Scripture: Matthew 14:13–21; 15:21–28
[J]ust as we were about to set off. . . a voice passed through me, saying, “The poor servants have not been favored with crumbs which fall from their master’s table,” so that I did not dare to go until I sat down with the family, and handed forth the crumbs which were committed to my trust. —Ann Moore
Questions: Who needs to eat in today’s world, and what is Jesus saying to you about your responsibility for ensuring they are fed? What prejudices do you see in the world around you, like those felt between the Jews and the Canaanites in Jesus’ time? What prejudices persist in your own heart? Are there times when you have felt like Jesus in this passage, when someone made a claim about their humanity, and your responsibility to acknowledge their humanity?
Banias, in northern Israel, is beautiful. The water flows from Mount Hermon, cascades into pools, and then tumbles into the Jordan River. That and the shade would have been enough for me on the hot July day.
Our tour group paused to hear about this ancient site, dedicated to the Greek god Pan, that later became Caesarea Philipi. In Jesus’ day, it was thought that the caves here could lead to Hades, the underworld of death.
“So,” our guide asked, “what better place for Jesus to be shown in all his glory, in the transfiguration?”
I nodded with the rest. The gates of Hades will not stand against the new order Jesus would bring.
“It was here,” our guide continued, “that Jesus designated Peter as head of the church. The promise about overcoming applies to those in the line of Apostolic succession, to the Catholic Church, to those under the headship of the Pope in Rome.”
My eyebrows rose. In our group of eighteen, there were just three Protestants: two Anglicans, and Quaker me. I exchanged glances with the two others; the irony of the guide’s words did not escape us.
Twelve of our group were Catholic priests from Australia, plus another three Catholics, and I had never had better companions for learning and travel. They were knowledgeable, curious, and kind. Just earlier, I’d hit my head as I walked under a low doorway to an ancient synagogue. I saw stars and felt my knees go wobbly; I was about to collapse. But a nearby priest propelled me forward, half carrying me to a conveniently located bench. I recovered, but the headache stayed.
I felt my head pounding now. I frowned and considered being offended. But there was something about the place that held me. Here where an ancient religion worshiped Pan, and Caesar displayed his power, Jesus spoke. And whatever Jesus meant—or didn’t mean—in Mathew 16, I knew Jesus desired that we be one (John 15–17). How might it look for the whole church to be one?
I thought about the transfiguration, a partially visible demonstration of Jesus as one with God, and about our little group of fifteen Catholics, two Anglicans, and a Quaker. If we are to have a chance to stand against Hades, or any power, we also need to demonstrate Jesus through our unity.
I choose to sing and pray together, to help and be helped. We are stronger together, and we have work to do.
–Elizabeth Todd in “Friendly Perspective” from Matthew: The Life of Jesus