The Stories We Tell

Dear Friends in Valhalla Parish—

This week I'm not even sure where to begin my reflections. Another 750 bodies discovered. Another reminder of the ways in which the stories we tell ourselves about our country and our church are at odds with the reality of violence that has been there all along. In the days ahead, in the leadup to Canada Day and beyond, we will no doubt continue to be confronted by the haunted histories of this land. 

What might we, as people who follow in the way of Jesus, be called to do? 

The answer isn't easy, of course. It can sometimes be overwhelming. And this can lead to a certain moral and practical paralysis. Where do we start? What can we do? What does this mean for the ways in which we live our lives? 

In Matthew's gospel, wedged in between two feeding stories (the feeding of the five thousand, and the feeding of the four thousand), Jesus encounters a Canaanite woman with great faith. The woman comes to Jesus, saying, "Have mercy on me...my daughter is tormented by a demon" (Mt 15:22). The disciples demand that she go away, saying that she keeps shouting at them.

Sometimes I wonder: was she shouting, or was she perhaps demanding justice in a way that made the disciples feel altogether uncomfortable. Is that a reflection on them, on me, or on this moment in society? 

What I admire greatly of this woman is her dogged faith. The way in which she won't let go, won't take no for an answer, whether fromt the disciples—or the one whom they follow. Picking up on what the disciples have already said, Jesus tells her that his mission has nothing to do with her, for he has come only for "the lost sheep of Israel." And this, afterall, is a Canaanite woman. 

One thing to note in this story—and it has mystified me ever since I noticed it—is that the woman is referred to as Canaanite. And that's a detail not to miss. When Joshua and the people entered the Promised Land described in the book of Deuteronomy, they are commanded to root out all the inhabitants there.

They are called, in short, to genocide. Here are the words from Deuteronomy 20:17-18

You shall annihilate them—the Hittites and the Amorites, the Canaanites and the Perizzites, the Hivites and the Jebusites—just as the Lord your God has commanded, so that they may not teach you to do all the abhorrent things that they do for their gods, and you thus sin against the Lord your God.

You shall annihilate them, the command goes. These words resonate deeply with the Doctrine of Discovery and terra nullius that has been used to justify many things on the American continents, including Residential Schools in Canada (and the Boarding Schools in the United States). I can imagine those words in a more modern context not naming the Canaanite tribes, but the Indigenous peoples of these lands. 

And that causes me deep distress. Because what is happening in this Promised Land narrative has its own parallels in the contemporary settlement of our own country. The people were to be rooted out. Annihilated. The lands that the settlers claim were promised them by God were being stewarded by others long before they arrived. And those who settled, with the promise of a new land, saw it fit, saw it their God-given right and duty to root them out. 

Which leads us back to the Canaanite woman. 

The Canaanites were meant to be eliminated. In the earliest stories of Israel's settlement in Canaan, the so-called promised land, they were meant to (and claim to!) eliminate the Canaanites. And yet here in front of Jesus is a Canaanite woman. A descendent of the disappeared people. Her ancestors had been subjected to genocide. And yet, here she stands. 

She stands before Jesus and says, "Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon."

American theologian Walter Wink has done an impressive analysis on the powers of evil as they are represented in scripture. In Naming the Powers, Wink observes:

Demons are the psychic or spiritual power emanated by organizations or individuals 

The Canaanite woman's daughter is tormented by a demon. She is tormented by individuals and systems whose energies—in Wink's language—are "bent on overpowering others." In short, she is suffering the ongoing legacy and effects of institutionalized oppression. Effects that she continues to experience—strange though it may at first seem—in her encounter with the disciples and with Jesus. 

And here she is before Jesus, crying out that he do something. That he bring an end to the oppression her daughter is suffering. He brushes her off. Even so, she persists. She repeats her claim, that she is deserving of enough, that she is ought to be treated as enough, and she doesn't let go until Jesus and his disciples concede.

As I imagine it, this is a reveral of the Jacob story in which he wrestles an angel, and upon receiving a blessing, walks away with a limp. Except in this story, the Canaanite woman is the angel sent to test Jesus, to wrestle with him—if even in words and ideas—until at last she blesses Jesus with new insight. We walks away with a bit of a limp, he walks away changed, walks away with a growing sense of his ministry, and its impact not just on his own community, but also those his community has traditionally excluded, even sought to destroy.

As I've been reflecting on the discovery of 215 children in Kamloops, of the 751 in Marieval, and the many more yet to be named, I have been wondering what it looks like to walk in faithful discipleship with Jesus in this time. I grew up in a far more triumphal church. And yet the realities of this time demand that I ask who is the Jesus Gospel good news for? Is it only for people like me? Or is it for the whole of Creation. And, if it is for one and all, where do we go from here? 

If we are to go forward, it seems to me, it is to proclaim and to embody (as individuals and as a community) a mission focused on mutual healing and liberation. God is still speaking today, and God is calling us—in this moment—to listen and to learn, to find ways to walk in solidarity with our Indigenous neighbours, and to seek reparation in a long-damaged relationship.

Like Jesus and the disciples coming face to face with the Canaanite woman, we are being asked to resist the urge to look aside. Instead, following Jesus, our ministry ought to be to loose the bonds of injustice. 

Perhaps you've heard these famous words that originated with Aboriginal Rights Group in Queensland, Australia in the 1970s, and are often attributed to activist Lilla Watson:

If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.

In taking these steps, we will no doubt find that our liberation and the liberation of others are bound together. 

One place for each of us to start is to become familiar with (or re-familiarize ourselves) with the Truth and Reconciliation Commission's Report and Calls to Action.

We have just added links to these on our website.

It's probably obvious that moving forward in right relationship with Indigenous neighbours will not end with reading some reports or books. It will take deep listening. If reconciliation is to be embodied and pursued, it will take all of us.

As we move forward in the days and weeks ahead, as we seek to walk in the way of Jesus, and to grow in relationship with our neighbours, we do so on the road with Jesus and with one another. The path ahead may not be clear. It may demand discernment and reorientation. It may call us to new pathways we hadn't previously considered. And yet, it is a good road, a road towards justice and joy, compassion and peace. 

And that's good news. It's the best news. For one and for all. 

Every Blessing, 

Andrew Stephens-Rennie
Parish Missioner

Note: Image used under Creative Commons License CC-by-SA-2.0