Once a Canaanite woman, a foreigner and a stranger, came to Jesus and began shouting. She addressed him respectfully, even calling him "Lord," and "Son of David," and she beseeched him to do something for her daughter who is possessed by a demon. This is just the kind of situation where Jesus usually demonstrates compassion and love. But not this time. Matthew tells us that "He did not answer her at all!" How rude! How uncaring! Not even a word of sympathy for this tormented mother. The disciples note his displeasure, and realizing that he has no intention of helping her, they urge him to send her away. She is bothering them. When Jesus does finally break his silence, it is to say, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel."It is not clear from Matthew's gospel to whom those words were addressed. Were they spoken to the disciples to justify his actions (or lack thereof)? Were they directed at the woman to make her understand that she had no right to expect anything from him? We don't know, but in any event, they seem cold, unsympathetic, and uncaring. We might expect that response from someone who is prejudiced, but they just don't sound right coming out of the mouth of Jesus.
It's tempting to be so upset, to feel so confused, that we want to stop reading right there. But fortunately, that's not where the story ends. The pesky woman persists. She drops to her knees and pleads, "Lord, help me!" You can hear the desperation in her voice. Life with her daughter must be hell. She wants not only for her daughter to be healed, but also for relationship to be restored and for their lives to return to normal. She ignores the disciples' cutting glances. She overcomes the snub of silence handed out by Jesus, and she cries, "Lord, help me!"
This time she elicits a response, but surely not the one she was seeking or expecting. She hears no words of comfort or compassion, no promise of healing for her tormented daughter. Instead Jesus says to her, "It is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs." Another stinging rebuke. An insult of the highest order! Or at least that's what it sounds like. Is he really implying that his healing ministry is only for Israel, and is he calling the Canaanites dogs? How much worse can it get?
Put yourself in the woman's shoes for a moment. Women already had little or no status in Jesus' day. For a woman to have dared approach Jesus at all required enormous courage. And to make matters worse, this woman was of the "wrong" religion. She was a Canaanite and Jesus was a Jew. Jesus' comment, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel" is a potent reminder to her that she is on shaky ground. But this woman is not just...a woman, not just a Canaanite, she is also a mother. She is the mother of a tormented child, and she will do anything to make her daughter well. So she humbles herself, swallows her pride, kneels before Jesus and literally begs for help. His stinging rebuke would have turned most people away, but not this woman, not this mother. She squares her shoulders, and looks him right in the eyes and says with determination, "Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their Master's table." She will not stand for being regarded as a nobody. Every person has some rights and deserves some dignity.
It is unclear what it is about her response that makes the difference, but Jesus instead of ignoring her or sending her away, he says to her this time, "Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish." And her daughter was healed instantly. We are relieved as the final scene unfolds. At last Jesus responds as we want and expect him to. But what really happened earlier? Was Jesus testing the woman? Was God testing Jesus? Had Jesus set limits for himself recognizing that in a limited time he could not be all things to all people? Whatever the reason, it is clear from the beginning, that this woman falls outside the realm of Jesus' intended ministry. Remember that old sailor's prayer, "O Lord, the ocean is so big and my boat is so small." Jesus knew that he could not erase all prejudice from the world; he could not feed all the hungry, clothe all the naked or heal all the diseased. He could only do so much. But he could teach by example and hope that his lessons would be passed on.
That's one of the problems we have with this story. Jesus' apparent prejudice and his hard heart are hardly what we want to cling to or believe. So we must look deeper for a message that does make sense. We all set limits. We say, "I can give, but only a little." "I can teach, but only occasionally." "I can serve on the committee, but only this once." "I can put a coin in the beggar's cup, but only once this week." Even Jesus, who presumably has divine authorization for his limits ("I was sent..."), even Jesus allows his limits to be stretched by another's need. In other words, the rule here is that there is no rule, only a creative tension between our finite capacities and the world's infinite need. We can always give a little bit more, or help a little bit more, or love a little bit more. Love and compassion don't belong in boxes with tight-fitting lids. They are to be shared, and there should always be enough to go around, always room for one more inside our circle of love. God's mercy is infinite, and ours should be too.
Humanity was created in God's own image. We each have the capacity to reflect God's goodness in our lives. We strive, we fail. We love, we hate. We admire, we envy. We pray, we curse. We welcome, we reject. We compare, we judge. We are human. We are imperfect. We are loved. We are forgiven. God's love and mercy know no bounds. We are jealous, deceitful, and afraid. We are loved and forgiven. We are the Canaanite woman, rejected, desperate, persistent in prayer, and our prayers are heard. There is no limit to the amount of love God showers upon us, no limit to the number of times forgiveness is offered. God's mercy, love and forgiveness know no bounds, and neither should ours. Our instinct should be to help not hurt, to forgive not condemn, to love not judge, to give without counting the cost. One simple act of mercy, of love and kindness, can have enormous ramifications.
The Canaanite woman is every marginalized person in our society. She is every mother or father with a desperately ill child. She is like the political refugee clinging to hope, believing in second chances. She is a person of faith. Of course, there is also Jesus, at first put off by too many demands, overwhelmed by responsibility, drained from giving and giving and giving, trying to be faithful to his mission, and finally giving in, finally responding in love. I would bet that each of us relates to one or more of these characters in some way.
I still cringe a bit when I read this story about the Canaanite woman. Jesus' words still ring false and elicit a protest from deep within, but now I can move beyond the words and rejoice in the underlying lesson, a lesson summed up in the words of the hymn which we will sing in a few moments, "There's a wideness in God's mercy, like the wideness of the sea; there's a kindness in God's justice, which is more than liberty." And in verse three: "For the love of God is broader than the measure of our mind; and the heart of the Eternal is most wonderfully kind." God's love and mercy are wide enough to encompass everyone, wide enough to encompass the Canaanite woman, wide enough to include you and me.
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