Over the millennia,
scholars and preachers
have bent over backwards,
and twisted themselves into
pretzels
to “explain” this story.
They have entered into this passage
pushing wheelbarrows full of
sacred spackle
hoping to smooth out the
rough edges
and plaster over the cracks.
They have argued and interpreted,
rationalized and justified.
They have analyzed word etymologies
in order to place
“nicer” words
into the mouth of Jesus--
He really meant THIS!
He didn’t call her daughter
a mangy, rabid “DOG”
He called her a puppy!
Woof! Woof!
It’s cute and endearing!
hoping to put a comforting and pastoral spin
on what is truly a
bizarre conversation.
But slice it,
dice it,
close one eye and twirl around,
chant a prayer
and tie yourself into exegetical knots—
But when you stop spinning,
you will still be facing
One.
Strange.
Encounter.
Jesus left Galilee,
and entered the territory of the Gentiles.
He drew near the ancient Phoenician cities
of Tyre and Sidon—
a place of merchants
and shipbuilders
and traders in purple dye.
This was a region that had long worshipped
the goddesses Asherah, Astarte and Anath,
the healing god, Eshmun,
and more recently,
the pantheon
of Greek and Roman deities.
For Jews,
this land
and these people
were unclean.
It was the land of Jezebel,
for heaven’s sake!
These people were tainted
with the sins of idol worship
and a history of impurity.
They were a people without the Covenant,
without the Law,
without God’s blessing.
.
When the Israelites entered the Promised Land,
it was with a directive from God
to destroy the Canaanites—
to cleanse the land of their idolatry,
their power,
their very presence.
By naming her as a Canaanite woman,
the Evangelist is telling us
she was someone Jesus should not even see,
much less speak to.
But Jesus left Galilee,
and entered the territory of the Gentiles.
In that unclean space,
he was accosted
by a desperate and frightened mother--
a fierce lioness
whose cub was tormented by a demon.
Jesus ignored her.
He refused to speak.
The disciples asked him to send her away.
And when she persisted,
throwing herself down
in an act of adoration and worship—
in an act,
frankly,
of last resort—
Jesus rebukes her, saying,
“It is not right to take the food of the children
and throw it to the dogs.”
Was he testing her?
Maybe…
but that seems unnecessarily cruel
and quite unlike
his other interactions with desperate people.
Was he unwilling to heal a gentile?
Maybe…
but that denies his other healing encounters
with aliens and Romans.
Did she “change his mind”
through stubborn persistence?
Maybe…
but is our God a capricious Lord,
swayed and influenced
by the loudest voice
and the most relentless cry?
I just don’t know.
I don’t know what to make of this encounter.
I only know
that in this strange and compelling story,
Jesus left Galilee,
his homeland,
his comfort zone,
his House of the Lost Sheep
and entered the land of Jezebel;
the territory of the unclean.
In this meeting,
Jesus engaged in honest dialogue
with a foreign woman,
a non-person
that a good Jewish man should just ignore.
In this moment,
Jesus experienced someone’s raw emotion—
he felt the dark fear of an
unclean,
unknown,
alien woman
poured out like lava upon him,
and ultimately,
he did not turn away.
In this encounter,
he heard her sharp and pointed response
and he did not close his ears.
He did not draw his robe tight
to avoid contamination
or command his men
to drive her away.
Jesus left Galilee,
and a single crumb of the Bread of Life
hidden under the table
became sufficient.
A single crumb,
dropped from the banquet of the children
became enough to share.
Enough to heal.
Enough to bring life and hope.
I don’t know how to parse this story
and I am not sure what to think
of our Lord’s initial silence
and his first refusal to heal her child.
But I do know this:
too often, I remain in Galilee.
Too often,
I hear the panicked voices
of unknown
unclean
strangers crawling under the table
searching for crumbs…
and I close my ears.
I don’t know how to explain his
harsh and hurtful words,
But I do know that
too often, I remain in Galilee
shutting my eyes
to anxious faces and desperate needs.
I don’t know why Jesus referenced dogs,
but I do know that too often,
I remain in Galilee,
hoarding Bread.
This Canaanite woman
had no Covenant promise to sustain her.
No Law to guide her.
No Scripture to comfort and teach her.
Yet somehow,
she found the courage
to stretch out her hands.
She raised her voice
when the world said, “Be silent.”
She endured,
when told to give up.
She disobeyed,
when men taught her to heel.
She knew that Jesus left Galilee
for a reason,
and she believed that reason
included her
and her demon-possessed daughter.
So,
she followed,
she persisted,
she found faith and healing and hope.
There will be times in our lives—
dark and desperate times
when we are so starved for help,
that we find ourselves
under the table
scrounging for crumbs.
There will be times
when our children
wrestle with illness or addiction,
and we would gladly fight their demons
barehanded and alone,
if only we could.
There are times when work will drown us
and try as we might,
we cannot rise up from our knees.
There will be times when our path
is littered with splinters and nails
and we are sent out to run in bare feet.
At these times,
remember the Canaanite Woman.
Remember the woman who didn’t obey.
Remember the woman who wouldn’t shut up.
Remember the woman who persisted
and endured
and never gave in.
Remember the woman who followed Jesus,
dropping to her knees,
believing and trusting,
despite all evidence to the contrary.
Jesus left Galilee for her.
Jesus leaves Galilee for us, too.
The Canaanite woman knew this truth:
The Bread is not hoarded.
The Bread is not scarce.
At the Banquet of Life,
even a crumb is enough.
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