Loading...
“True sir, and yet the dogs eat the scraps that fall from their master’s table.”
-Matthew 15:27
In his book, Now and Then, Frederick Buechner writes about meeting an unexpected woman while he was spending a Vermont winter doing supply work for a congregation that was between pastors. One Sunday in the greeting line after the service he asked an elderly widow, “How are you?” The reply, “As well as can be expected,” from what Buechner describes as a “weary, beleaguered old face,” fell on his ears as a call for help that prompted him to pay a visit because, as he wrote, “Every once in a while. . .Christians are supposed to be Christs to each other for Christ’s sweet sake.” He went expecting the worst, which he confessed to be his assumption by nature, but was altogether wrong. That visit was followed by many more over the next seven or eight years until one Valentine’s Day she died and, wrote Buechner, “I conducted her burial service before a little knot of family and friends under a gray Vermont sky with the wind flapping my black robe around my ankles” (quoted in ‘Listening to Your Life,’ pp.45-46).
This lady, doing as well as can be expected, had an influence for good on Frederick Buechner’s life and ministry, and it all started in an unexpected way, a way not unlike the influence a Canaanite woman would have on the disciples, and on Jesus, as well. He has withdrawn, Matthew tells us, to the region of Tyre and Sidon, which in our day is in the south of Lebanon, along the coast of the Mediterranean. A seaside getaway seems the ideal respite from the zeal of the Galilean crowds and the growing contention with the Scribes and Pharisees, most recently a debate about ablutions, the ceremonial washing of hands and vessels, during the course of which Jesus calls the religious specialists blind guides who are leading those who follow them into a ditch.
Waves breaking on the shore, gulls singing as they ride on the wind, will be a calming soundtrack to a peaceful getaway. Instead, the repeated imprecation, “Son of David, have pity on me” drowns out the peaceful sounds of the sea. “Son of David, have pity on me! My daughter is tormented by a devil.” No response. Jesus seems intent on keeping his seaside holiday. “Master, send her away. She won’t stop.” “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel, and to them alone.” Undeterred, the woman approaches, pushing her way through the disciples, who by this time are probably stepping aside to allow her some face time with Jesus so this disturbance can be dispatched and holiday time again enjoyed. She falls at his feet and cries out for help. “I can’t give the children’s food to the dogs.” “Yes, but even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the master’s table.” “What faith you have,” he says loudly, loud enough for his disciples, including Peter, most recently reproved for being of little faith over that walking on water incident, to hear.
In her considerable faith is found the healing of her daughter. No more devilish torment, but peace within, like waves lapping on shore, the sound of the gull in the breeze. It is a beautiful outcome to an incident that begins in a most ill-omened manner. The woman is avoided, ignored, slighted. Jesus places very definite and seemingly restrictive boundaries on his scope of ministry, which is to, as he himself says, “the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” Earlier in Matthew, in Chapter 9, we are told that crowds who began to gather around Jesus as we went through the towns and villages of Galilee, “moved him to pity: they were like sheep without a shepherd, harassed and helpless” (Matthew 9:36). This gets to the heart of Jesus’ ministry. He has come to be the Good Shepherd to the flock of Israel, to take the place of the blind guides who are more concerned about washed hands than pure hearts. He has come to renew Israel, to restore its vocation to be, as God said to Abraham, a source of blessing for all the peoples of the earth.
The Canaanite woman, her eyes of faith open to see who Jesus is - Son of David, Messiah;
with the humility to approach Jesus in worship, falling at his feet; with the heart to come to him not for her own needs, but first for those of another, her tormented daughter; she becomes his ally in ministry. She helps him show the disciples, who will be the shepherds of a reconstituted Israel called the Church, she helps Jesus show them that God’s will for those who follow him is to be channels of blessing, not caretakers, or guardians, or managers of blessing; to be distribution points, rather than chokepoints.
As I grapple with finding a reason for Jesus’ initial aloofness toward the woman, I think back to the feeding of the 5000, when the disciples say, “It’s getting late. You should dismiss the crowd so they go into town and get some supper.” And how does Jesus respond? “You give them something to eat.” And then he’s told there’s only five loaves of bread and two fish, not nearly enough for everyone, and he says, “Bring it to me,” and the rest, well you know the rest of the story. I think here, as she cries out for pity, Jesus is quietly saying to the disciples, “You heal her daughter.” After all, in Matthew 10 he gave the disciples “authority to drive out unclean spirits and to cure every kind of illness and infirmity” (Matthew 10:1). Jesus is coaxing them into becoming distribution points, rather than chokepoints.
And here we are, a band of disciples, gathered for this time of retreat with Jesus. Drawn to him in worship, instructed by his words, bound to him in prayer, nourished by him in bread and wine consecrated, we shall be sent out in his Name, and each day that passes until we gather again for this holy retreat, he will be coaxing us, as he did the disciples, to share heaven’s blessing. Mindful of his coaxing, we can and will be distribution points, often in the most unexpected ways, but always for Christ’s sweet sake.
