“[Jesus] said to her, ‘Let the children first be fed, for it is not right to take the children’s
bread and throw it to the dogs.’ But she answered Him, ‘Yes, Lord; yet even the little dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.’” (Mark 7:27)
We hasten to explain this discourse between our loving Lord Jesus and the Greek woman over the border of Palestine. He’s not calling her a dog, which is the height of insolence, and she doesn’t understand it as an offense. Her demur is as witty as His comment: First the children, then the pets! To which she replies: Puppies eat what falls off the tables of children. It’s not a sexist or ethnic slur: This is not an insult, but banter.
But we can often misspeak when we do not take into account sensitivities of others. I delivered the eulogy at the fortieth day memorial of a dear friend and archbishop from the Arab communion of our land. My point was that he was not only a wise and discerning spiritual shepherd of his flock, he had a gift for utilizing his clergy to the fullest extent of their abilities. I went on to observe that a good shepherd has a variety of dogs that keep herd over the sheep, and in the case of the intelligent spiritual leader, he manages his extended flock by sending out those with gifts of evangelism and sensitivity to the needs of the Lord’s children, much like collies and sheep dogs who roam the periphery of the parish seeking out the fallen, the wounded, the strays, and the lost. Other priests are more like watch dogs—Dobermans who bark at strangers, checking the credentials, testing the doctrines and teachings before admittance back into the flock.
When I was making what I felt to be a rather slick simile, I became aware of a change in the atmosphere. After public speaking for decades, one acquires an inner sense of one’s effect on the hearers—appreciation, boredom or worse. Like a surfer on his board, one either catches a wave and rides it to shore or is spilled headlong. Only later did it dawn on me that by making the analogy of clergy with canine helpers of shepherds it could be considered offensive. I’ve always had a pet dog in my growing-up years, and I can measure my childhood by which of my hairy companions I had at the time. Dogs make the best friends—ask any dog owner. Friends may forsake you, parents misunderstand and teachers reprimand, but a dog never judges or rejects you. They are far more consistent than humans. They are always ready to lift up one’s spirits, and they never [or at least rarely] do other than celebrate the master’s existence. How delightful that one of our monasteries is renowned for breeding and raising dogs.
Now as our world becomes ever more the proverbial village, we must become aware of the ethnic and cultural variations, and this is all the more imperative as we move towards inclusiveness in welcoming people into our parishes. Yes, it’s true that we are becoming an American Orthodox Church; nevertheless, we also must extend our invitation to those who come from Old World cultures, helping them to adjust to American customs, but treating their own ways and mores with respect. What would make them feel comfortable among us? Can we find ways to chat with them comfortably at the post-liturgy coffee hour? Do we invite them out, or to our homes? Is it too much effort to break out of the clusters of common interests that naturally develop among those of the same age and backgrounds, and integrate the visitors, especially the foreigners, into the inner life of the community? Thank the Lord America is the land of integration in all ways—no more royalty and commoners, gender or ethnic barriers, and all the more is this to be realized and experienced in the Church of Jesus Christ.