He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”
But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.”
He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”
She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table” [Matthew 15:24-27, NRSV].
I am reminded of a short discussion that Todd (for the several of you who don’t know him, Todd is my identical twin brother) and I had in our living room with a close friend when the three of us were about 10 or 11 years old. Earlier our friend had said he needed to talk to us about something important and that the discussion had to be on a Sunday afternoon. We suggested he come to our house about 2:00 p.m.
Sunday arrived. As was our weekly ritual, the Robinson clan had piled into Dad’s car and driven the five miles or so to Olney Presbyterian Church, where the Robinsons in southern Gaston County (NC) had worshipped since 1793. Thereafter, we returned home, ate a sumptuous “dinner,” and changed into comfortable clothes, all to await the visit from our friend. Precisely at 2:00 p.m., our friend’s dad pulled into our driveway, telling his son that he’d be back in half an hour.
After perhaps five minutes of nervous small talk, our friend allowed that he was involved in the Royal Ambassadors boys group at the nearby Baptist church, that one of the RA’s responsibilities was missions, and that because of his high regard for Todd and me, he had come to tell us that he didn’t want us to go to hell. I think it was Todd who chuckled, “Well, we don’t want to go to hell either.”
Our friend added that in a recent sermon, his preacher had said that Catholics, Presbyterians, and Lutherans were all going to spend eternity with the devil himself. Later, I had wondered about Methodists; that’s for another day. In short, our 10-year-old friend pleaded with us to stop going to Olney and to start coming to his church. That way we’d be safe.
Well, we didn’t leave Olney. We did stay friends with the young evangelizer until a few years ago, when our “RA” friend succumbed to cancer. Todd and I have continued to chuckle about that Sunday religious conference for more than 60 years. Theology through the eyes of a 10-year-old can be funny and provocative. One important point: I’m not sure our friend knew it at the time, but he was essentially pondering one of the most important queries of humankind, “How broad is God’s mercy?”
We see that same question surface in the Gospel reading appointed for this upcoming Sunday (Matthew 15: [10-20] 21-28], the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL, Year A). I love this Matthew passage (a similar version of the story is found in Mark 7:24-30). I wrote about it three years ago (after you finish this piece, you might click here to read the earlier one).
Jesus and his disciples have withdrawn to Tyre and Sidon, an area northwest of Galilee. Jesus has been busy healing the sick, casting out demons, offering wisdom. He encounters a woman. Mark calls her a “Syrophoenician,” but Matthew offers what amounts to a racial slur. He calls her a “Canaanite.” Biblical experts point out that Matthew’s Gospel is written mostly to Jewish Christians. Identifying the woman as a Canaanite, one of the ancient enemies of Israel, draws an immediate line in the sand. She’s on the other side of mercy!
Her method of addressing Jesus is quite interesting. She says, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David” [Mt. 15:22]. Matthew’s text is, of course, written in Greek. Thus her first words to him are “Kyrie Eleison,” the only Greek that was utilized in the Roman Catholic Latin mass [“Lord, have mercy”].
Her reference to Him as “Son of David” also has a clear level of richness within it. Here she is, this Gentile woman—this “foreigner”—referring to our Lord by a Messianic title. You see, it isn’t at all clear that the disciples understand that Jesus is the Christ, but she seems to sense that very point. It might also be that with this reference, she’s reminding Jesus that three women in David’s lineage—Jesus’ own genealogy—were Canaanite women: Rehab, Tamar, and Ruth [see Mt. 1:3, 5]. She’s no one’s fool. Her daughter is demon-possessed. She needs help. And so, she’s confronting Jesus with the not so subtle question, “Am I really a foreigner to you? How broad is the mercy that the Messiah will show?”
In this story, Jesus offends some of us with His response, or should I say, his lack of a response? [Mt. 15:23]. In fact, his response to her is exactly the sort of response that a first century Hebrew would have expected from a respected rabbi like Jesus. This Jesus, who has already signaled that He did not come to “abolish the Law or the prophets but to fulfill [Mt. 5:17] would, therefore, follow Jewish tradition. The disciples, indeed many of the Jewish people around Him, expected him to keep sacrosanct the traditions they all held so dear. She’s a Canaanite; she is to be shunned.
How broad is God’s mercy? A somewhat progressive friend recently reminded me that all too often our “Presbyterian,” our “Methodist,” our “Roman Catholic”—fill in the blank—“traditions” allow, nay, even compel us to treat the outsider, the one who is different from us, as unworthy. She says, “Too many cling to tradition so desperately that they smother any true opportunity for a new and living faith.”
One of my conservative friends counters that impulsively jettisoning tradition can easily rob the worshipping community of the many strengths manifested in collective wisdom. At the heart of the debate is the question already posed: “How broad is God’s mercy?” Perhaps put another way, who decides the breadth of God’s mercy?
What if we turned to Jesus Christ for an answer? Alas, however, some would argue this isn’t the story to make that point. Here, Jesus seems only to be abiding by the old rules. This apparently honest woman approaches with a genuine, heartfelt concern: her daughter is troubled. Jesus appears to turn away in silence. That’s exactly what tradition says a rabbi should do.
Jesus is silent, but not his merry band of men. They shout, “Send her away.”
There is beautiful, alliterative irony here that our English-hearing ears cannot perceive. You see, the woman has cried “Kyrie Eleison,” (“Lord have mercy”), and the disciples have offered an echoing canticle, “Apolyson,” (“Send her away”).
How long does Jesus stand there in silence? There’s no way to know from the text. Then, for at least a few minutes, it appears perhaps that the disciples—the traditionalists—have won, for Jesus speaks not to the Canaanite woman, but rather to the men. And his message seems unkind:
I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel [Mt. 15:24].
In so many words, Jesus appears to be saying that God’s mercy is indeed rather broad, but just not broad enough for her, for he adds:
It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs [Mt. 15:26].
NT experts point out that just before Jesus’ comment, the woman has assumed the position of a dog; she’s down on her hands and knees pleading before Him. She has nothing to offer but her helplessness. As a preacher-friend has told me, “At this point in the text, if you listen carefully, you can almost hear the sound of the old wineskins being stretched to the breaking point by the “new wine” (i.e., the blood of Christ), whose life-giving power cannot be constrained.” She cries:
Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table [Mt. 15:27].
She may have started her conversation with Jesus using careful wit and perhaps even cunning—she’ll do anything for her daughter. Now, all she has is her utter dependence. Without Him, she has no hope. But, of course, that’s the magic in this story: she does have Him. He’s right there. She has bowed before Him.
And so, if my Biblical research is correct (and it sometimes is not), Jesus says something to this foreigner, this outsider, this woman, that he does not say in recorded text to anyone else, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish” [Mt. 15:28]. There are other occasions in which Jesus will comment on the fact that someone has faith, but only here does He call it “great faith.”
How broad is God’s mercy? As I repeated three years ago, one must be careful here. The child is not healed through the actions of the mother. After all, she is on her knees when the healing is accomplished. The active agent is God, through Jesus Christ. Nor can we read this text to mean that all of Israel’s traditions are cast upon the trash heap of History. Jesus came not to undo, but to fulfill the Law.
And yet, it must be clearly stated that the woman crossed boundaries imposed by tradition and even prejudice. On the other hand, the story clearly shows us that Jesus is the faithful representative of ancient Israel. He is the fulfillment of the ancient promises given to the prophets. Yet Christ is constantly entering new territory. He is constantly tearing down boundaries. He is offering His broken body, his spilled blood for you and for me. How broad is God’s mercy?
Search your heart, friend. You know how broad it is. Thanks be to God!
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