(Homily for 6th September 2015:
Isaiah 35.4-7a; James 2.1-17; Mark 7.24-37)
First it was the Visigoths. Then…
Swabians, Franks
and Alemanni. Across the Rhine they came, their creaking ox-carts piled high
with wives and children and all their goods and chattels. They fought, and they
conquered. For when they fell there were always more behind to take their place.
Thousands were slain, but tens of thousands followed. This period is known as
the time of the Migrations. It was the storm that swept up the Roman Empire and
whirled it into extinction.
And they kept coming - followed by Huns, Ostrogoths
and Vandals…
“It was migrants who brought the Roman Empire to an
end.” I read that in a newspaper article somewhere last week. But then looking
in E. H. Gombrich’s Little History of the
World, I find that’s exactly how he sums it up also in the words I’ve
quoted. Perhaps he’s a little too
concise in a world survey which can’t give very many pages - or even paragraphs
- to the massive topics he deals with.
But you know what these people are saying… From our
rather parochial worries about the pressure on the Eurotunnel fence by a couple
of thousand migrants at Calais, our attention has shifted to the hundreds of
thousands who are making their way through eastern and central Europe, largely
unregistered, camped at railway stations, pressured unwillingly into reception
centres - but intent on making their way to a better life. For some it’s been a
journey of as much as four years - the prospect at last of crossing the German
border and the promise of asylum beckons. For others the journey fails in the
attempt to reach Europe in the first place: the picture of three year-old Aylan
Kurdi’s dead body washed up on the Turkish shore strikes us in a way that
stories of the thousands of other lives lost in perilous sea crossings could
not; it’s made all the more painful by the tenderness with which a policeman
cradles him in his arms, while elsewhere in Europe body-armoured police
officers with batons and stun grenades attempt to bring order or turn back the
disorderly crowds seeking to continue their journey.
And how do we
respond? The Hungarian Prime Minister, Viktor Orban, has called the present
movement of peoples a threat to Christian civilisation and culture. On the
other hand there are those who say that the true Christian response is one of
welcome to all who are in need - generosity not fear should characterise our
attitude. But then there are those who ask if this would simply encourage more
to leave their homes for a better life in western countries which have only
finite resources. And critically we might ask ourselves: would I give a
refugee a home in my house?
“Something should be done.” We all feel that, even if we differ as to what should be done. But on the whole we
want it not to require anything of us that might require action, still less
disrupt our lives. I don’t have the answer. But when we see the violence, fear
and injustice with which so many live in the war-zones of our world, when we
see the precariousness of life for those who have taken to inadequate boats to
Europe, when we see the chaos which seems to spread as the migrants journey on,
there is a question which strikes at us - why
should we be immune to all of this?
There are religious implications - as ever... Many
people would say that religion is a critical factor in causing the problems in
the first place. Hopefully more would see that it is a perversion of religion which motivates the forces of Islamic State,
Boko Haram and the other forces who have generated such a crisis from Northern
and Sub-Saharan Africa through the Middle East and beyond. It’s people who dare
to believe differently from them who are their victims - and so often that
means Christians. So many Christians have suffered violence, death and
displacement. How should we respond to them? If they have held to their faith,
what does our faith mean to us?
Today’s Gospel reading is quite shocking - the
encounter of Jesus with a woman of Syrophoenician origin, a Jew meets a
Gentile. It’s Jesus who has crossed a border - the only recorded instance of
him leaving his native Palestine as an adult. No great importance is given to
that journey in itself. The Roman Empire is the Schengen area of the first
century without border checks. That had enabled Mary and Joseph to flee in fear
from Bethlehem to Egypt after the birth of Jesus - if you want to say that all
migrants should stay in their own lands, then you will have a problem with the
second chapter of the New Testament, Matthew chapter 2!
What is shocking in today’s Gospel reading is the
response which Jesus makes to the request made by this Gentile woman. She wants
Jesus to heal her daughter, and he replies: “Let the children be fed first, for
it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” It reads
as a rejection of this woman and her daughter in their need. Jesus had brought
healing to the people of his own land, who were fellow-Jews; it seems like he
doesn’t want to extend this healing any further. Is it a test of how far the
woman’s faith will reach? She persists: “even the dogs under the table eat the
children’s crumbs.” And Jesus gives in - the young girl is healed.
Some interpreters of the passage say that all along
Jesus intends to heal the girl - he’s showing that Gentiles as well as Jews can
be the object of God’s mercy; we only need to ask. Others say that it’s the
intention of the Gospel writer to show that the Christian faith would be shared
with Jews first before it would be taken to the Gentiles. Still others say that
the word Jesus uses for “dogs” is a diminutive - so it translates as “puppies,”
rather more cuddly than a first reading might suggest. But however you take it,
there’s a challenge to our perceptions. God’s love is not confined to a
particular people. Nothing qualifies us rather than people from Syria or Africa
to be the special object of his favour. Only our humanity makes us worthy of
God’s mercy - and them as well. It’s to other people in their humanity that we
must make our response.
Are these people any different from us? I’ve been
thinking of the links which people in our church have with other lands.
Families whose children have moved to work in other countries or who have
married someone of a different nationality. I have a brother who moved to the
United States because that’s where the work was - over there he has a partner
who comes from South America. One of my best friends here is an American who
has picked up Canadian and British nationalities in the course of his travels. Another
has just left this country to work in Canada. None of these people was forced
by absolute need to make the moves they did - but many have benefited because
they have made their life’s journey.
Perhaps the oldest part of the Bible is to be found
in the book Deuteronomy (chapter 26). It’s what to say when you come to make a
Harvest offering, recognising God’s guidance and provision for you. The person
making the offering should begin: “My father was a wandering Aramaean…” He was
a nomad, a herdsman travelling wherever his flocks could find food.
The Israelites were a people who only discovered
themselves - and God - while they were on the move. Abraham, the Father of
their nation, had journeyed with his family from the region we would now call
Iraq through Syria to the land of Canaan - and there he lived as a guest, not
by any right. His grandson, Jacob, would make the move with his family to Egypt
to find refuge in time of famine. And the return journey would take them 40
years in the wilderness with only God as their guide. The story of faith
revealed in the pages of scripture is one of travel, encounter, hospitality and
hostility, and finally understanding of the self and of God. Still we are
called on the journey. May we know ourselves the better for it, may it help us
know God and his purpose for all his people.
