Bringing together

Rev Dennis Ryle - 20/08/2023

Readings - Genesis 45:1-15

Meditation


In the ancient lands of the Dreamtime, where spirits and nature intertwined, there was a lush and vibrant valley that thrived with life. The animals and plants lived in harmony, and the spirits of the land whispered secrets to those who would listen.

One day, a solitary wanderer arrived in the valley. He was not like the others – his clothes were woven from the fibers of distant plants, and his eyes sparkled with a knowing that only comes from observing the world through many lenses.

The valley's inhabitants were curious and wary of the stranger. They gathered under the ancient Dreaming tree, seeking guidance from the wise elder, a kangaroo known for her insight.

"Who is this outsider, and what does he bring to our valley?" the animals asked the kangaroo.

The kangaroo hopped thoughtfully before answering, "He carries stories of far-off lands, and perhaps, a different way of seeing things. Do not dismiss him, for sometimes, an outsider's wisdom can shine a light on our own path."

The animals remained skeptical, but the elder's words resonated within their hearts. Slowly, they began to approach the wanderer, one by one, to hear his tales and learn from his experiences.

As the days passed, the wanderer shared stories of the vast deserts, towering mountains, and endless oceans he had traversed. He spoke of the ways different creatures interacted, the songs they sang, and the lessons they taught him. His words were like the winds, carrying with them the fragrance of distant lands.

One evening, a young koala approached the wanderer with a question heavy on her heart. "Why do we gather under the Dreaming tree every night? What is the purpose?"

The wanderer smiled gently and replied, "In my travels, I've learned that every tree, every hill, and every stream has its own spirit. They carry stories of creation, growth, and transformation. When you gather under this tree, you honor its spirit, and in return, it shares its wisdom with you."

The young koala's eyes widened as if a veil had been lifted. She shared this newfound understanding with her fellow animals, and soon, they began to appreciate their valley in a new light.

Under the wanderer's guidance, they learned to listen to the whispers of the wind, to observe the dance of the stars, and to feel the heartbeat of the earth. They embraced the wisdom of an outsider, and in doing so, discovered a deeper connection to their own land.

As the seasons changed and time flowed like a river, the wanderer's presence left an indelible mark on the valley. His stories became part of the land's tapestry, woven into the very fabric of their existence.

And so, the animals of the valley learned that wisdom could come from unexpected sources. They understood that an outsider's perspective could shed light on their own lives, opening their hearts to the richness of the world around them. As the wanderer eventually continued on his journey, he left behind not just stories, but a legacy of openness and unity, reminding them that the world was full of stories waiting to be heard, shared, and treasured.

 Reading - Matthew 15:21-28

Jessica is the hero, almost the Messiah figure, in Bryce Courtenay’s epic novel of that name.

She is the tomboy daughter of Joe, a knockabout farmhand in the early 1900s living on a small selection on the Murrumbidgee. The unintended villains of the story are his wife and eldest daughter who hunger for the finer things and have their collective eyes on marrying into a wealthy squatter’s family. They angle their way to becoming members of the same Anglican parish to achieve their end.

Jessica becomes more and more isolated even as she and her father become gun shearers for the squatter and Jessica forms a romantic attachment to the man who is her sister’s target. As the twists and turns of the plot eventuate, Jessica is committed to a Sydney lunatic asylum, arguably the only sane individual in a cast of broken characters.

She is eventually vindicated through a team of allies she has collected along the way – a badly disabled rouseabout, a local tribal woman, an alcoholic lawyer whom she rescues by drying him out from almost certain death, and a maligned Jewish barrister that she befriended in the asylum. All rejected by polite society and viewed with much suspicion.
Jessica redeems not only herself, but each of these individuals while those in polite society are confronted with their inner ugliness.
The story ends when Jessica is bitten by a mulga snake, a king brown, and perishes. All that’s missing, it seems, is a resurrection!

Jessica, it seems, is a type of the Canaanite woman we meet in Matthew 15.

Feisty, forward, witty, knowing what she needs, willing to go the second, third and fourth mile for the sake of a loved one who is dependent on her, even if it means breaking acceptable social standards and mores.

Jessica’s encounter with he companions seems to pull them forward to the discovery of their true selves.

One might ask “Does the woman from Canaan pull forth a truth from Jesus that he does not recognise until her challenge?”

We are in Matthew’s gospel. The author places the account of the Canaanite woman’s meeting with Jesus in a strategic place.

We are in the middle of a series of chapters that bridge the tension between the old community of God’s people, beginning with the rejection of Jesus at Nazareth and the death of John the Baptist. Jesus himself is on the outer and a the harbinger of new ways are on the horizon. Matthew’s hearers may be identifying with the fall of Jerusalem and the birthpangs of the new synagogue system while in exile and dispossession. How to preserve our identity as Jews even while embracing the new ways of the Messiah?

Straight after the exchange of Jesus with the Canaanite woman, Jesus returns to ministry with the crowds and the Pharisees and Sadducees have him under notice.

The gospel segues into Peter’s confession of Jesus as Messiah and divine Son of God, and Jesus teaches about the New Community that is looming, transcending old ways and old boundaries and, through faith, embracing all. It will be costly and deadly, demanding new and transforming allegiances to bring about the community of Shalom.

We might well ponder the role played by the Canaanite woman in all this, and the impact it has on Matthew’s community as they figure out what it means to be a community of Christ in the midst of a fugitive Jewish community in Gentile lands.

I might ask who are the people in my life that I might be sidelining when they may be bearers of insight to a deeper means of shalom. Who are my Canaanite petitioners?

When I ignore or dismiss someone because of their intellectual capacity or their social status, and especially society’s acceptance, am I missing the opportunity to both give and receive from the bounty of Shalom.

For what are good reasons to me, I have been keeping several people at arm’s length, carefully protecting wise boundaries. One is a Ugandan refugee currently housed in a notorious camp in Kenya. As a gay right’s activist, he is alienated from his own community, twice a refugee as he is pilloried by community leaders and authorities. His hope of asylum, like hundreds of thousands, is slim. His hope for safety for himself and those for whom he advocates is less. His persistent pleas on my social media for help and advocacy are difficult to answer. It would be easy, through sheer futility, to block his messages. My feeble and useless responses, however, are graciously received. Perhaps even on this thin line we are mutually experiencing something of Shalom.

I am drawn to something shared on Richard Rohr’s page this week as he described Thomas Merton’s reflection of what it means to be living out of one’s true self. It seemed fitting while reflecting on the Canaanites woman calling Jesus to live out of his true self, to expand his vision of a realm that extends beyond the Israelite vision of God’s chosen people to Abraham’s awareness of the blessing meant for all nations.

 In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut [now Fourth and Muhammad Ali Boulevard], in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness.… The whole illusion of a separate holy existence is a dream…. 

Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could all see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time. There would be no more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed.… I suppose the big problem would be that we would fall down and worship each other. But this cannot be seen, only believed and “understood” by a peculiar gift…. 

At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us.… It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely.

When Jesus responds to the woman, the Greek has him declaring loudly and perhaps with not a little astonishment, “Megale sou e pistis.” “How stupendously Mega great is your faith!”

Triumph, celebration, relief! At last, someone who gets it. It’s almost as if this is the trigger that sets Jesus’ face to Jerusalem. The mission is on track.