Eleventh Pentecost
Proper 15 Year A
Matthew 15: 21-28
August 16, 2020
This morning’s Gospel is one of those critical turning points in Jesus’ life. A moment which could be marked by speeches at a graduation ceremony or with candles for a “big” birthday, except for the fact that this particular moment snuck up on him.
I don’t think Jesus saw it coming.
But to be sure, Matthew, the writer of this Gospel wants us to pay attention to these verses because they are critical to Jesus’ mission and ministry, and therefore important for us. Sometimes I think it’s easy for us to forget Jesus’ humanity, to only see him as our perfect Divine role model – you know, that WWJD thing, “what would Jesus do” kind of thinking. But today, Jesus is doing some ‘growing up,’ so we might want to put that bracelet aside, at least for now.
You see, in today’s Gospel, Jesus and his disciples have moved out into the area of Tyre and Sidon. And at this point in Jesus’ ministry, he believed his mission was limited exclusively to the Jews. But Tyre and Sidon were Phoenician cities, just beyond the northern border of Israel, and those who lived there were thought to be the worst of the worst. They worshipped strange gods. They were pagans. And it went both ways: the Canaanites who lived there didn’t think too fondly of the Jews either. They would have been considered “barbarians” for their beliefs and actions. Still, Jesus and his disciples happened to be there, when a Canaanite woman saw them. She was desperate. Desperate in the way that the disciples were desperate in the raging storm, out in the boat. Desperate in the way the blind man was, when he called out for healing. Desperate in the way that Jesus was when he took his very last breath. So if this was going to take the Canaanite mother’s very last breath, she was going to use it to call out to Jesus on behalf of her daughter. “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.”
Unfortunately, her desperation meant very little to Jesus. He completely ignored her at first, letting his disciples serve as his ‘bouncers.’ But rather than give up, she pushed even closer, knelt at Jesus’ feet, and condensed her message to simply say, “Lord, Help me.”
The whole scene was completely inappropriate if you pay attention to the fact that first of all a woman, whose voice should have been silenced, was approaching and calling out to a stranger, a man, Jesus. But when you take into account the disdain that the people of these two territories had for each other, it takes on a whole new layer of offensiveness. But it got even worse as Jesus denigrated her and called her a “dog.” [Now, some scholars have tried to soften Jesus’ words by placing a “wink” in Jesus’ eye as he said it, or excusing them by saying what he really meant was that she was a cute “little puppy.”] But none of that is actually in the text. Our Jesus, in this moment, was simply being rude. But still the woman persisted, first respectfully, by calling him “Lord,” but she also came with a witty retort, saying “Even the dogs eat the crumbs which fall from their master’s table.”
And THAT was the moment. The moment that stopped Jesus in his tracks. That stopped Jesus long enough for him to hear – to really hear - her voice. That stopped Jesus long enough to heal the woman’s daughter. That stopped him long enough to be changed.
In that moment, Jesus realized that the scope of his messianic mission was broader than even he knew - it wasn’t just to love and bring good news to the Jews but also to the Gentiles, and it happened because of this Canaanite woman’s one small voice. Her voice made Jesus STOP, listen, and change.
These days, I think that we are guilty of silencing or dismissing voices like hers crying out in our world. Sometimes it’s unintentional, but being completely honest, sometimes, it’s more than intentional. The voices these days which are the loudest, which are amplified by crowds or megaphones or large social media followings, those are ones which get heard. But are they the voices which make us stop? Which make us listen? Which lead us to change? It’s hard to hear the smaller voices, those quiet ones, the voices which have been relegated to the sidelines. And I have to wonder, would we – or could we – even hear the voice of the Canaanite woman desperately calling out for her daughter, had we been there?
This summer I realized that some voices are harder to hear than others. And I realized that when my nephew Johnny came to visit. Little Johnny – who’s adorable by the way - was only 2 years old when this pandemic started. So, like the rest of the children in this country, his preschool closed and he was stuck at home with two older sisters (also adorable) and his mom and dad (who of course, love him unconditionally but also both work full time). Not surprisingly, he started acting out, clearly crying out for attention. One of my favorite pandemic pictures this year was from a day when my sister-in-law had to take a conference call, and in order to find some quiet space, she took the call in her car. I know it wasn’t funny for her, but within minutes, there was desperate Johnny – desperate for her attention – splayed across the windshield of her car, his face pressed against the glass.
So when Johnny came to visit us this summer, I could tell he had been searching for his “voice” since this pandemic began. But as a toddler/preschooler, he didn’t have the language you and I have to express our frustration or fear or even exasperation. So he made himself known, first by opening up every cabinet and drawer in our kitchen, and next by erasing our white-board home calendar so that he could leave his literal mark there. Not long after that, he started dancing on the top of the table. All things that I believe the Canaanite woman would have tried if that’s what it took for Jesus to hear her voice. But that was the moment - the glorious moment when we all realized that Johnny was simply trying to have HIS voice heard. So we stopped, stopped pushing AGAINST him, listened to him, and all jumped up on the chairs at the table to dance together in Johnny’s special way.
Our voices are one of the most powerful things we have, and today’s Gospel reminds us to use our voice to cry out to God. There’s a song which singer Sara Bareilles wrote 15 years ago, a song named “Little Voice,” which is now also the title of an Apple TV show. The song came to her in a dream and it felt like her mission in life to listen to that little voice. But music executives convinced her otherwise, and so that song sat on the shelf for 15 years. Of course, it’s fitting that the show for which it is the title and now the theme song is about a young artist finding her way in the world. To quote a line from her song and add it to Johnny’s story, Johnny’s voice in that moment of his visit with us was “everything I am, and what I’m not, and all I’m trying to be.” His little voice just didn’t have those words. Yet.
Think of how many “little voices” Jesus heard along his way. The voice of Zaccheaus in the tree. The voice of the hemorrhaging woman who just tried to touch Jesus’ cloak. The voice of the woman at the well. The voice of the widow at Nain. The voice of Jairus, who’s daughter was thought to be dead. Imagine if the Canaanite woman’s daughter had suffered for 15 years, simply because no one would listen to her voice?
Jesus can and does hear your voice. So what is it Jesus needs to stop and hear from you? Say it now.
And beyond you, who is it that Jesus needs to stop, see and hear? Name them now.
Jesus had the remarkable HUMAN capacity to be challenged and to grow. To have his own theology expanded. As people of faith, especially right now, in these divided times when voices seem to get louder and louder, it’s time for us to listen to that still small voice. The voice which asks us to broaden our thinking of what the Church should be, of where the Church should be, of Who the church should be.
Because “Sometimes a little voice can say the biggest things.” (Sara Bareilles)
Amen.
