Following Jesus Across The Line

Here We Go Again!

Jesus is once again in a tense discussion with the Pharisees. This time, they are prominent leaders who have journeyed north from Jerusalem, deliberately seeking to challenge him. These men—of course all men—belong to a highly exclusive circle, zealous about every minute detail of the law. Even the smallest slip could threaten their in-group status, so they are meticulous in understanding the scriptures.

Yet, time and again, discussions with Jesus leave them unsettled. He constantly overturns their assumptions, exposing the fragility of the distinctions they hold dear.

On this occasion, they complain that the disciples do not wash their hands properly before meals, fearing that the food might render them ritually unclean. Jesus responds, tying them in knots with references to corban, youthful impertinence, and the death penalty. Then, turning to the crowd gathered in the dusty courtyard, he declares:

Later, when they return to the house where they are staying, the disciples ask for clarification. Because Jesus' statement is radical; it challenges the very logic of purity. Jesus explains that it is literally true: physical purity, and even eating food that might be contaminated, is irrelevant to spiritual health. Mark then adds the telling comment:

But we miss the impact!

Literally A Shock Horror Moment

Because Jesus has just dismantled one of the most significant markers of in-group status among the Jews. The boundary between “clean” and “unclean” has been redrawn—in the most visceral repellant way.

Deciding that the lesson must be driven home further, Jesus leads his disciples beyond Jewish territory, heading north to the town of Tyre (in present-day Lebanon). They enter a house, and soon a woman appears: a Canaanite from Syrophoenicia, desperate, repeatedly pleading for her demon-possessed daughter to be healed.

Jesus, however, studiously ignores her at first—perhaps to see how his disciples will react. Their irritation grows, and they begin to urge him to send her away. Finally, Jesus speaks:

Here he affirms the priority of Israel: as a nation, they are given the first choice to accept their Messiah or reject him. Yet this is not a limitation of God’s grace—it is strategic, because God knows how events will transpire. It also serves to highlight the stark contrast between God’s unfolding plan and the common Jewish attitude toward outsiders.

Then he adds the shocking statement:

To our ears, this sounds outrageous, even offensive. The disciples themselves may have felt uncomfortable even hearing it. But in the world Jesus inhabits, calling Gentiles “dogs” is standard parlance. By repeating the epithet—and intensifying it with the careless imagery of “tossing” the bread—Jesus exposes the hidden harshness of the culture, and his disciples’ unspoken categories and biases.

The moment is electric with tension: a mother’s desperation, the disciples’ assumptions, and Jesus deliberately highlighting the assumed boundaries of grace. The scene sets the stage for a mercy that leaps across the red lines that humans draw—foreshadowing the way God’s kingdom will reach far beyond expectation.

And so — the moment turns. The woman persists, and Jesus responds:

What’s going on?

Well this is Jesus' teaching style which not infrequently is akin to a hand grenade! Jesus has brought the in-group assumption into the open, and deliberately broken it in front of them.

And Jesus over and again makes sure that this is noted and understood. When he talks about Elijah being sent to the widow in Sidon, or Elisha being sent to heal Naaman the Syrian, he is deliberately overturning the expectations set up by a narrow reading of the Torah.

And he describes the hero in the parable as a good Samaritan. And he declares that the Roman centurion's faith outshines any that he has seen from within the Jewish community.

Jesus is not quietly crossing a boundary. In those situations, he is performatively destroying it. And of course those who want to believe their in-group has exclusive access to Yahweh are furious. They mutter to each other, they throw stones, they try to push Jesus off a cliff, all to no avail.

Imagine what they think when Jesus says on another occasion:

Probably something like, 'Those uncircumcised dogs get in, and we're thrown out? Outrageous!'

Jesus doesn't exactly pull his punches does he?

And How About Us?

Are we divisive, exclusive, and quite assuredly theologically correct? Are you tribal with your own definition of orthodox? Are we falling into the trap with the Pharisees?

We religious folks are particularly keen on being very specific about what you have to believe to be in the 'in-group'. It is understandable that Protestant denominations share cardinal points of faith, because those are the basis on which other groups have been excluded! But the tribalism does not stop there. Each denomination has an additional box of essential theological statements that it holds dear, and those who disagree may, after all, not be “real Christians” or “born again” or “spirit filled”. Then there may be some negotiable points of view which they can accommodate. But almost certainly some views that simply disqualify people in their view, from the Kingdom of Heaven.

Emo Philips lampoons this offensive tribalism in his Baptist On The Bridge joke (Google it).

But the question, “What must I do to enter the Kingdom of Heaven” remains contemporary and foundational.

The evangelical answer may be to “believe in Jesus”, but if you want a wide variety of wrong interpretations of what that means, you're spoiled for choice. Pick from one of the more crazy ones like “believe in a certain way to behave”, “believe in love as the golden rule”, “believe in total immersion baptism as symbolic of being born again”, “believe in speaking in tongues as a sign that you are filled with the Spirit”. More serious readers may feel more comfortable picking from “believe in a particular theology of the cross” or “believe in a particular view as to precisely who Jesus is” or “believe the resurrection actually happened”, etc, etc.

And boy, have we argued about all this over the years. We have been addicted to that delightful cosy “in crowd” feeling as we seek to share with others our enlightened view.

Whether you're a primitive Methodist, an old Baptist union baptist, or a Plymouth Brethren (presumably as opposed to a modern methodist, a new BU baptist or Putney brethren), you may get the feeling that God doesn't like “in-crowds”.

The thing is, the kind of believing Jesus is looking for has got very little to do with pet doctrines, and everything to do with relationship.

Jesus is not asking us to believe certain facts about anything. He never explained substitutionary atonement, or Christus Victor as alternative soteriologies. He didn't chuck Philip off the discipleship course because he didn't understand that “he who has seen me has seen the Father”.

The only sense in which we have to believe in Jesus is to trust him enough to follow him. I'm not saying that theology is unimportant – absolutely not – but I don't think Jesus cares too much if you've got bits of your theology wrong (as I most assuredly still have!), provided we trust and we follow.

The difficulty is that we know the road that Jesus trod. He lived God's lifestyle. Every day, He quite deliberately sought out those situations in which he could pour out his life for odd individuals who nobody cared about, whose names we don't know, whose identities are long forgotten, that He met along the roadside. Every day, He embraced with joy and good grace, the laying aside of his own comforts for the benefit of others. And every day, the Father asked him to give up more, and more, and more. Until the day came when there was seemingly nothing left of him, just a worn out, and beaten up body.

But He taught that you have to lose you life to save it. He said that dying to self somehow stores up a hidden life which one day is revealed. He reminds us that God underlines this counter-intuitive life principle, by surrounding us with millions of trees or shrubs which every year, drop their seeds into the ground, and await the miracle of life to happen again.

And if setting aside self, losing your own agenda, priorities, plans and goals, and serving others, actually does this hidden thing of stoking the furnaces of that hidden new life, then there is no way on earth that Jesus could fail to come alive again in awesome power.

So it is about trusting Jesus when he says 'lay it down', when he says 'spend your life on others'. Trusting Him to the extent that we actually do that. And thus stoking the furnace.

What is the kind of believing that saves? Believing an exclusive and specific set of doctrines - no.

Believing Jesus when he says "Follow me, through self-giving, through death to self, through resurrection to new life."

Yes.

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