Acts of Favouritism

“Venus and the Bride” by Titian was commissioned by Niccolo Aurelio, secretary to the Council of Venice in the early 16th century to celebrate his marriage to Laura Bagarotto. The painting depicts the bride dressed for her wedding and the goddess Venus, Roman goddess of love, beauty and fertility, as her attendant. Later convention gave it the name “Sacred and Profane Love” echoing the dual depiction of women throughout human history as “the angel in the house” and “the devil at the gateway” to use the words of one of our “church fathers” Tertullian. But we mis-judge the picture if we think of it only as a caricature, a cartoon, of the good and the bad woman. It is a much more complex picture than that.

The bride neatly dressed in white is set against a wilderness scene and far in the background a grand citadel. A red sleeve is visible under her white gown. In contrast, Venus is set against an idyllic pastoral scene complete with village and church spire. While her drape is predominantly red, a white cloth covers her lap. These women are not from different worlds. Their worlds are intermingled. They collide and merge with one another.

The story of Jesus’ encounter with the Syrophonecian woman is often similarly misjudged as Titian’s painting of Venus and the Bride. The 2 characters, Jesus and the woman, are depicted by commentators as coming from very different worlds—and in part that’s true. But like the story of Titian’s painting, you can only come to that conclusion if you gloss over the detail. When we examine this encounter closely, we discover that the worlds of Jesus and the woman are intermingled. They collide and merge with one another.

In the region of Tyre, Jesus is out of his territory. Far north of Galilee, he is in fact in the territory of the woman—Syro-Phoenicia. She too is out of place—a woman approaching a man in a public place—although the text is certain why she is there—her daughter is not well.

Now more often than not, our Christian interpretations of this text have endeavoured to make sure that Jesus’ character is not besmirched, although they have been quite open to depicting the woman as a dog of a Gentile. Jesus, it has been argued, was testing the woman’s faith. When she demonstrates that faith, her daughter is healed. If it is a demonstration of faith that Jesus is seeking, then he receives a very sophisticated one, because the matter on which the discussion takes place is no small point, the woman engages in the debate with skill, and wins her case in this rabbinic dialogue—the student bests the teacher and the teacher concedes.

The insult against Gentiles mouthed by Jesus is no small one. It cannot be minimised by pretending that it is about puppies. No, it is a slur against the woman’s character, no less than calling someone a dog or a bitch today would be such a slur. Jesus may be mouthing what is commonplace, but the words are still coming out of his mouth according to the text. And the woman calls him to task.

In this exchange, Jesus has been taken into the woman’s world of concern for her daughter and the need to stand up for justice when noone else will do it. Jesus ears and eyes are opened; and he moves on to do the same for another. "Ephphatha", "Be opened" and the deaf can hear and the mute speak.

The Epistle of James wants to open people’s eyes, ears and mouths too. It warns against judging by appearances. Just because the woman is Syrophonecian, it doesn’t mean she’s dumb. And just because the man can’t hear, doesn’t mean he’s stupid. But we Christians maybe.

We may be dumb and stupid if we think that wealth is a sign of favour with God and poverty proof of sin and guilt. It may just be the other way round. The worlds of the rich and the poor are no so different worlds. They are intermingled. They collide and merge with one another. Middle class manners don’t make a Christian; nor does being out of place mean that you haven’t found a place in God’s realm.
So what does it mean when we favour the rich and the clean, the vibrant and the easy to know? Have we recognise God’s commonwealth or merely been taken in by appearances? Our acts of favouritism betray where our hearts lie. God shows no partiality—the rain falls on us all, or not; the sun shines on us all, or not.
And where does that leave us? It isn’t so simple discerning the sheep from the goats or the children from the dogs; but then perhaps that’s not our job. Perhaps judgement is not and has never been ours. Both the children and the dogs need feeding. Both the sheep and the goats need tending. It’s not just friends who are our neighbours, but acquaintances and oddballs, strangers and even enemies. And there is no distinction in God—we’re asked to love them all.