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Pentecost 14, 08/17/2008
Sermon on Matthew 15:21-28, by Hubert Beck
Jesus went away from there and withdrew to the district of Tyre and Sidon. And behold, a Canaanite woman from that region came out and was crying, "Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David; my daughter is severely oppressed by a demon." But he did not answer her a word. And his disciples came and begged him, saying, "Send her away, for she is crying out after us." 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." And he answered, "It is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs." She said, "Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table." Then Jesus answered her, "O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire." And her daughter was healed instantly. (ESV)
THE WORD WHO BROKE THE SILENCE
One of the frustrations of being the parent of a strong-willed child is that life seems to be little more than a series of confrontations and arguments with the child.
One of the frustrations of being a strong-willed child is that life seems to be little more than a series of confrontations and arguments with a "non-cooperative" parent.
What happens when one strong will meets another strong will? Is there no alternative to mutual enmity?
Such a "mutual enmity" is the way things go all too often - at least until one of two things happen: Either the child comes to a growing maturity with age and recognizes that the parent's non-cooperation was actually a form of love or the parent, in holding his / her ground, begins to recognize something of that which the child is bringing to the controversy and begins to deal with the child on that level.
Of course, it isn't really all that simple in many cases . . . and sometimes the dispute is irreparable.
Yet, the one thing that must be said about continuing disagreements is this: So long as both are willing to talk to the other, a relationship is possible. In fact, it already exists in negative form, and the question is how to turn the relationship into a positive path.
The very worst form of disagreement, though, is silence. An awful, terrible, horrible, dreadful, outrageous silence is the worst problem one confronts when seeking to establish a relationship, whether that relationship be positive or negative. Silence brings with it a poisonously unspeakable emptiness with it.
THE SILENCE OF JESUS
It is this silence of Jesus that sends one's mind and heart spinning when we read today's Gospel. "But he did not answer her a word" is one of the most devastating passages in the Bible. He certainly heard her, for the disciples begged him to get rid of her because she was being so loud.
To put the best construction on their plea, they may have been saying, "Do what she asks you to do so that she will go away and leave us alone." But that is very likely, indeed, the best construction. It is more likely that they were saying, "Do something to get rid of her because she is drawing attention to us with her yelling and screaming after us."
After all, Mark straightforwardly tells us as he narrates this same story, "He entered a house and did not want anyone to know." Instead of finding an anonymous hiding place, however, Mark adds, "Yet he could not be hidden." So very likely the disciples are asking Jesus to chase her away, to let them have some peace and quiet such as they had hoped to find in this area just outside the borders of Palestine.
The woman was pleading, crying, urgently begging, "O Lord, Son of David, my daughter is severely oppressed by a demon." Who would not be moved by this woman who was asking nothing for herself, but asking for an act of divine mercy from the one whom she, a Gentile, recognized as "Lord, Son of David." Oh, how the anguish and pain and distress in her voice must have touched even the hardest of hearts.
"But he did not answer her a word!"
Can this be the Jesus whom we call merciful? Can this be the one who was known for his wonderful deeds of compassion?
Yes, it is he. It is none other than Jesus, "Lord, Son of David," who is silent.
THE SILENCE OF GOD
Have you never experienced this awful silence when you prayed . . . and prayed . . . and prayed . . . and nothing seemingly happened? Have you never experienced this "hiddenness of God," as Luther spoke of it? The God who asks us to pray is silent as we watch our resources dwindle to nothing while we ask him to help us find a job; as we watch a thirty year old mother shrink into the grave leaving three little helpless children behind while God "answers us not a word"; as we pray in desperation for the safety of a son in Iraq and get word of his death; as we beg God to turn the hard heart of a wayward child back toward the love and help of a parent who watches her waste her life away; as we hold up our hands in supplication for rain while our fields bake in the sun - or ask for relief from the rain as the floods pour over our land and our homes.
"But he did not answer a word!" What a devastating sentence!
He must have felt the awful weight of that sentence when it was he, himself, who cried out from the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" This echo of Psalm 22 when the psalmist felt another kind of desolation was wrung from the mouth of this man "who had answered [the Canaanite woman] not a word." It was he who felt the terrifying burden of our human brokennness on that cross who then had to deal with the silence of his Father reverberating all around him. Did he remember in that moment this moment when this grief-stricken woman stood before him and "he answered her not a word"?
Does he not know, when that same silence envelops our most urgent pleas, how terrible a thing it is to have not a single word from the lips of him whose help alone can deliver us from our trouble? Surely he does, for he has experienced it himself!
THE SILENCE IS CHILLINGLY BROKEN
"He answered [his disciples], ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.'"
He did not even now address her directly. He did not break the silence that was so disturbing by speaking to her. He spoke to his disciples, simply responding to their plea to send her away. "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." The silence was unmercifully disconcerting, but the words that now came from his mouth sounded like the ultimate in thoughtless mercilessness. To her it sounded like, "Tell the woman that I want nothing to do with her, for I have not come for such as her. I have a mission, but she is not part of it. You get rid of her."
She undoubtedly heard him say this to his disciples, but she just wouldn't give up! How remarkable! Would you have pursued the matter further? "Well, I tried. You can't blame me for trying. But I guess there is no hope here. I will go back to where I came from." Isn't this what you would have said in all likelihood? I regret to admit that it would very likely have been my response.
She now confronts him directly, however, fighting her way through the delaying arms of the disciples, "Lord, help me." It was the voice of the most helpless of all the helpless ones. She, herself, had nothing to offer except a plea, a request upon which the very welfare of her daughter rested. She was a Gentile. That had to be granted. That fact had been rubbed into her consciousness by his first denial of her plea. Moreover, she was a woman, and that made the matter worse. She had a daughter who was even more helpless than she, in bondage to a demon that would not let go of her. There was nothing but helplessness here. Pure helplessness. Yet she dares to plead, "Lord, help me."
Surely now that appalling resistance that he was showing to her need must break down, must it not? . "Help me." I have no resources. Only you can help me! Can you possibly deny me - or, more precisely, my daughter - this one thing only. I ask for no wealth, nothing personal, not even a place in your kingdom. Only one thing I ask for - your mercy. Can you deny me that? You can help! Only you can help! Have mercy.
Now he speaks directly to her: "It is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs." Oh, the heartlessness of that response! Perhaps better the silence than this, to be called a "dog." Yet, she had heard this "title" bestowed upon her before. It was typical of a Jew to speak thus of the Gentiles. To hear that in the face of this need, though, was truly a sign that all was now over. He had called her attempt for what it was - a misbegotten effort at breaking through the barriers and boundaries that had been set as far back as when the Israelites had first entered the land. She was "a Canaanite woman," a descendant of those whom God had said should be wiped off the face of the earth when the children of Israel entered the land. Some had survived, though, and she was an heir of that cursed people - and Jesus knew it. He had delivered the fatal blow to a woman Gentile whose ancestry had now delivered her into hopelessness. What more was there to be said?
Did Jesus remember this moment when he, himself, knelt in such misery that he sweat, as it were, drops of blood while praying in a garden just outside Jerusalem? "Father, if it is possible, remove this cup from me." Did he remember this moment when in the silence it became clear that the cup was not going to be removed from him? Did he remember this moment when they came with lanterns and spears to take him from the silence of this garden to be presented to the high priest and the Sanhedrin, to Pilate and the sentence to be hanged on a cross?
Or, for that matter, is this feeling is foreign to you? Having exhausted all your resources, having presented the total helplessness with which you approached the throne of God, have you felt rebuffed, as though your petitions fell on ears that wanted nothing to do with you? Why is there no word of divine kindness heard, no arm of heavenly support felt, no whisper of angelic assistance given you - but, instead, as it were, a renunciation of your prayers, an unkind turn of events that went just the opposite of that for which you had prayed? Have you never felt as though out of the silence came an even more terrifying sense of sinking into the quicksand of the troubles that were so besetting you? The one who supposedly was hearing you spoke, instead, a word exactly opposite that which you wanted to hear.
THE PERSISTENT WORD OF FAITH
She would gladly be a dog, she said to Jesus, if he would just do what dog owners do - let some crumbs fall from the table of the master for the dogs to lick up. It would be enough to have some crumbs! She asked for nothing more. One thing she was determined she would not do, and that was to go away without at least some crumbs from the master's table. If this was, indeed, the Lord she had heard about in the many rumors flying about - and if, indeed, he was "Lord, Son of David," he could and, in fact, had to give her what she requested. Why? Because he was who he said he was! That was the beginning and the end of her plea. "Be who I know you to be and I will be satisfied!"
Her petition was made on that one simple premise. It was not because she was anybody special. It was not even because her daughter was badly in need. She only asked him to be the one whom she knew him to be. Because of that she would not quit pleading. This man represented the hope of Israel and through that must, in some way, represent the hope of the whole world - including Gentiles like this Canaanite woman!
Did Jesus remember this "turning point" here in the district of Tyre and Sidon when an angel of the Lord came to him, wiping the sweat from his already bloodied brow as he cried out for mercy from his heavenly Father on the night before he was crucified? Did he remember that, although he had not received what he asked for, he received the reassurance from his Father through an angel that his faithful life would find its faithful purpose and end in his death? Did the shadow of this woman fall upon him in that garden and on the cross that followed? Precisely because he was the one she believed him to be, he had no recourse other than to place himself at the disposal of the whole world through a cross.
Did the shadow of our lives, for that matter, fall over him as he got up from that night of prayer to meet those accusers who would nail him to the cross? Surely he, who died for the sins of the world, felt the burden of our rebellious lives in his reconciling death. An angel of the Lord had appeared to him, sending him from his prayers for reprieve to his appointed death.
Shortly before that time in the garden Jesus had proffered some crumbs from the Passover Table to his disciples so that they could be healed, in a fashion, as he was about to heal this woman's daughter. In the dim light of that Passover meal Jesus spoke quietly to his disciples, helping them to prepare for that which even then during that supper they would have considered incomprehensible. He gave thanks, broke the bread, blessed it, and gave it to them. "Take it and eat," he said. "This is my body, given for you. In the same manner he took the cup . . . take this and drink from it. It is the new covenant in my blood." It is almost impossible to think that they had the least idea of what he was talking about when he did that, for, while they knew he was in danger, they little imagined that he was to die in less than twenty-four hours. He gave them some "crumbs from the master's table," though, so that in the time to come they might still have him with them through bread and wine.
How much we need these crumbs from the master's table as we go through life, for here the awful silence has already been broken. The Word made flesh is present for us with grace, mercy and forgiveness, assuring us that "in the silence" and "behind the hiddenness" he is still present, still promising, still acting in our behalf, still working out circumstances in our lives in a way ever so obscure to us, but ever so plain to him. "Eat . . . drink." "I, whose life, suffering and death was for you, am still present . . . even in the silence!"
A POWERFUL VOICE SPEAKS!
Then . . . at last! . . . the word she had been yearning for with all her heart! "Be it done for you as you desire." She had broken through all those "defenses," had endured all those "rejections," had insisted that Jesus be who he truly was - "Lord, Son of David"! "O woman, great is your faith!"
It was not that her believing had brought wellness to her daughter, who was "healed instantly." It was her insistence that Jesus be who he truly was - the One in whom all the brokenness of the earth would be brought together again into a wholeness that drove out the demonic forces dividing humans from God and humans from one another.
She dared to argue with Jesus because she was confident that he was who he said he was and she pressed him to be who he was and to do what he could do! One can do that only when one is certain that the one with whom you enter into an argument will listen carefully to what you have to say!
Two strong-willed people, at least so far as the eye could see at that moment, had met - and the woman's will would not permit silence to stop what she knew had to be a two-sided exchange. The silence of Jesus was horrifying - but the woman would not permit it to stop her persistent voice. And then the exchange - at first infuriatingly resistant but finally receptive to the point that the woman's request was granted. "O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire."
One of the most difficult things for most of us to realize is that we dare quarrel with God, that he is delighted when we enter into dispute with him. For that is the mark of faith. It will not stop speaking with him, no matter what the circumstance, for that is the precise sign that we do, indeed, believe that he can be trusted to listen and respond. Faith is not mere submissive receptivity to someone beyond our understanding. Faith is a relationship that God initiated through our baptism. He draws us up into that relationship in such a way that he actually invites us to enter into it as a willing disputant by making it plain that we not only can, but that we should, expect him to be what he has said he is and that he will do what he promises to do. Faith is to take God so seriously that, when he hears us, he knows that we trust him so implicitly that we can say whatever is on our mind with the confidence that he will take it seriously.
It must be granted that God will make up his own mind about what to do concerning the contention we have with him when all is said and done. The woman's daughter was healed . . . and for that she was most grateful. But it doesn't always work out that way. Jesus' urgent request to let the cup pass from him was not granted. His cross is the mark that the Father's will shall, in the end, be done. But that is not as though he has not heard and listened and taken seriously what the woman, Jesus, or we have to say. He made great good come out of Jesus' denied request! He relishes the times when we pour out our every wish before him, for it is the sign that we take God as seriously as he takes our situation seriously.
THE RELATIONSHIP IS SEALED - THE WORD BREAKS THE SILENCE!
"And her daughter was healed instantly." The woman's word was heard and the Word broke the silence.
Note carefully, though: It was the Word who broke the silence. It was not a word which broke the silence! It was the Word who had broken the centuries of silence between the last prophet of Israel and this day on which Jesus encountered the Canaanite woman. This Jesus who had adamantly told this woman "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel" and who had resolutely said "It is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs" was the Word made flesh, born in Bethlehem. He was the one who broke into the long silent ages with a word for ears eager to hear words of hope, words of help, words of healing that would bind up the wounds of the broken body of this earth. The Word spoke the word this woman so anxiously longed to hear just as Israel had waited so long for God's Word to break into its existence.
"And her daughter was healed instantly."
"I believe in Jesus Christ, [David's] Son, our Lord . . . [who on] the third day rose again from the dead, ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty."
The one who trusted the Father enough to place himself at the Father's disposal on the cross, crying out, "Into your hands I commend my spirit," was so "highly exalted" that there was "bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father." (Phil. 2:10, 11 ESV) The Word made flesh not only drove the demons out of the Canaanite woman's daughter, but he broke the power of all the demons who do all they can to possess the world! "Every knee in heaven and on earth and under the earth" bows at this man's name! The strong-willed Satan who tempted Jesus at the beginning of his ministry to follow an alternate course, to forsake the way of the cross in various forms of self-interest, met his match in this man!
The woman did not know all this, of course, when Jesus spoke those words for which she fought so hard to hear. The only thing she knew at the time was that everything she had heard and known about this man was enough to drive her to stand up to the man whose will for a while seemed to resist her every approach.
"O woman, great is your faith." "You, my dear daughter of Canaan," Jesus says, "have a place with me for the simple reason that you trust me implicitly as the only one who can do that which you desire so earnestly. Your will becomes my will in the moment that your will is so trustingly placed into the way of my will. There - there where you call on me to be who I am, a gracious Healer - you and I meet on common ground. What a pleasure it is to give my will to yours, for you have pressed me to be your Savior! I cannot turn away from that kind of will!"
Matthew and Mark tell us about her because she is a model of faith for all who stand alongside her with that stirring cry, "O Lord, Son of David, we are severely oppressed by demonic powers. Lord, help us.".
There may be a terrifying silence for a while. It was so with her - and with Jesus. But when faith persists speaking into the face of that silence the Word will eventually break the silence and demons will be sent away and the dead will be raised. For even in the silence we are in the hands of a gracious Lord who never fails to hear the cry "Lord, help us."
In the name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.