saying that, you may go--the demon has left your daughter.' So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone." [Mark 7:24-30]
We would have dug our heels in, wouldn't we?
Come on, let's confess it. If you and I had been in Jesus' sandals in this scene, and this gutsy, fierce, devoted mother had come along and gone toe-to-toe with us, revealing a relentless love for her daughter that would give Jesus no rest until she got help, we would have likely dug our heels in and turned this into a fight. We would have let ourselves get painted into a corner, gotten defensive, and turned this woman's selfless love for her child into a personal affront. And from there, it would have ceased to be a matter of principle, or compassion, or even of wrong-and-right--it would have been for us a matter of saving face and our needy wish not to look "weak."
I will say at least for my part, that I can feel that pull inside me here in this story. I could imagine myself in Jesus' position, and once the gauntlet had been thrown down by this woman's reply about the dogs eating the crumbs--in other words, once it was clear that she was not going to take "No" for an answer--I can imagine myself getting all worked up and refusing to help because I was afraid of looking like I was backing down or giving in to her. I know that about myself. I will own it. I am ashamed of it, and I do not want to be that person. But I know that about myself. And I'll bet it's there in you, too.
I suspect that, not just because I wish not to be alone in this ugly category, but because that whole mindset is the air we breathe in this day and age. We are drowning in the idiotic mindset that you have to avoid "looking weak" at all costs, and therefore, we are taught to thump our chests, rattle our sabers, boast about our toughness, and play chicken with others around us. We are awash in this childish thinking (and I mean that literally, because I see it on a daily basis in a five-year-old and a six-year-old I happen to know very well) that insists on being confrontative, even if we know we are wrong, because we are so very, very afraid of not appearing "strong" to others. We are afraid of losing face. We are afraid of losing our influence, our reputation, our image as "tough" in other people's eyes.
And the bitter irony of it all is that all our attempts to make ourselves look strong and defiant just plain reek of desperation. The world gets a whiff of our insecurities that lead us to be defensive jerks from a mile away, and the game is up. We ain't foolin' anybody... not even really ourselves. If we really had been in Jesus' place in this scene, and if we actually had refused to change course to help the Syrophoenician woman's daughter, she would have known we didn't really have the power in the first place. The stubborn refusal to help would have given it away, and she would have seen right through us. She would have known we WERE weak precisely because we would have been so damned focused on not "looking" weak.
And this, then, is the learning for us to take away on this day, dear ones, if we want to learn about Jesus' authentic kind of power: true power can bend.
Biblical scholars and preachers debate back and forth about what is going on in Jesus' head in this whole scene--is he testing the woman but determined to help her out from the beginning? Is he genuinely moved to a change of heart? Is Jesus surprised at her response, or just waiting for her to say the thing he knows is bubbling up inside her? Does Jesus "grow" in his understanding of whom he has been sent for, or does Jesus use this as an inflection point to widen the scope of his ministry? Did Jesus really not possibly even consider that he was going to run into some needy Gentile person when he chose to stay in the Gentile city of Tyre and borrowed a room there? Well, look, we could speculate forever on the inner workings of the psyche of the Second Person of the Trinity here, but it seems to me that no matter how you explain what was happening inside Jesus' head, the critical thing that happens outside in the physical world is that Jesus doesn't dig his heels in to save face. He doesn't come to a point of saying, "Now, it's not even about the Jew-Gentile thing, lady--now you have just provoked me into saying no, because you have made me feel insecure." Never, never never. Jesus does not get brittle with defensiveness or anxiety. Jesus does not feel the need to bluff with bluster to cover over his insecurities. Jesus does not care about his reputation or whether he "looks" strong or weak. Jesus' power includes the power to bend.
Look, I know that there is something inside each of us that confuses being obstinate with being strong. I know that there is some part of us that doesn't like to be looked down on or to lose face with others. I know it because it keeps trying to climb and claw its way out of my mouth, too. And I know the impulse we all feel sometimes to dig our heels in, no longer because we believe we are in the right but because we are afraid of being seen to be wrong. I know the impulse, once we know we are cornered, to stop thinking and talking rationally, gracefully, or civilly to one another, because we know we can't win on rational grounds. I know the impulse, once we see that we have overplayed our hand, to double down on it and try to bluff our way out of a bad round of poker. I know the impulse to try and evade or distract by resorting to name-calling or lashing out at the other, because they have seen through our projected illusions of "The Great and Powerful Oz" to see the trembling, pathetic figure behind the curtain, afraid of being seen for what we are. I know the game of trying to brag and bluster our way out of these conversations, and I know how easily we assume that those conversations must really be confrontations with winners and losers. And I know how deeply we are afraid of being labeled "the loser." And we have been taught to believe that bending must mean we are weak, rather than meaning we are flexible and strong.
So let's pay attention to how Jesus actually handles things here. At some point in this encounter--it doesn't really matter when--Jesus decides not to let this conversation become a competition of wills that he must either "win" or "lose" in. At some point, Jesus chose to exercise the power that can bend. And even though he had at first appeared to decline to help this woman, he changes course--without a threat, without making it sound like he had negotiated some fantastic "deal" with the Syrophoenician woman, and without digging his heels in to save face. Jesus uses the power at his disposal, and he is revealed to be all the more powerful because he can bend to grant the fierce mother's request. Jesus' kind of power isn't intimidated by the strength of this woman's tenacity, either--Jesus doesn't have to play some childish game of "Who's More Powerful Than Whom?" to make the woman back down. Jesus can be powerful in a way that bends... and at the same time, he can appreciate the power and strength of this woman's love that will not give up. Both can be true at the same time--this doesn't have to be a case of one person's strength requiring the other person be cast as "weak." That's childish thinking, after all, that zero-sum game of winners and losers.
Today, our calling is to practice the power that bends. In the words of the old Shaker hymn, "When true simplicity is gained, to bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed... To turn, turn, will be our delight, till by turning, turning we come 'round right." We don't have to see bending as a sign of weakness or defeat, but of life and power. We can use the power at our disposals, not to try and create a smokescreen to fool others into thinking we are winners and tough guys, but to help others when called upon without worrying about saving or losing face. Like the old saying goes, the strong living oak tree can sway in the breeze and grow to be even stronger and mightier; it's the trees that are already dead that are too brittle to bend.
What if today, we were simply done with all the toxic garbage of defensiveness? What if we quit trying to fool the world into thinking we are the Great and Powerful Oz? Because that tired shtick gets old... and even little dogs can see through it all to reveal the fearful pretenders underneath when we try it. What if instead, we had the power that bends?
Lord Jesus, grant us the power like yours that is strong enough to bend, and that is authentic enough not to care about how others perceive it.
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