Readings

Romans 11.1–2a, 29–32 – I ask, then, has God rejected his people? By no means! I myself am an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, a member of the tribe of Benjamin. God has not rejected his people whom he foreknew. For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable. Just as you were once disobedient to God but have now received mercy because of their disobedience, so they have now been disobedient in order that, by the mercy shown to you, they too may now receive mercy. For God has imprisoned all in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all.

Matthew 15.10 –28 – Then he called the crowd to him and said to them, ‘Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.’ Then the disciples approached and said to him, ‘Do you know that the Pharisees took offence when they heard what you said?’ He answered, ‘Every plant that my heavenly Father has not planted will be uprooted. Let them alone; they are blind guides of the blind. And if one blind person guides another, both will fall into a pit.’ But Peter said to him, ‘Explain this parable to us.’ Then he said, ‘Are you also still without understanding? Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth enters the stomach, and goes out into the sewer? But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles. For out of the heart come evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander. These are what defile a person, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile.’ Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, ‘Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.’ But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, ‘Send her away, for she keeps shouting 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.’ 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.’ Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.’ And her daughter was healed instantly.

Sermon

There are some Gospel stories that are comforting almost from the first sentence. And then there are others which make us shift uncomfortably in our seats. Today’s Gospel is definitely one of the latter.

A Canaanite woman comes to Jesus desperate for help. Her daughter is tormented. We aren’t told exactly what is wrong with her, and perhaps that doesn’t matter. What matters is that her mother is frightened for her and has reached the point where she will try anything.

She has heard about Jesus. So she cries out: “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” And Jesus says nothing. That silence is difficult. Then the disciples get involved, and they are no help at all. “Send her away,” they say, “for she keeps shouting after us.”

Eventually Jesus speaks, but what he says hardly makes things easier. He tells her that he has been sent to the lost sheep of Israel. When she persists — “Lord, help me” — he replies with words that sound painfully harsh: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

This is not the Jesus we are used to hearing. And I don’t think there is much point pretending otherwise. But we shouldn’t rush too quickly to explain the awkwardness away. Matthew has given us a difficult encounter, and perhaps we need to allow it to remain difficult for a while.

Because the woman does. She doesn’t storm off. She doesn’t give up. Nor does she meekly accept what has been said to her. Instead, she answers Jesus. “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” It is a remarkable reply.

She takes the image Jesus has given her and turns it around. If there is a table, and if there is bread, then surely there is enough. Even the crumbs will do. She is so convinced of the goodness and abundance she has seen in Jesus that she refuses to believe there can be nothing for her daughter.

And Jesus responds: “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter is healed.

There are different ways Christians have understood this conversation over the centuries. Some have argued that Jesus is testing the woman, drawing out a faith he already knows is there. Others have taken the story more straightforwardly and suggested that we are seeing something genuinely unfolding in the encounter; that in his full humanity Jesus allows this woman’s persistence to push the boundaries of his mission into clearer view.

Whichever way we understand that difficult exchange, Matthew seems to want us to notice what happens here. A boundary is crossed. This woman is a Canaanite. That is not a casual detail. Matthew could simply have called her a Gentile, but he chooses an ancient name loaded with history. Canaanites were the old enemies of Israel. She is, religiously and ethnically, about as much an outsider as Matthew could make her. And yet she recognises something in Jesus.

She calls him “Lord” and “Son of David”. She kneels before him. She trusts him. And while the disciples — the insiders, the people who have been travelling with Jesus and listening to his teaching — want her sent away, this supposed outsider shows extraordinary faith. There is something wonderfully unsettling about that.

Because churches, like every other human community, become very good at deciding who belongs.

We may not say it aloud. Usually we don’t. But we develop our expectations. We know how church works. We know when to stand and sit. We know the prayers. We know where things are kept. We know which traditions matter and why. We know the stories behind decisions made fifteen or twenty years ago. And none of that is bad. Belonging to a community means acquiring a shared memory and a shared language.

The danger comes when we begin to confuse our familiarity with the Church with God’s ownership of the Church. Because they are not the same thing.

The disciples thought they knew who Jesus had come for. And, to be fair to them, there were good reasons for thinking it. Jesus himself speaks here about being sent to the lost sheep of Israel. But standing in front of them is a woman who doesn’t fit the expected pattern and who nevertheless has grasped something essential about God: there is enough mercy to go round. That is the heart of her argument. Even the crumbs are enough.

She has somehow understood the abundance of God before the disciples have fully understood it themselves. And perhaps that helps us make sense of the slightly strange passage immediately before this encounter.

Jesus has been arguing with the Pharisees about purity. They are concerned about what goes into the mouth, about eating with unwashed hands, about the boundaries between clean and unclean. Jesus turns the whole thing around. It is not what goes into the mouth that defiles, he says, but what comes out of it, because what comes out reveals what is going on in the heart.

And then, almost immediately, Jesus meets someone whom his religious world would have regarded as outside the boundaries. A Canaanite woman. And what comes out of her mouth? Faith. Courage. Persistence. Love for her daughter.

It is as though the story itself asks: who, then, is clean and who is unclean? Who is inside and who is outside? Who really understands what God is doing? The answer is not as obvious as the disciples imagined. And neither, perhaps, is it always as obvious as we imagine.

One of the great privileges of parish ministry is meeting people whose faith does not fit neatly into the boxes the Church sometimes creates. Someone says, “I’m not really religious, Vicar, but…” and then tells you about a prayer they have been saying every night for thirty years.

Someone who hardly ever enters a church building speaks with extraordinary tenderness about God. Someone arrives at a funeral, a baptism, a school service, a foodbank, a community event — somewhere around the edges of church life — and you suddenly realise that God has been at work in their life long before you arrived.

We need to be careful about deciding where faith is and where it isn’t, because God has a habit of turning up beyond the boundaries we have drawn for him.

Amen.