A desperate mother......

She has assumed the position against the side of an SUV; you cannot see her face but she is young in body.  Next to her is another anonymous person whose hands are frisking her body.  At her feet stands her two year old daughter as bereft as any two year old can be, crying with her whole body.

This may be the last time that mother sees her daughter for months; neither will know where the other is.  Some stranger will now bring the toddler meals and change diapers.  Some stranger will turn out the lights.   Someone who is not her mother. John Getty image: Woman with Child

There is no resistance.  Neither is there compassion.

She is seeking asylum in the United States.  She came to our southern border and requested asylum.  They frisked her, detained her, and took her child.

The gospel story about a Syro-Phoenician woman could well be a 1st century parallel to this.  The Syro-Phoenicians were enemies of Israel - and the Israelites would tell you that there was good reason behind the enmity, although one wonders how long a people can carry a grudge.  Regardless, the rift went way back and was a well recognized rule of social interaction:  have nothing to do with those people.  We owe them nothing but our contempt.

So when Jesus refuses the woman's request for healing for her daughter, no Israelite hearing this story would be surprised.  Modern readers are a bit put off by the fact that Jesus manages to call the woman a dog in the process.  "Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs."  A little harsh.

Yet she does not resist; she allows the comment to pass.  She accepts the role given to her, and yet asks, "Even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs" ...and 'for saying that' a healing occurs. Mark 7.24-30

A desperate mother willing to accept the crumbs.

I wonder why we Americans have no crumbs to give the mother who comes to us?  Do we really need to hold two year olds hostage?  Are we that kind of master?

Who gets to sit at the table?

Thanksgiving at my grandmother's house meant sitting at the kids' table.  There were simply too many of us to fit around the other table.  I always felt slighted.  (I have often been prone to feeling slighted, but that's for another day).

My grandmother did not own a fancy dining room table, used only on Sundays and holidays.  In fact, my grandmother did not own anything fancy.

Hers was a 'farm table' - that enormous kitchen table that dominates a farm's kitchen.  It was the center for all life in my grandmother's house.  It was where bills were paid, arguments were started and resolved, forgiveness handed out.  There local stories were told, tragedies remarked on, children reprimanded, and of course, hardy meals of meat and potatoes accompanied by rhubarb or apple or cherry or quince pie were served.

In my mind, having a seat at the 'big table' meant belonging to this family.  Whether distant relative, cranky neighbor or complete stranger, being invited to a seat at the big table meant being a part of the family for this meal.

That is what it means in Jesus' mind as well.  It took a foreigner and sometimes enemy, a woman who would not take 'No' for answer, to bring this to Jesus' attention.   She knew that what Jesus was offering at his table could bring new life - and that's what her daughter needed right at this moment.  All she wanted was a few crumbs - because crumbs from this table were enough - and in her asking, Jesus begins to understand that the new life that will come through him is open to all.

All are welcome at the table.  Strangers, foreigners, children, cranky neighbors......sinners.  Come and eat and be whole again.