“… it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.” Matthew 15: 10
It’s been a week of hearing defiling things come out of mouths – words and phrases meant to intimidate and threaten; justification for the verbal and corresponding physical violence by those seeking political gain; and language that breaks down our country instead of building us up. This defiling speech led to brokenness and death. Our Gospel begins in Jerusalem, where Jesus is calling out such evil intentions as he confronts religious leaders who have gotten so caught up in keeping the letter of the law that they’ve completely forgotten the heart of it. I love it when Jesus boldly confronts hypocrisy and bravely speaks truth to power!
If only our Gospel had ended there, if we hadn’t followed Jesus from Jerusalem to the borderland districts of Tyre and Sidon, because there we hear him say something completely unexpected. He calls a Canaanite woman, a desperate mother with a sick child, “a dog.” A dog. How can he do this? How can this defiling, dehumanizing word come out of our Savior’s mouth?
Maybe he’s tired, worn out from the travel and the increasing vehemence of the religious leaders back in Jerusalem. So, when she calls him Lord, Son of David, and begs him for mercy for the sake of her tormented daughter, he ignores her, perhaps hoping that if she’s not acknowledged, she will leave. The disciples offer their opinion, “She’s a foreign woman. Send her away so we don’t have to listen to her desperate pleading.” Jesus even justifies his behavior – explaining that she and her daughter are not part of his job description – that he was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel and God’s knows that’s more than enough. Still, she persists. Her back is against the wall. She has no choice but to speak up and out. She knows she’s fighting cultural norms – Jews and Gentiles are different races. They don’t mix, don’t touch, don’t have anything to do with one another. Yet she persists, kneeling before Jesus and once again, pleading, “Lord, help me.” Then comes his heart-breaking response, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Did you hear that? He calls her a dog.
Over the centuries scholars have gone to great lengths to justify Jesus’ insult. They say he’s talking about a beloved pet – like the ones John and I saw in New York City this summer – sweet little dogs whose owners tucked in designer handbags when their tiny legs got too tired to walk. Others scholars laid out salvation history that Jesus first came for the Jews and only after that for the Gentiles and then always through the Jews. Except she already accepted that – she named him for who he is calling him the Son of David, acknowledging that he is the Messiah, something the Jewish religious leaders have yet to confirm. Still other scholars say Jesus is giving her a test, refusing her request until he know she truly deserves his intervention. I understand why scholars want to justify the defiling word that came out of Jesus’ mouth because then he will be politically correct and on the right side of history. No wonder Luke and John don’t include this episode in their Gospels. It’s just too messy, too open to misinterpretation.
Nevertheless, she persists. The Canaanite woman puts on the label Jesus gave her and declares, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.” Her response is simultaneously humble and audacious – she will humbly eat the crumbs because she audaciously knows it will be enough, in fact more than enough. Through her persistence pleas, Jesus sees her and his understanding of his mission is broken wide open. She teaches him something about himself and his mission that is crucial for him to learn.
Now it can seem odd to us that Jesus needs to learn. At Bible Study last Wednesday someone said, “But I thought he was God and already knew everything.” And yet I don’t think there’s a word that better captures Jesus’ expanded sense of mission than learning. Indeed, the Gospel of Matthew ends with the commission to go and make disciples of all nations, no exceptions.
On Friday night, John and I went to the Phoenixville Rally Against Hate that was held in Reeves Park. It was well done with about 400 hundred people attending. A variety of speakers boldly denounced hatred, racism and bigotry. We sang We Shall Overcome and went home feeling good about ourselves and our town. And yet it wasn’t enough for while we pointed fingers at the alt-right, neo Nazis and white supremacists, we neglected the three fingers pointing back at ourselves. You see in order for racism, hatred and bigotry to be eradicated, it first must be acknowledged in our own hearts and lives. This is so hard because we want to be good people who are not complicit in racism or bigotry; good people who pure in heart and always think and say the right thing.
And yet, if Jesus, who ate with sinners and touched lepers and broke through every kind of human created boundary, if he could absorb the insidious messages of race and hate of his culture, why should I, should we, assume we are any different? If Jesus couldn’t see it at first, maybe it’s not surprising we can’t either. Does that help us be less afraid to admit we have a problem? To name it and ask for forgiveness? Jesus learns and changes, his mind, his understanding of God, himself and his mission. Who would have expected God to use a Canaanite woman as a vehicle for transformation of his Son!
This gives me hope that God meets me, you and all people again and again in surprising ways – challenging dearly held beliefs and things we are so sure we are right about. Breaking us open to see ourselves, one another and God in a new way. This can be painful, but it also frees us to have an even bigger role in God’s mission to love and bless the whole world.
There’s more, for when we get beaten down, overwhelmed by the ugliness and hate in our world, it is so easy to feel like there’s nothing we can do to make a difference, to push back against such evil. The Canaanite woman remind us that we can never underestimate how God will use us and our persistence. In our baptism and again at our confirmation we promise to work for justice and peace in all the world. We are called to speak out and stand up when our neighbors are threatened or diminished. We cannot be silent in the face of hate and terror. The cross is God’s promise that love is stronger than hate, good is stronger than evil. We are made in the image of God who is love. We are made by love, for love, to love, no exceptions. This can be really hard, and yet love is our identity and our purpose. So, we pray for God to break our hearts open that we may be part of God’s work of healing, reconciliation and liberation.
Last month I read the book Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis which helped me to see the alt-right, neo-Nazi’s and white supremacists. While I don’t agree with them at all, I need to see them and seek to understand the fear that fills their hearts with such hatred. Hatred is always born in fear and love is the only thing that heals it.
My friend David Lose asks, “What would have happened if the Canaanite woman had given up when her first plea was met with silence? Would Jesus have sensed God’s larger mission? Would he have said that the forgiveness he offers through the gift of his body and blood is for all, or just for some? Would he have imagined that God sent him to save the whole world, or just part of it? We don’t know. We do know, however, this woman did not retreat to silence but spoke out offering a testimony that rings down through the ages: “See me! See me as a person, not as a woman or a Canaanite or a minority or a foreigner or a burden. See me as a person and a child of God.” And Jesus did. The question before us, dear friends, is whether we will. Amen. Pastor Cynthia Krommes
