September 5, 2021

 When I was a kid, my dad usually did the driving when we were going somewhere as a family and he often asked my mom when changing lanes, “Can I get over?”  My dad was asking my mom to help him see if there was a car next to us in his blind spot, or if it was safe to get over.  The way our eyes are set and the way the mirrors are set in our vehicles, there is a critical area that we can’t see, unless we turn our heads or ask someone else that we trust to see for us.  Today, a woman is in Jesus’ blind spot, he tries to change lanes without looking, and she is the one tell him there is already someone in that lane.

                We all have blind spots—things we often miss, areas where we could pay more attention, things we don’t know simply because we haven’t experienced them.  It would be hard for me to tell you my blind spots because I don’t usually know what they are until we’ve collided.  Maybe they are my deeply-held values that I have taken for granted.  I certainly have blind spots about other cultures that I don’t know about.  I know I have lots of blind spots when it comes to Trinity because I don’t even know what I don’t know about Trinity.  You all have a culture and history that I am unfamiliar with and one of these days, I’m going to change lanes and come right into contact with something from your past that I didn’t know was there.  Right now I’m asking a lot, “Can I get over?”  So far everyone is being nice and letting me in. 

People have blind spots because we can’t see everything.  It isn’t anyone’s fault.  Encountering a blind spot of ours is a reminder to look and listen.  When we have a close call and encounter one of our blind spots, we don’t have to be embarrassed or get defensive, but we can see it as an opportunity to learn what we didn’t know before. 

We have all been in someone else’s blind spot and had them almost hit us on the freeway.  I usually lay on my horn extra long, especially if someone is continuing to come toward me after I have signaled that it is unsafe to do so.  In life we have all been in someone’s blind spot.  This is easier to identify because we have seen where we are and we have seen where the other person is and we can see this isn’t going to end well if we remain on this collision course.  I have been in meetings where men dominated the conversation.  I have been told to smile more when I preach, and worse.  I have seen people discounted because of race or poverty or gender or sexual orientation.  Part of the time that we have been in someone’s blind spot, they didn’t come into our lane on purpose, but when it happens day after day, it starts to feel like it.  It starts to feel like someone isn’t doing the work to notice us or to show us kindness or respect.  Sometimes it just feels like people could take a little more care to look out for us and ask the question, “Can I get over?”

I’ve been trying to teach my son about blind spots, about stepping into the shoes of others around him and understanding what they might feel when he, as a very privileged person, drives into their lane.  He needs to check at least twice.  He needs to see—is this a motorcycle or a semi, how many times has this person been hit, how can we see and make room for everyone on the road?  I want him to ask like my dad did, “Can I get over?”

                When I have a near-collision because of my blind spot sometimes I get defensive.  I claim I was tired or distracted.  I might blame my child or spouse or something I heard on the radio.  Maybe I blame the other driver—maybe they sped up or waved me in and then changed their mind.  Sometimes I get mad at myself for not checking properly.  Sometimes I get mad at the rotten day I’m having.  Sometimes I put myself and my needs first.  I have places to go—important things to do.  Shouldn’t everyone have to get out of my way?  And sometimes I stay calm.  I remind myself to be thorough in checking my mirrors and over my shoulder and to be extra conscientious from now on or at least today. 

                When I have a near collision because I am in someone else’s blind spot, I sometimes blame their rather large truck, their inferior intellect, or them being an idiot on their phone risking my life.  Sometimes I get mad—share gestures that are unkind, say words that are unkind.  And sometimes, I can make my presence known calmly and swiftly, claim my space so that I am seen in a new way, and travel on my way. 

                Jesus has a major blind spot in today’s Gospel.  He’s traveling on a Gentile freeway, in a Gentile land.  A woman is having car trouble in the lane next to him.  She is in his blind spot, and they have a collision.  Now they both pull over to the side of the road.  The woman asks him for help—not for her but for her daughter who is very sick.  The woman knows Jesus’ reputation and in fact sought him out.  But Jesus is tired.  He wants to avoid notice, but he can’t.  He doesn’t see this woman or his daughter as fully human.  She is poor.  She is of another race.  She is of another religion.  He refuses her and calls her and her daughter dogs.  He says he doesn’t have enough resources—time, energy, etc. to help her—that it’s meant for someone else.  He climbs back in his car to head out on his way.

                This woman has had her share of troubles.  She’s been driving this broken down car.  She’s been trying to find treatment for her daughter.  She’s been called a dog plenty of times in her life, been discounted and in people’s blind spots all her life.  She’s been angry, defensive, tired.  And today, she’s calm.  She’s ready.  She’s heard the stories of the God of Israel, saving the people from Pharaoh, leading them through the promised land, healing them, teaching them to trust.  Now she’s heard of this Messiah, the Son of God, a loving person, kind to children and strangers, healing and feeding and teaching everywhere he goes.  So she seeks him out.  They have this conversation—not what she was expecting, but she’s not done.  He has brushed her off, insulted her.  But she’s on a mission to find healing for her daughter and she’s not giving up so easily.  Her compassion for her daughter is powerful that she continues to advocate for her daughter rather than doubt that this man will help her.  She has faith that he can and by her persuasion, she has hope that he will.

                This woman is an agitator of grace.  She is an agitator in that she stirs things up.  She is moving and shaking things up.  She a woman is asking a man.  She a Gentile is asking a Jew.  And she, who has been told no, is saying yes.  She who has heard bad news is sharing good news.  She who was said to be poor and worthless of God’s attention and healing is insisting on who God is—generous and healing and crossing boundaries.  This woman today is proclaiming God’s grace to those who are far away and neglected.  This woman today is standing up for all who stand in the blind spots of those who are barreling through life without looking.  She is looking and what she sees is God’s goodness and love.  So she reminds Jesus of who he is—he is our great physician, our healer, the one who has grace upon grace to share in abundance.  She gives her statement of faith, that even a little of what Jesus has to give is enough for her.  She doesn’t need to be first.  She doesn’t need a lot.  But she does need Jesus and she sees him there sputtering in his exhaustion and she asks something very small, not for herself, but for a little one in her care, a precious child of God, who is suffering.  This woman reminds Jesus of who he is and why he is here.

                And Jesus doesn’t curse her or send her away.  He doesn’t get defensive and blame someone.  He admits he was wrong and she was right.  He heals her daughter immediately and commends her faith.  He holds her up as an example to us.  She is the hero of this story.  Jesus admits she has a right to be on the road and from now on, he will be asking, “Can I get over?”

                We live in a very me-first culture, an America-first nation—an attitude Jesus expresses in the Gospel when he said that he goes first to the children of Israel.  We get very afraid that there won’t be enough for us, that someone else having something good will take away what we have.  But this story reminds us that’s not how God looks at things.  All the little people who don’t have food or shelter, who suffer every day from preventable diseases they can’t get medicine or treatment for, all those people who lost everything trying to pay medical bills who are sleeping on the steps of this church and receiving daily bread at Zarepheth Kitchen, who have worn through their shoes and haven’t had a shower in weeks, those are the people that God puts first and asks us to put first.  They are in terrible need and suffering.  You and I have enough food and clothing and a roof over our head.  We don’t need to gather more or be concerned that someone else having food or clothing or a roof or vaccines or God’s grace will in any way hurt us.  That is one of our blind spots—our fear of other people having what they need, our fear that other people will be lazy or have an easier time than we did, our fear that someone undeserving will get to eat and be clothed and be comfortable.  When another person is healed or has enough to eat, that is our sibling, our family member and we must rejoice with them.  It is good for all of us.  We are all undeserving.  We are all recipients of God’s grace and love. 

                Checking our blind spot is not terribly difficult.  We turn our head and look and ask if we can get over.  We see whether there is room and if there isn’t, we stay in our lane until it is safe.  We turn our heads to see—is someone struggling, is someone hungry or cold or need a drink of water?  Is there an unjust law that is making life harder for people who are poor or sick?  Who can I contact to begin to make a change?  How can I get to know people who are different from me?  Is there someone I am curious to know that I could set up an outdoor distanced meeting with?  Is there someone that is homebound who might be comforted by a phone call or a letter or porch visit?  Can I learn the name of one of the folks who sleep on the doorstep of this church—find out if there is something they especially need and bring it to them?  These encounters show us that although our culture tells us that the poor and small are weak and blind and lacking, it has been us powerful people all along who didn’t get it.  We were the ones who didn’t see all along the systems that oppress, the beautiful children of God that are seen as worthless, the injustice in our world, and the arbitrary lines we draw between us and other people.  When Jesus heals our blindness by these encounters, we see each other as fully human, as fully children of God.  Jesus says when we did it to the least of these, we did it to Jesus.  Just like the man healed in today’s Gospel, we hear Jesus’ voice, and we can’t help but praise him and tell everyone what he’s done for us.

                We all have our blind spots, but an encounter with Jesus and this woman gives us the grace to try again, to see if we can get over, to try driving in another lane for a while, to learn new ways, to find healing and wholeness in relationship rather than in wealth and comfort.  With God’s grace we find that we change lanes more carefully, that we can stand up for those who get overlooked, and that we can graciously remind other people not to run us over.  May we all learn from each other and from Jesus how to be agitators of God’s grace reminding each other that God has more than enough love and hope for us all and to keep an eye out for those who are struggling because they are beloved children of God.