“Ephphatha! Be Opened!”

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

September 8, 2024

Fierce 'mama bear' protecting her cubs.

James 2:1-13

Mark 7:24-37

Children’s Message:

So, you’ve started school, now. And we’re going to bless you and your backpacks at the end of worship. Here’s my question—what have you learned, so far, that you didn’t know before?

Here’s a fun fact: There is no number before 1,000 that, when spelled out, contains the letter A. I didn’t know that. Did you? Here’s another fun fact: White-faced capuchin monkeys greet each other by sticking their fingers up each others’ noses. Wow, can you imagine if we did that?

And here’s another fun fact: While Jesus is the Christ—God in flesh—he was also human. Did you know that? That means that he had to learn to walk and learn to talk. It meant that he made his diapers dirty and probably got sick. AND, it means that he sometimes had to learn about grace and love the hard way.

Today we heard a story about Jesus that doesn’t seem very Christ-like. He had gone into a city where Jews just don’t go. He wanted to take some vacation time. And a non-Jewish woman came to him, asking that he heal her daughter. And you know what he called her? A dog! But you know, what? She told him that even dogs deserve to eat and live. She taught him that God’s love is for all people, not just his people. And he agreed and healed the daughter.

It’s hard to think about Jesus as someone who needs to learn things. But that’s why it’s so important to remember that he was human, too. You’re going to make mistakes and sometimes say hurtful things. What matters is whether you’ll learn from those mistakes.

Let’s pray. Dear God, thank you for showing us how to learn from our mistakes. Give us the grace to share this new life with others. Amen.

Message:

Many of you know a lot about my faith story and how I came to be a pastor. For me, there were a lot of twists and turns theologically, and I’m still learning and growing. I grew up in a small town in western Kansas, so I think ‘conservative’ would be an apt description of my social arena. Going to a liberal arts school—a Lutheran College in Iowa—helped break apart some of my strongholds. But I doubled-down on them when I dated a minister with Campus Crusade for Christ.

It was at a time when I was questioning everything. Why was I a Christian, a Lutheran? Did I really believe in God? What difference did it make? And this guy came with all the answers. And as you may suspect, anyone with all the answers will typically lean toward a conservative approach to theology. And people. Meaning, I learned from him that the only true reading of Scripture should be at face value; that being gay is a lifestyle choice; that only those who believe—and believe the way we believed—are true Christians.

I took that theological lens with me when I went to seminary. I argued and struggled and defended and twisted myself into knots trying to maintain my stranglehold on theology as I began to learn a broader and more gracious approach to Scripture and to God. And on internship, as I visited people and wrote sermons and had conversations and listened (rather than talked), the walls of theological certainty began to crumble. And oh, the fresh air that rushed into this heart was something new. Grace. Love. Light. It was as if Jesus said to me, “Ephphatha! Be Opened!”

So, in many ways, I can relate to Jesus in today’s gospel reading. His past few months have become a whirlwind of glory and torment—twists and turns. He was rejected in his hometown and vowed that he wouldn’t return. His cousin, John, was beheaded by King Herod. He fed more than 5,000 people, after which his own disciples still couldn’t believe in his power over the elements as he walked to them on top of the water.

Then, he gets into a heated debate with the Pharisees and Temple authorities over clean and unclean; over the letter of the law versus the spirit of the law. So he escapes to a Gentile region in order to catch his breath. He’s tired. He’s frustrated. And perhaps he’s beginning to doubt why he even bothers.

And a Gentile woman finds him and demands that he heal her daughter. He’s so caught up in his own personal issues and mission that he dismisses her. She’s not his problem. She’s not part of his tribe. She’s ‘one of them.’

Now, as most of you know, my theological lens has changed a great deal from the time I was here on internship 17 years ago. When those walls of certainty crumbled, I didn’t know that God was preparing me for a ministry of embrace that would hit very close to home. I am now a Mama Bear. A very proud Mama Bear. That’s a term given to moms—parents—who have children in the LGBTQ community. We are more than allies. We are fierce advocates. We demand to the world: Ephphatha! Be Opened! On behalf of our kids.

So, while I can relate to Jesus in today’s gospel reading, the story still bothers and disappoints me. Theologian Joy Jay Moore talks about her own disappointment on the Working Preacher podcast, Sermon Brainwave. From the perspective of an African-American woman, she takes issue with a god who needs her to teach them what grace looks like. If that’s the kind of god we have, do we really want to follow them?

“I believe that racism and sexism are sin...If Jesus is the sinless embodiment of this gracious, hospitable God, I don’t need a God that I have to tell, ‘You do know I’m created in your image. You do know that I’m equal.’ I don’t need that kind of God…If I’m the one—his creation—that needs to tell him how to be God, honest to goodness, folks, I will hang up my collar and practice the kind of goodness I see in people who don’t try to claim they love this God but they have to fix him.”

Meaning, if we have to twist ourselves in knots to defend our image of God in light of what this world and these people need, then we need to rethink our theology. So, these days I spend a lot less time defending God and a lot more time advocating for my child and those who are vulnerable in a society that puts theological certainty above faithful grace.

I find myself much more resonant with the mother in the gospel reading today. She doesn’t back down when Jesus calls her a dog. She doesn’t demure and apologize for her presence. She doesn’t say, “Oh, that’s okay. I understand. We’ll just agree to disagree. That’s your opinion.” No, she stands her ground. Her child’s life is at stake, and she stands her ground and argues with the person she clearly understands to be the Messiah. She argues with God. Think about the ramifications of that for a moment.

If we had any other god, that conversation would have ended badly—for her and for her daughter. But Jesus listens. He hears her. He sees her. He recognizes her desperation. He’s seen it before among his friends, his family, perhaps even in his own recent grief at John’s death. He sees himself in her eyes and knows that he has just been educated by a Mama Bear. And his walls begin to crumble.

From this discussion, he goes deeper into Gentile territory, where he heals a man who was deaf and couldn’t speak. The man didn’t have a voice to make his case. Thank goodness the mother had already made it for him. And from there, Jesus will gather another crowd of more than four thousand Gentile people. He’ll feed them as he did their Jewish counterparts. And his ministry will have become broader and deeper and more inclusive than even he could have imagined.

All because a mother demanded God’s justice for her child. That opening changes everything—at least according to Mark’s gospel account. For me, I give thanks that my heart was opened long before my child came to me, expressing her own understanding of her gender. I give thanks that my mind was opened long before we began the process of becoming Reconciling in Christ. I give thanks that our doors have been opened to anyone and everyone who seeks a God whose arms open wide with welcome. And together, with congregations and Christians across the world, we cry out: Ephphatha! Be Opened!

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE