Imagine an Onion

Sermon by Sarah Cooper
Imagine an onion. That onion is you. The outer layer, the skin, is your outer layer. It is a first impression if you like. The you we see every day. Peel off a layer and then another and we start to discover another you, in no particular order: What you do, your age, your experience, your family, where you grew up, your ethnicity trauma or tragedy, your mother tongue, your sexuality, your beliefs and values. The real you, which may be hidden or unrecognised.

The story we heard from Matthew’s Gospel is a story of recognition, of mutual recognition. And it is a story of persistence and faith and therefore hope. This short story of the Canaanite woman, only 8 verses long, is sandwiched between some major events in Matthew’s Gospel: the feeding of the 5 thousand, the walking on water, a major challenge by Jesus to the Pharisees and then, after it, the feeding of the 4 thousand. The tide is turning for Jesus, he is making his authority visible. But soon after this, he gives the first indication of his death.

His mission is short, it is focused, as he will explain, and his time is limited. And yet he withdraws from familiar territory, not for the first time, and travels far away from home putting himself right in the heart of enemy territory. To modern day Lebanon.

Now this really was ancient enemy territory. The Canaanites were the old enemy of the Hebrew Scriptures, the ones who had to be defeated to give the nation of Israel the land they had been promised. In Deuteronomy Israel was urged to “show them no mercy”.

So why on earth did Jesus go there? He must have had a purpose, but it appears to contradict his stated mission, in verse 24 “to save only the lost sheep of Israel”, I.E the Jews.

Jesus is in the midst of Gentiles, in Gentile territory but is immediately recognised, by a Gentile woman, as the Jewish Messiah. She calls him Lord, as do his followers, and Son of David. She is in no doubt who he is. This is extraordinary, and in stark contrast to his home ground, where he is frequently not recognised for who he truly is, by the Jews and sometimes by his own disciples. His reaction is to fob her off, encouraged by the disciples. She is not their priority, no matter how desperate she is. This is not what we expect to hear from Jesus. Where is his compassion, where is his mercy?

But this woman does not give up, she simply asks, “Lord, help me” she is asking for God’s mercy and she believes in Jesus’ authority to grant this. What a risk she was taking.

Again he says she is not his problem. He is focused on the children (The Jews) not on the dogs (The Gentiles). And still, she argues, she would be happy with a crumb, she doesn’t expect more. She acknowledges her position of inferiority and at the same time acknowledges his power.

And then, it is his turn to recognise her. The layers peel away and he sees her for who she truly is, underneath the layers of despair, ethnicity, background, gender she has faith. “O woman, great is your faith” he says. The use of the expression “O” indicating great emotion on his part. He is blind to all else. I don’t think he sees her foreignness, her different background, any of it. I think he simply does not see it, he sees beneath the layers and that is all that matters.

A circle of recognition. She of him and he of her.

Was this a transformative stage in Jesus’ understanding of his mission? That God’s grace was available to all if they sought it in faith? Some might say so. Or did he know all along what God wanted of him? Either way, this pivotal story highlights the future direction of Jesus’ ministry, that of his disciples and ultimately the church, to take God’s grace to all who believe.

Do we recognise people for who they truly are? Do we peel away the layers and recognise what is important? Do we hide under layers for fear of revealing who we really are?

In this story, we learn that the categories or restrictions society puts on us do not and need not affect our relationship with God. God of course can see into our hearts as the writer of Psalm 139 puts it so beautifully:

“O Lord thou hast searched me and known me”

We are an inclusive church. We share our love of Christ, our worship and praise with all who walk through our door, inclusive. There are times I feel a little uncomfortable with the word. Why? It has connotations, maybe not to all, but ironically, of exclusivity. Welcome into our club! You are different, but we welcome you and want you to join. We see your difference, but it doesn’t matter! All are welcome here.

It feels very one way. You come to us. 

But that is not what Jesus did, he went out, he went into alien land and found somebody who simply needed God’s mercy. He was blind to all the layers

Do we still see difference rather than commonality sometimes? Do we not look deeply enough beneath the layers of the onion? Underneath the layers we share our love of Christ, and our belief that through him we will be forgiven and be redeemed. Nothing else matters.

But even in the Church of England division persists: at the Lambeth Conference yesterday our Archbishop acknowledged that continuing division between Bishops on the subject of same-sex marriage, an open and bleeding sore in the Anglican Communion, where difference is standing in the way of commonality.

Sometimes we just have to ask ourselves a simple question

What would Jesus say?

What would Jesus do?

Our love of Christ unites us and we want to share that love. We can take that out as Jesus did, to where it is needed. We can live our lives blind to the layers and see that simple truth of faith in others, and celebrate it. Somewhere out there is someone who persists in faith just as the Canaanite woman did, and who needs God’s mercy and we can help them find that hope.   

Amen