Today's PAYG was the story of the Syro-Phoenican woman who came to Jesus to ask him to heal her daughter (Mark 7).  Back in my student days, it was one of the stories, along with the Hebrew midwives (Exodus 2) and woman at the well (John 4), that were overworked as exemplars of feisty women who defied convention.  Particularly the two gospel stories were read as examples of Jesus' own cultural conditioning and seeming mind changes.  Of course, to a woman reader of scripture, there is something appealing about the fact that two of the most lively and profound exchanges Jesus is recorded as having, involve not just women but foreign women (and in one case one who is possibly on the margins even of her own community).

Jesus calls the Syro-Phoenician woman a dog.  Perhaps not directly, but that's what it boils down to.  And not a nice, family pet spaniel, to be fussed over and played with, no, a mangy cur that wanders the streets and picks up scraps of food dropped by the children of the household.   This ought to really shock us and yet because we've heard it so often we don't react. 

This woman summoned all her courage to go into the house where Jesus was staying, a house that metaphorically at least had a gigantic 'do not disturb' sign on the door, because she had heard about this man who just might be able to heal her daughter.   And he rebuffed her, called her a dog, and expected her to leave.  But wait a minute... we believe that Jesus is Christ, simultaneously human and divine.  So how can it be that the same God who created all things, and declared them good, now insults both the woman and, indirectly, dogs?  How can a loving God turn her away?  We ought to be shocked and disturbed... Far from gentle Jesus meek and mild, this is surly Jesus rude and offensive... what kind of God, we ought to wonder?

Amazingly, far from turning tail and fleeing in floods of tears, this woman is a match for Jesus.  I may be a dog, but don't forget what dog's do... you cannot keep us out of the household (think courtyard style dwelling with open rooms off it)  and we will scavenge for whatever scraps or crumbs are to be found.  And the children are careless... out of their plenty they will drop tasty morsels which we will eagerly devour...  Mind-blowing, not just at the obvious human interaction level... but if this woman is addressing God-in-Jesus... Would we dare to speak to God thus?  Would those who we have the audacity to consider as 'dogs' find the space to say this to God?  And if we be the Body of Christ, might the 'Syro-Phoenicans' of our day equally challenge our indifference, racism, exclusivity, rudeness, etc?

It seems to me that far from being a dog, this woman was dogged - utterly determined to do whatever she could for her little daughter who lay sick at home.  What, I wonder would prompt us to approach God-in-Christ as she did, to refuse to be dismissed, to engage in complex (theological) word games, to stand up for ourselves?  And who might be the 'little daughters' unable to speak for themselves on whose behalf we ought to be distrubing the divine peace and quiet with our persistent demands for healing, wholeness and hope?

PAYG ended by inviting us to pray 'cheekily', a word I find a little impotent in this context.  The woman was not merely cheeky in her approach to Jesus.  She risked, and initially experienced, rejection, she stood her ground, she made her case... and she achieved her goal.  I'm not sure exactly how that translates to prayer (the parable of the persistent widow also comes to mind) but it has certainly made me think afresh about a very familiar story.