August 8, 2018
Feast of St. Dominic
Feast of St. Dominic
Allison Beyer
DVUSA Orientation Commissioning Mass
Mariandale Retreat Center
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| DVUSA Codirector Allison Beyer |
In today’s Gospel (MT 15: 21-28) we meet a woman who has a
name but her name was not recorded. Her name, like millions of women before and
after her, is lost to us. Her actions and impact are not. It is precisely
because of her audacity and persistence that she is remembered and recorded in
our Holy book.
[Let’s recap; in 1-2 minutes in your own words tell the
person next to you what you just heard in the Gospel. Take turns. The first person
to listen will then add anything that the first person might have forgotten or
left out.]
When I realized this was the Gospel for today I thought “Oh
no! This is my least favorite Gospel!!” That’s why I thought we could start by
looking at it together-- to practice bringing things that are difficult to our
community, to practice our Dominican value of study and contemplation in
community.
I’ll share with you how I hear this Gospel. First, everytime
I hear or read this passage, I feel heavy in my heart, anxious in my stomach.
It is an uncomfortable scene and one that is difficult for me to return to.
The woman, who has a name but we do not know it, goes to
Jesus on behalf of her daughter who is being tormented by a demon.
Sometimes, some days, some years--we are this woman. We are
desperate for healing, for answers, for action. Our desperation and love for
another or our own very lives makes us bold. We do not shrink before a crowd of
critics. We would walk any mile, go any distance, speak out and advocate until
we make the need heard and known.
Call to mind a time when you were desperate on behalf of
another or yourself. Remember how this desperation feels in your body. Your
head. Your chest. Your gut. Your hands.
Sometimes, some days, some years--we are the daughter. We
are utterly vulnerable. We are dependent on the ability, privilege, voice,
decision, power of someone else. We are dominated by brokenness. Physical
challenges, depression, anxiety, rage, grief, illness, exhaustion, poverty,
marginalization. Perhaps we are even unable to seek the help we so desperately
need to be well, to be integrated. We rely on the assistance of of another to
get by. It is difficult to imagine in the thick of our brokenness that we won’t
always be tormented day after day. Joy--the joy that we hear of in the first
reading (JER 31:1-7), praising God with tambourine and dance, is unfathomable,
out of reach. If we had experienced it before, it is now nothing but a memory.
Call to mind a time when you were tormented by your
brokenness. Remember how this feels in your body. Your head. Your chest. Your
gut. Your hands.
The woman goes to Jesus on behalf of her daughter. She is
ignored.
He doesn’t even respond.
The disciples are annoyed. The woman won’t stop talking,
trying to get to Jesus, making a scene. She is not even Jewish. Who does this
woman think she is?
Sometimes, some days, some years--we are the disciples. We
find ourselves in a position of power, of security. We belong to the majority
group, our identity is valued and protected. We are able to determine who is
allowed “in” or “out” of our group. We cling to this identity because it is
comfortable, because it is familiar, because it is safe. If we insulate
ourselves, we can maintain some semblance of peace, order and stability.
Call to mind a time in your life when you were comfortable
in you your security and opted to tune out or avoid others different from
yourself. Remember how living in a defensive state of fear and protection feels
in your body. Your head. Your chest. Your gut. Your hands.
The disciples decide to get rid of the problem--the woman is
the problem. Disrupting their peace and mission. The woman persists.
Jesus, the Good Teacher, finally responds.
“I’ve got other things to do.” “I’m too busy.” “Your
daughter is not my concern, not my problem.”
Sometimes, some days, some years--we are Jesus here. We are
focused, determined, heaven-bent on fulfilling a challenging plan that demands
all of our attention and energy so as to not become disheartened or back out.
We have carefully, and maybe even painfully, discerned our path and we will be
undeterred until we reach our goal. Our resolve is strong and our vision
myopic. It is nearly impossible to take in new information, so set are our eyes
on the end goal. We see things and people outside the scope of our vision as
distractions and setbacks.
Call to mind a time in your life when you were determined
and unmoving. Remember how this feels in your body. Your head. Your chest. Your
gut. Your hands.
The woman, who has a name but we do not know it, persists.
Jesus compares her to a dog. The woman notes that, actually, she is being
treated as even less than a dog--so stingy are the disciples, and most
devastatingly, Jesus, in responding to her need.
And Jesus perhaps is shocked by her words, her character,
her audacity to tell the truth and shatter the blinders he was using to dismiss
her. This is a conversion moment for Jesus, one of the most intensely human
portraits of Jesus. In this moment, Jesus sees the woman. He hears her. Her
interruption allows Jesus to wake up and to respond with compassion, to widen
his circle, to broaden his mission, to adjust his understanding of his own
calling.
Sometimes, some days, and, if we are so very blessed, some
years--we are Jesus in this moment, after seeing and hearing and taking
seriously a woman whose name we do not know. We are Jesus, breaking out of
ourselves. We are able to see the truth of love as expansive; we recognize that
when we recognize the dignity of one, it does not subtract or negate the
dignity of another. We are arrested in our tracks, convicted by the truth of
our own indifference, willing ignorance, complicit bias, and we are compelled
to cross and dismantle previously established borders. We wake up and see with
startling clarity the actual person who is front of us, who has been asking for
our attention, our companionship, our gifts, our belief. We wake up and we
move. The best apology is changed behavior. Jesus owns his freedom to change,
to choose a new response, to upend old patterns, to begin a new relationship.
He pays attention. He is humbled.
Call to mind a time in your life when you felt convicted,
converted, called to action. Remember what it feels like to accept a new truth,
to take on a new reality, to respond with your life. Remember what it feels
like to grow, to expand, to give, to love. In your head. Your chest, Your gut.
Your hands.
Dominican Volunteers will spend this next year dedicated to
the four pillars of Prayer, Community, Ministry and Study. Our hope is that in
relationship this year you will remember the times that you yourself have been
the daughter, the woman with a name no one remembered, the disciples. And that
when you encounter the daughter, the woman, or the disciples in someone else,
you remember the example of Jesus, of Dominic. We pray that you allow yourself
to hear the stories of the students, the parents, the survivors, the abusers,
the children, the hungry, enter into your own story, disrupt the path you
“thought” you were on. Allow their story to enter yours so much that it changes
yours as you live it. We pray that you are transformed by these relationships
and the ever-continued awakening to the truth of our interconnectedness and the
ever-present opportunity for change.
‘The Heart of Ministry is Relationship.' Jesus knew this.
The woman and her daughter reminded him. Dominic knew this. That is why St.
Dominic traveled by foot--to stay physically and literally grounded by putting
himself in a position that would allow him to encounter others on his way. His
life invited this kind of relational interruption. He knew that the destination
was never more pressing than the person in front of him in any given moment,
and so he chose to live in a way that would increase opportunities for
connection and an expansion of shared wisdom, shared truth.
We give thanks today in this Eucharist for the encounter
with one another made possible by our retreat here at Mariandale. We give
thanks to the Dominican sisters who inspire and make possible DVUSA, and
especially for the sisters that open their homes to the volunteers. We give
thanks with hearts full of hope and eager anticipation for the 5 newest
Dominican Volunteers and their commitment to respond to the Gospel with their
lives.
