Over the last few years—

ever since Brittany Higgins went public with her allegation of being raped…

and the resulting report from the former sex-discrimination commissioner—

there have been attempts to change the culture within federal parliament.

Recently, the government announced further legislation that would see increased penalties for bad behaviour…

including the imposition of significant fines…

or the expulsion from parliamentary committees.

But one wonders how effective those somewhat tokenistic measures will be as a deterrent…

when they have little real impact on a politician’s working life.

After all, elected politicians can’t really be dismissed—

except by the constituents at an election.

That effectively means that they have a fair degree of immunity…

and no great incentive to change.

 

But, under a shroud of confidentiality…

many female parliamentarians have complained of the sorts of abuse that they experience on a regular basis.

They report being yelled at more loudly and aggressively, and less respectfully…

than what happens with male colleagues…

to the point where some of those women say that they do not feel safe.

While admitting that it has improved somewhat in recent times—

with the banning of votes after six-thirty p.m.… 

and attempts to curtail the high levels of alcohol consumption— 

they admit that it’s still a very “blokey culture”.

Alongside this intrinsic and prolific misogyny…

there have also been significant complaints of racism…

with the attitude towards and treatment of women of colour being especially virulent.

One such member described some of the comments that she had heard— 

and personally received—

as being nothing short of “obscene”.

In virtually any other workplace… 

the sort of behaviour that many of our elected politicians display would not be tolerated.

Nor would it be tolerated in most public places and institutions of modern, Western cultures.

I can’t imagine that many of us today…

would be comfortable hearing the sort of sexist… 

or racist comments… 

that wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow a generation or so ago.

 

All of which makes this morning’s reading from Mark’s Gospel somewhat uncomfortable.

Approached by a woman begging for help, the author has Jesus respond—

seemingly in a caustic way—

“Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs”.

As one commentator noted, his response here is—

or it ought to be—

utterly shocking and offensive to the modern reader.

This story—

this response—

confronts us with what appears to be a xenophobic and misogynistic Jesus.

Of course, there have been plenty of attempts to try to mollify that impression down the ages.

Some scholars have noted that, in the original Greek, the term used for “dog” is a diminutive—

suggesting, perhaps, that Jesus was being somewhat playful.

But, in antiquity, the use of a diminutive could actually be more demeaning.

Some have noted that Jesus is simply employing a metaphor—

and it shouldn’t be taken as a direct insult of the woman.

But that ignores the way in which language, and metaphors, work.

Some have suggested that Jesus was simply testing the woman’s faith—

that his comment was really a provocative attempt to elicit a deeper response…

a sort of first-century Gestalt therapy.

And while that could perhaps be said of Matthew’s adaptation of this story…

not so, here, with Mark’s.

Rather, we need to hear this story in its offensiveness.

Jesus suggests that helping this woman would be like taking the children’s food and throwing it to dogs;

and not necessarily the household pets—

what’s implied, here, are stray mongrels.

Furthermore, it’s important to realise that the term, “dog”, was not just a general term of abuse in antiquity.

Rather, it was one that Hebrews frequently hurled at non-Hebrews.

And it was especially used for women…

as a means of implying their inferior rationality.

In other words, the author places what is a traditional and proverbial insult on the lips of Jesus.

But that doesn’t make it any better.

It was xenophobic.

It was misogynistic.

Of course, what we see here is culturally conditioned.

Xenophobia and misogyny were rife in the ancient world.

So, in one sense, it ought not be surprising.

And yet, as scholars have long noted, women, generally, fare quite well in Mark’s Gospel—

certainly, better than the male disciples usually do.

Generally, in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus doesn’t come across as misogynistic—

by first-century Palestinian standards, that is.

Also, in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus isn’t averse to helping foreigners.

After all, not long before this story was the story of the Gerasene demoniac…

where Jesus healed and liberated a stressed and repressed man—

a foreign man.

 

So maybe, in this case, it was the fact that she was both foreign and a woman.

And perhaps we can expand on that even further.

This woman has intruded—

not just into a house that was not her own… 

but also, into what was effectively male space.

That, in and of itself, bespeaks a certain shamelessness.

So too does daring to speak to a strange man in public.

Add to that the fact that she comes on her own…

rather than having a male relative come on her behalf—

which implies that she doesn’t have any.

Within the sociocultural context of the first century…

all of that suggests that the woman is probably a prostitute.

And, of course, within the worldview of the first century…

her daughter’s condition only added to her sense of shame.

This woman, then, is about as “other” for Jesus as the author could have constructed.

Jesus’ response to her was, in fact, quite in keeping with normal cultural expectations.

But that doesn’t make it any better.

 

Perhaps, the author is suggesting that it was a case of compassion fatigue…

or that she was just too “other”—

that she stretched even his boundaries.

In other words, perhaps he’s portraying Jesus as just being human…

and, through this encounter, he grows into a deeper, richer, fuller understanding…

of the nature of God… 

and of God’s relationship with humankind.

 

But what if the author is not just making a statement about Jesus’ humanity?

If we take seriously the notion of incarnation—

even if we understand it in a symbolic or sacramental sense—

then what does this encounter say about God?

 

Perhaps, as process theology contends, through God’s engagement with humankind…

God is as much shaped and changed by us…

as we are by God.

God is not impassive or immutable.

Rather, the metaphor of the incarnation presents us with a God who enters fully into the human experience.

And, surely, a fundamental part of the human experience is growth.

Part of that growth…

has to do with how we relate to others.

In particular, it is through our encounter and engagement with “the other”—

with those who are different and those who make us feel uncomfortable—

that, hopefully, we cease to see and treat them as “other”.

And perhaps, it is only through that process—

through acknowledging our cultural conditioning…

and the biases and prejudices that come with it…

and growing beyond them—

perhaps it is only in doing that…

that we actually realise the image of God in which we are made.