Reflections on James 2:1-17 and Mark 7:24-37

As a young adult I participated in a Mennonite Church Assembly. The theme was “Free to Be Bound to Be Free.” Those words challenged me then, and I’ve thought of them many times since. Now as I reflect on the second chapter of James I’m wondering if what we really want to be saying is that as followers of Jesus we are “free to be bound to make free.” That is how I am coming to understand the law of liberty.

In this chapter James gives us three ways of looking at the law. In verse 8 he speaks of the royal law. Which kingdom is he referring to? Rome? Jerusalem? There’s a clue in verse 5: “Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him?” Aha. The kingdom is the one the poor will inherit. The royal law is the law of the poor, the law that protects those who have little and includes those who are on the margins of society.

What is the substance of this law? “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” The royal law is the law of love. Love as the standard. Love as the measuring stick for what’s the right thing to do.

“So speak and act as those who are to be judged by the law of liberty,” James continues in verse 12. How does the law of liberty connect with the royal law, the law of love? Remember how Jesus introduces his ministry in the Gospel of Luke: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,” he says, “because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free.” There’s the link: The royal law is all about bringing good news to the poor. And the law of liberty is about setting folks free.

When we encounter the law of liberty, whatever has held us captive, holds us no more. We are set free. But this is not a free-for-all; we are set free for a purpose. We are free but we are held to the law of love, which compels us to set others free. We are free to be bound to make free. What builds up, recognizes, gives honor to, breaks bonds, embraces, lifts up and welcomes in is what is lawful and right in God’s eyes. We are not called to judge but to love and be merciful. We are called to do whatever it takes to set folks free.

How does it work? How is this put into practice? There are a couple of interesting examples in Mark 7:24-37.

Jesus is tired. He wants to get away. He leaves the Jewish area of Galilee and goes into the land of the Gentiles. Perhaps here he can rest. “Yet he could not escape notice,” the text says, “but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet.” Even here in this foreign place a needy woman seeks him out. She comes into the house where he has sequestered himself and speaks to him. Jesus reacts harshly.

This woman is a Gentile of Syrophoenician origin. She is a Canaanite, a descendent of this region of Tyre. These things—woman, Gentile, Canaanite—are all strikes against her from the Jewish male perspective. And they may well have made Jesus, a Jewish male, uncomfortable. But Jesus is seldom derailed by such things. Perhaps there’s more to it.

The tension in this story may stem from a situation of economic injustice. Landlocked Galilee, a Jewish homeland, exported agricultural produce through the Gentile coastal cities of Tyre and Sidon. These cities, in turn, depended on Galilee for food. In periods of crisis or food shortage, when the farmers of Galilee were struggling economically, they may have resented producing goods for the wealthy cities. Like many small farmers in poorer areas in our world today, the Galilean farmers may have had little control over the food they worked hard to produce, leaving them feeling frustrated, underfed and exploited by those who benefited from their labor.

And here is the Syrophoenician woman, a member of this privileged group. She is a person who, relatively speaking, should be able to take care of her own needs. Yet this privileged woman has the gall to break into Jesus’ time of rest and ask him for help.
Jesus’ first reaction is one of judgment: He says to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Whoa. This is harsh. And this is Jesus speaking. What’s happening here? I imagine Jesus thinking of how the Galilean people have been exploited. I imagine him wanting to be on their side in this situation of economic injustice. I imagine him remembering the words of the Old Testament prophets condemning the rich and lifting up the oppressed. What you represent, he says to this woman, is not what is just and right. You don’t deserve my help.

Well. Even Jesus has to learn what it means to follow the law of liberty, it seems. Even for Jesus this is not easy or obvious. Even faithful Jesus needs reminding that the law to which God is committed above all else is the law that sets people free. And this is true, even in an uncomfortable situation of injustice like this.

The woman sticks with Jesus. She knows she has a deep need that only he can meet. She responds, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” And as she says this, Jesus’ eyes are opened. He no longer sees her as a representative of injustice to be shunned. He sees her as a person held captive. He puts his judgment aside and opts for mercy. He meets her where she is and gives her what she needs. He sets her free.

You get the feeling that this was hard on Jesus. In the story he moves on through Gentile territory. And again he is confronted with a situation of need. They bring to him a deaf man who has an impediment in his speech. But he doesn’t respond immediately. They have to beg. Jesus finally relents. He takes the man aside and puts his fingers into his ears. Jesus spits and touches the man’s tongue. Then, looking up to heaven, he sighs. This whole thing seems to be asking much of him. He seems to be doing it almost against his will. But Jesus says to the man, “Be opened.” And immediately the man’s ears are opened, his tongue is released and he speaks plainly. He is set free.

I don’t really know why we have these two stories of healing in which Jesus seems so resistant. But there they are in all their difficulty. Perhaps they are there to let us know that it is not easy to live by the law of liberty. Even Jesus had problems with it occasionally. Perhaps these stories are there for us to ponder when we feel that surely God can’t really mean for us to respond to the cries we hear, these voices begging for our attention. Perhaps in these stories we see that God really is serious about mercy and that healing must happen. Whether we agree with it or not, those who are in bondage must be set free.

“What good is it, my brothers and sisters,” writes James, “if you say you have faith but do not have works? Faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.”

But living according to the law of liberty brings life. When the eyes of the blind are opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped, says the prophet Isaiah, then the lame shall leap like a deer and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. Waters shall break forth in the wilderness. Springs of water will feed the thirsty ground.

Of course, we are not Jesus. We cannot miraculously heal. But we can act out our faith in ways that respond to the needs around us. We can love our neighbors with an integrity that speaks from the deepest part of us to the deepest part of them and invites them wholeheartedly, freely, into the circle. We can trust that God will work through us to free and heal, even if we are uncomfortable and don’t fully understand. We can choose mercy over judgment. Jesus meets us on these terms. We, too, receive mercy. We, too, are set free. And we respond by passing on the freedom. Our faith is not dead. Instead, springs of water break forth in the wilderness around us. Life-giving streams flow through the desert. And we and all those around us drink and live.