Fr. Spadaro’s Sermon Describes Christ As “An Unmerciful Theologian”
By FR. JOHN T. ZUHLSDORF
(Wanderer Editor’s Note: This essay first appeared in Fr. Zuhlsdorf’s WDTPRS column, and it is reprinted here with permission.)
- + + Fr. Antonio Spadaro, editor of the semi-official publication La Civiltà Cattolica, has been, at times, nearly sewed to the shoulder of Francis and at other times seemingly shelved. He got some attention from a sermon he gave last week about the Gospel from Matthew 15 about Christ and the Syrophoenician woman whose daughter was possessed. At first the Lord doesn’t respond to her pleas, then He used the imagery of a dog (actually more like “puppy”) to describe the Canaanites (inveterate enemies of the Chosen People). Christ eventually exorcizes the woman’s daughter and then heals many more in that Gentile region.
How did Spadaro describe the Lord?
Indifferent to suffering, peevish and insensitive, unbreakably harsh, an unmerciful theologian, mocking and disrespectful towards his poor mother, lacking humanity, blinded by nationalism and theological rigor, rigid, confused, sick and a prisoner of the dominant theological, political, and cultural elements of his time.
That’s most of it. And, in case you are wondering, he didn’t end with, “But, Jesus only seemed that way. What He was really doing was. . . .” Nope.
Read it for yourselves.
What Spadaro published (Il Fatto Quotidiano has a paywall) which I found at Messa in Latino (these guys are great!):
“Jesus is in Gennesaret, on the right bank of Lake Tiberias. The locals had recognized him and word of his presence had spread throughout the region, by word of mouth. Many brought him sick, who were healed. It was a land where people had to welcome and understand him. His actions were effective. But the Master does not stop. Matthew (15:21-28) — who writes for the Jews — tells us that he goes towards the northwest, the area of Tyre and Sidon, that is, in the Phoenician and therefore pagan area.
“But behold, screams are heard. They are from a woman. She is Canaanite, that is, from that region inhabited by an idolatrous people that Israel looked upon with contempt and enmity. So, the story presumes that Jesus and the woman were enemies. The woman shouts: ‘Have mercy on me, Lord, son of David! My daughter is very tormented by a demon.’ The body of this woman, her voice impose themselves erupting as if at the scene of a tragedy. Impossible for Jesus not to react to the chaos that abruptly interrupted the journey.”
But no. “But he did not speak to her even a word,” writes Matthew laconically. Jesus remains indifferent. His disciples approach him and implore him, amazed. That woman was moving those who also ill-judged her! Her screams had broken the barrier of hatred. But Jesus does not care. “Hear her, because she comes after us shouting!” His companions beg him, trying to discreetly use the card of her insistence and the annoyance that her presence would have caused to the fireplace [sic!] of the Master. [That sic is because the text says “camino… fireplace, chimney” rather than “cammino… journey”. There’s plenty that’s horrid in this rant that supersedes typos.]
[This is where the trainwreck starts.] The silence is followed by Jesus’ angry and insensitive response: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” The Master’s hardness is unshakeable. Now even Jesus is a theologian: [A “theologian”??!? That’s really bad. Now make a connection with the new head of Doctrine of Faith, where a new kind of Prefect was needed, instead of one of those rigid theologians who used “immoral means”.] the mission received from God is limited to the children of Israel. So, nothing can be done. Mercy is not for her. She is excluded. There is no discussion.
But the woman is stubborn. Her hope for her is desperate, and she overcomes not only any supposed tribal enmity, but also appropriateness, her very dignity. She throws herself in front of Him and begs him: “Lord, help me!” [My Italian text has “Signora” rather than “Signore.” Trans is everywhere, I guess.] She calls Him “Lord,” that is, she recognizes His authority and her mission. What else can Jesus demand in order to act? Yet He replies in a mocking and disrespectful way towards that poor woman: “It is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the little dogs,” that is to domestic dogs. A downfall in tone, style, humanity. Jesus appears as if he were blinded by nationalism and theological rigor. [Remember: theologians are bad!]
Anyone would have given up. But not the woman. She is determined: She wants her daughter healed. And she immediately grasps the only crack left open by Jesus’ words, where He had referred to domestic dogs (and therefore not stray ones). They share their masters’ house, in fact. And so with a move that desperation makes astute she says: “It is true, Lord, and yet the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Few words, but well posed and such as to upset the rigidity of Jesus, to conform Him, to “convert” Him to Himself. [It’s hard to believe that this guy thinks this much less published it.] Indeed, without hesitation, [Which could be a clue that maybe S’s interpretation is somewhat lacking…] Jesus replies: “Woman, great is your faith! May it happen for you as you wish.” And from that instant her daughter was healed. And Jesus also appears healed, and in the end shows Himself free, from the rigidity of the dominant theological, political, and cultural elements of his time.
So what happened? Outside the land of Israel, Jesus healed the daughter of a pagan woman, despised for being Canaanite. Not only that: He agrees with her and praises her great faith.
Here is the seed of a revolution.
Revolution.
Interesting way to end that, no?
