This fall, I am approaching the Gospel of Mark with a question in mind: what are the politics of Jesus? If you’ve been around here for a while you probably already know that despite what some say about not mixing faith and politics, I believe it is essential for the church to involve itself in public life. We certainly need to do so thoughtfully and wisely, honoring the separation of church and state, and keeping the church out of partisan activities. In a recent essay, historian of religion Diana Butler Bass defines politics in a way I find helpful. She says that politics, in the view of the church, is “a long argument about the nature of community, who counts in community, and our moral responsibility for community.”[1] It’s a great essay; I provided a link in First Notes this past week and there are a few copies on the back table.
We are at a crossroads when it comes to this argument about community. Will we have a White Christian Nationalist government or do we aspire to be a vibrant multi-racial, multi-faith democracy? Does the Christian faith teach that everyone’s life truly matters? Or do the followers of Jesus believe that only a chosen few should have a voice and hold power?
First Church is an ISAIAH congregation—joining with other people of faith in Minnesota to work for racial and economic justice. Collaborating with others through ISAIAH I’ve come to believe that we do have the power, collectively, to make the future for which we hope. We do this by voting and encouraging others to vote. We do this by understanding that an election is only the beginning of governing. We do this by accepting the responsibility to form all candidates and elected officials into the sort of leaders we need—leaders who are accountable to people rather than profit, leaders who share a vision of an equitable and inclusive society, a society of shared abundance, leaders capable of acting with political courage. The bottom line is: no matter which party is holding office, it is up to us to build the people power we need to shape our future.
I believe that the struggle to grow into a truly inclusive community, to birth a robust multi-racial, multi-faith democracy, is at the heart of the politics of Jesus. Today’s passage is a pivot point in Mark’s Gospel, a transformational moment. Jesus was hiding out in Gentile territory, expecting that people there would leave him alone. After all, they were not his people, not the ones to whom he was sent. He thought he would have a bit of time to rest, to recover from the exhaustion of healing and teaching from the sting of the hometown crowd’s rejection and the drain of being constantly challenged by the religious leaders. But no. This strange woman, a foreigner, from an enemy people barged into the private home where he was staying to beg him for help. And there’s really no way around it: Jesus’ very un-Jesus-like response is stunning and terrible. He was grumpy, mean, rude, and racist. “Let the children be fed first,” he snarled, “for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” The woman was undeterred; however. She was humbly and cleverly persistent in seeking help for her daughter, simultaneously believing that Jesus held the power to heal her and that he was wrong to withhold it from her. “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”
Her reference to the table is brilliant and profound. She was reminding him that his ministry was all about meals of rule-breaking inclusion and astonishing abundance—eating and drinking with tax collectors and sinners, gathering grain on the sabbath when the law forbid it, and (back in his home country) multiplying five loaves and two fish to feed a crowd of thousands, with leftovers, with crumbs. Essentially she was telling him that his vision of what God was doing in the world through his ministry was too small, too limited. She had faith in the power of the one who sent Jesus, in the Creator, who cares for all of us equally. She knew that in the beloved community Jesus came to build, there would be enough food, enough healing, enough love and dignity for everyone. The woman’s response is remarkable and just as remarkable is the way that Jesus allowed her to become his teacher. “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” In this moment, Jesus grew and changed. His encounter with the woman altered the trajectory of his life and ministry.
You see, the next story we hear, about Jesus healing a deaf man, reveals that he chose to remain in Gentile territory, in the Roman Decapolis. And in the very next chapter after that, we learn that he went on to feed another crowd of thousands with loaves and fishes and leftover crumbs—this time in Gentile territory. The phrase Jesus spoke to the man—“be opened”—is symbolic of this shift. Through the ministry of the woman, Jesus was opened. And his ministry, in turn, becomes one of opening others. We feel this change in the different character of the two stories. Whereas Jesus treated the woman with hostility and healed her child from a distance, his encounter with the man was incredibly intimate, involving touch and saliva.
I absolutely love Debie Thomas’ commentary on this text, in which she interrogates and rejects the “perfect Jesus” theology she grew up with. She writes:
The “Good News” is not that we serve a shiny, inaccessible deity who floats five feet above the ground. It is that Jesus shows us—in real time, in the flesh—what it means to grow as a child of God. He embodies what it looks like to stretch into a deeper, truer, and fuller comprehension of God’s love.[2]
This week, I happened to tune into a conversation on the MPR program “Talking Sense” about navigating relationships across political divides. This comment from marriage and family therapist Corey Yager struck me: “I think there’s a mistake we make as humans. Instead of engaging others seeking agreement, let’s engage each other seeking understanding. I can totally disagree with you and understand you at the same time.” He went on to observe that when we fail to seek understanding—whether we argue all the time or simply don’t talk to each other, we end up in a place of disconnection. This disconnection is affecting our country as a whole as well as our family systems. It is not good for our democracy.
What is good for our democracy is re-engaging with each other, listening to understand and find common ground. I know that the election support group will be discussing this very topic today! Which is great! And you have a voter pledge card you received with your bulletin. The invitation here is to pledge to vote and to engage others in your life about voting, as a way of making the future we believe in—a multi-racial, multi-faith democracy in which everyone’s voice matters. At Community Night and other times, we plan to talk with folks in our neighborhood about voting, too. And next week, we’ll have a 2nd Hour led by Carey Seeley Dzierzak and Ben Whalen from the ISAIAH staff, to delve with more depth into our calling to engage in this political moment as people of faith.
I would argue that the politics of Jesus are all about building an inclusive society of shared abundance. “Be opened” sums up Jesus’ political philosophy. As the church engages in public life, as we foster the long argument about community, our calling is to courageously cultivate this Jesus-like openness in ourselves and others—examining our biases and blind spots; listening to understand and heal; welcoming opportunities to learn and grow; and building the power that that arises out of human connection and serves the needs of all creation. Amen.
[1] https://dianabutlerbass.substack.com/p/why-we-must-talk-about-faith-and?utm_source=%2Fsearch%2Fwhy%2520we%2520must%2520talk%2520about%2520faith%2520and%2520politics&utm_medium=reader2