Pushing Jesus

Christian dogma proclaims that Jesus was fully human and fully divine. It is one of the great mysteries. How could Jesus be both, especially if we consider these conditions to be opposing, nearly contradictory, states of being? Perhaps we have an anemic understanding of humanity. 

There is a vein of Christian thought that understands humanity as weakness. It is our humanity that bears and manifests the fallenness, brokenness, creatureliness, baseness, or as Calvin put it, complete depravity of our world and lived experiences. If there is anything bad, it is because of the human condition, the essence of humanity. Ironically, the secular world uses the word humanity to connote one’s ability to be compassionate, empathetic, and sacrificially helpful.

God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. And we are bad, mostly.

And yet, God chose it, chose us, chose humanity, to be his home. The Spirit dwells within us. We bear the imago Dei, the image of God. Our breath is the very breath of God. We are empowered by the divine Spirit to be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world now. Perhaps the divine does not see our humanity as something to be overcome or a contradiction to eradicate or cover-up. Perhaps our humanity isn’t so terrible, if only we could see ourselves the way God sees us.

I’ve been wrestling with the humanity of Jesus. Doctrine demands that any questions, doubts, interpretations, and theologies of Jesus must hold these (and other) truths in tension: Jesus was completely human, Jesus was completely divine, Jesus did not sin, Jesus is good, Jesus is God the Son, and not the Father.

Keeping these doctrines in mind, I wonder about the times when Jesus didn’t want to work a miracle. Sometimes they’re called miracles and sometimes they’re called signs. Four times come to mind. Two of them are at the request of women. 

The first is at a wedding in Cana, at the request of his mother. Jesus, his mother, and his disciples are guests at a wedding in Cana. His mother approaches Jesus and informs him the wine has run out. This would be an embarrassment for the unnamed bride and groom. Jesus responds, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” (John 2:4) Every time I hear these words I can barely get past the abruptness of calling one’s mother “woman,” as if she were not beloved but an annoying nag. Jesus sounds both dismissive or perhaps, anxious. Either way, he sets a boundary. Thus far in his ministry, he has been baptized and called a couple guys to follow him. He apparently does not believe he is ready to begin his work as healer, prophet, teacher, miracle-worker. He is fully in the moment and not prepared to do the timeless work for which he came. 

Mary is a different woman now. She’s no longer the young virgin who said yes to an angel and began her divine adventure. She’s older now, wiser, too. She’s given birth a few times at this point, and doubtless dealt with her children’s shenanigans and disappointments and wounds and weirdness. She’s cooked thousands of meals, and done hundreds of loads of laundry. She’s witnessed death and miscarriage and betrayal. She knows finiteness and mortality more fully now. She knows what time it is. She knows who her son is and what he is capable of. She doesn’t address his tone or his concerns. She’s a mother and she doesn’t let him say no. She doesn’t respect his boundary, but, in a truly clever way, pushes him forward, pushes him out into his ministry. His Heavenly Father may have pushed him to the desert to be tempted after his baptism, but Jesus’ Mother pushes him to begin the work he was born to do.

Mary turns to the servants she brought with her and tells them, “Do whatever he tells you,” and walks away. Now that I think about it, this is just solid advice no matter what the situation. She doesn’t talk to Jesus, try to reason with him, or answer his question, or do anything to convince him to help. She just leaves him with some servants who are waiting to listen and obey. What else could he have done? Could he have really refused to help? He can refuse his mother. Sons do. But he cannot refuse the servants. 

Miraculously, the water with which the servants fill the cleansing jars (per Jesus’ instructions) becomes the best wine. The wedding steward is impressed and complements the groom. The party can continue! The only ones who know a miracle has happened is Jesus, his disciples, the servants, and his mother. Because of the miracle, though, his disciples believed in him (John 2:11) Jesus works the miracle because his mother asked, the servants obeyed, and the disciples witnessed and believed. Everyone has a role.

The second time Jesus didn’t want to work a miracle for a woman was in Tyre. In Mark 7, the request is made by a Syrophoenician woman, and in Matthew 15, she’s called a Canaanite. The telling of the stories is slightly different. In Mark’s version, Jesus went “away” to Tyre and didn’t want anyone to know he was there. Jesus is tired and needs a break from his work. In Matthew’s version, Jesus is with his disciples and the woman is following them and calling out to him. In both versions, the woman is requesting an exorcism for her daughter who is tormented at her home. In both versions, Jesus refuses the miracle claiming, essentially, that he came for the children of Israel and that it wouldn’t be fair to them to help her. I’ll be honest, I don’t really get it. How could helping this Gentile woman’s demon-possessed daughter be unfair to the Jews? What is even more shocking about this exchange is the metaphor Jesus uses. He doesn’t say, “I came to teach and to heal the Jews and not the Gentiles, sorry I can’t help you.” No, he says, “‘let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’ food and throw it to the dogs.’” (Mark 7:27) So, in this metaphor, she’s a dog, and her request (for her suffering child) is akin to taking food from children. Jesus describes her as an animal trying to harm vulnerable children. 

This is not just boundary-setting, but again rude and dismissive behavior. I don’t know how this woman didn’t just break down crying in tears or fly into a rage. She has a toughness and a confidence and a cleverness that all successful advocates have. She has a faith that can handle no. 

Jesus looks very human here. I don’t mind the boundary-setting, but his words were harsh. Actually, maybe I do mind the boundary-setting. She asking for help. How can he say no? I kinda understand Mark’s version, where Jesus is just so tired. Everyone needs a break, even from work you love. He’s exhausted and annoyed, and so he’s rude and unkind. Does he sin? I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s a sin to be tired or annoyed, to not have the kindest way to say no and set a boundary. 

The reality is, though his words and metaphor sound rude and unkind to me, they don’t seem to hurt her. In fact, she agrees with him, and then pushes him past his boundary. She responds, “yes, sir.” !!! She says yes. She acknowledges and respects his boundary. But then…then, she takes his metaphor and uses it against him. She takes his boundary and pushes him past it to make space for her and her daughter. She says, “Even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” So she may be a dog in this metaphor, and the Jews may be the favored children, but Jesus’ miraculous healing of a demon-possessed girl without the laying on of hands is just a crumb that falls to the floor. She is asking for the impossible and calling it a dirty and insignificant crumb at the same time. I’ll be honest. Every time I read this story and I get to this moment I can only imagine that Jesus smiled. A knowing smile. An impressed smile. A delighted smile. Their exchange may seem crass to me, but I’m not a part of their relationship. They understand each other. And because of her, Jesus heals a Gentile without even being in her vicinity. His glory and power are revealed in truly magnificent and shocking strength and it is only this woman and her daughter who receive it. It isn’t the only time he heals a Gentile, but it is the only time he tries to refuse a miracle, and is outwitted by his own words. 

Both Mary and this woman have a faith in Jesus that push him, that urge him forward in his ministry. 

There are a couple other times when a sign or miracle is requested and Jesus refuses. The Gospels record a few times when either the Pharisees or scribes or Sadducees or crowds request a sign from Jesus. It doesn’t seem to be a specific request, just a general miracle request, something to prove Jesus’ power? Authority? Anointing? Whatever it is, Jesus refuses. Except, not really. He doesn’t give them the miracle they want. Instead he gives them the Sign of Jonah. In the moment, they are refused their request (unlike Mary and the Canaanite woman). They are given the final miracle of Jesus – his death and resurrection. This will be the true sign, answering all their questions and concerns. This will be their hope and redemption and freedom and healing, if only they will believe in it. 

It will be his most difficult sign. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus will ask the Father to release him from the task. Is it his humanity or divinity that is grieving? What part of him is anxious about the suffering ahead? Is it not both?

God is good, all the time. Jesus is God – fully human and fully divine, and did not sin. In these excerpts from his life, then, Christlikeness is a fellowship of humanity and divinity that have space for grief, anxiety, being outwitted and influenced by others, setting boundaries, changing one’s mind, and, at times, being dismissive and sarcastic. As Christians, as we pursue Christlikeness, perhaps our humanity is not something we must overcome. Our humanity draws us closer to Jesus, or is how Jesus draws closer to us. It does not require destruction or evisceration. Our humanity is capable of holding the divine, collaborating with it, pushing it, challenging it, misunderstanding it, rejecting it, ignoring it. It may not be our best quality, but it’s the one God seems to like.