Sermon: Learning can be really crumby... (Aug. 17, 2014)

Pentecost 10A/Lectionary 20

August 17, 2014

Matthew 15:21-28

Klaus

            Our Dachshund, Klaus, loves it when I cook. He loves it because I am, well, a bit messy in the kitchen. So after I’m done, and I’ve stopped chasing him out repeatedly, he finds his way into the kitchen, snatching up all the bits of food that have dropped on the floor, under cupboards, all over. Even though he is a domesticated animal, there will always be a part of him that is a scavenger, willing to pick up and eat anything and everything he can find.

            When we think of dogs now, we generally think of the loving, tail-wagging pets that many of us keep in our homes. I don’t think, however, that when Jesus says to the Canaanite woman in our Gospel lesson today that, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs,” that he had in mind an adorable 12-pound miniature Dachshund who loves picking up the droppings of his messily cooking mama. That would sure be nice (I'd like to see more Dachshunds in the Bible)… but no, I think today’s Gospel presents a picture of Jesus with which we are not entirely familiar nor frankly, very comfortable.

            Oh, it’s tempting to jump right to the end, where Jesus does finally heal the woman’s daughter. But if we are to take the Bible seriously, and the way Matthew has chosen to tell this story, we must not overlook the beginning of this encounter. Jesus and his disciples have just wandered into Tyre and Sidon – in other words, pagan country, where the unbelieving Gentiles live. This is not a safe place – imagine walking down Joseph Ave. at 2am on a Friday night and you’ll get the idea. And so when a screaming woman comes running up to them, begging for Jesus to cast out the demon from her daughter, they have every reason to be at least standoffish, a bit annoyed, and possibly downright scared. It’s no wonder the disciples urge Jesus to get her to go away.

            But then we see Jesus’ response to her, and it is hard to reconcile it with our understanding of

who Jesus is. We know Jesus to be attentive to our needs – and yet here, he first ignores her. We know him to be welcoming to and embracing of all people – and yet here, he tells her that his mission is only to the lost children of Israel, not Gentiles like her. We know him to be compassionate – and yet here, he flat out insults her, calling her a dog, a common insult of Jews to Canaanites. Where is the Jesus we have come to know and love and depend upon?

            In the Creed that we say every week, we confess our faith that Jesus was “born of the virgin Mary and become truly human.” We know that just as Jesus was fully God, he was also fully human. But as easy as that is to say, it is much harder to apply it. Sure, there are some ways that it is easier than others. We know that Jesus got hungry, and from the cross he cried out, “I thirst.” He weeps at the death of Lazarus, and also begs God in the Garden of Gethsemane not to make him go through the suffering and cross that lie before him. His righteous anger gets the best of him when he turns over the tables of the traders in the temple, and before he breathes his last, he asks God, “Why have you forsaken me?” We are able to accept without complaint these very human moments that Jesus experiences; indeed they make us feel closer to him, like he really understands our plight.

            But his encounter with the Canaanite woman presents a different aspect of humanity that I, and perhaps you, too, find a little more difficult to swallow: Jesus learns something.

            Learning and growing: this can be one of the best things about being human. The joy of learning – whether a new skill or an interesting fact or something about yourself or a loved one – truly is a blessing. But learning and growing can also be an extremely painful process. I remember, when I was about 7 years old, I had horrible cramps in my arms and legs, and my parents took me to the doctor. The diagnosis? Growing pains. I was in the middle of a growth spurt! And sure enough, when the growing slowed down, the pain subsided. Now in my 30s, the growing pains I experience are not in my arms and legs, but in my heart and mind. They are the pains of learning how to deal with life-threatening illness, both my own and in people I love. They are the pains of learning to admit that I was wrong about something I had held with such conviction. They are the pains of loss – of people, of places, of times of life. They are the pains of asking for forgiveness, of admitting that I did something that hurt someone. They are the pains of sitting with a troubled friend, and having no idea how to help them.

            Growing pains are a very real part of being human, a burden I would really like to be able to share with Jesus. So why is it so hard to imagine that Jesus also experienced growing pains? Presumably Jesus had a lot to learn over his 30-some years. He learned to walk, and he learned to talk. I’m guessing he didn’t just pretend to learn his ABCs – he actually had to learn them! And having to learn something doesn’t make him a bad person any more than it makes you and or I bad people. Isn’t it possible, then, that Jesus also grew as he went about his mission – learning more about how to reach people, about what people to reach, about how to respond to the complex issues of the world?

            What is perhaps most shocking of all is not only that Jesus could have something to learn, but who it was that taught him. As a Canaanite, she is the quintessential “other,” even more removed than the Samaritans to whom Jesus is so compassionate in other encounters. As a woman, she has no business talking to this pious Jewish man. She is as other and removed as she could possibly be.

            And here she has the gumption to come before Jesus, admit her need, accept his derogatory

assessment of her, but still ask him for help. And because of her persistence, her gumption, her assertiveness, Jesus experiences what is perhaps the most difficult of human experiences, the experience many of us fear more than even death: he changes.

            And in his willingness to change and to learn, Jesus once again becomes for us a teacher. He shows us what it looks like to be so humble that we can be impacted positively by someone utterly different from us, even someone we previously looked down upon. He shows us that this humility is essential in building relationships. He shows us that it is okay, even faithful, to allow our minds and hearts to be changed. He shows us that the magnitude of his mission, in which we share, extends beyond where we might be comfortable.

Perhaps the most profound lesson here is even bigger than all that. It comes in the woman’s clever spin on her derogatory name: “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table.” It may be that our culture, our peers, or our own self-esteem tell us that we don’t deserve to approach Jesus, or deserve his love. Or that even if we could, we are too far gone to ever get enough help. Yet, this woman, who had no business approaching Jesus, does anyway. And she knows that whatever she receives from Christ, no matter how small a morsel, it is enough.

And so we, too, come to the font and have a splash of water poured over our heads – but this small splash is more loving and gracious than we can comprehend! We, too, come begging to Christ’s table, hands outstretched, and are given only a small wafer and a few drops of wine – but in this crumb

from the table is all the love and grace we could ever need.

These grace-filled crumbs from the table are enough for us bunch of dogs. They are enough to change us – into the merciful, compassionate, loving people Christ calls us to be. They are enough to sustain us – through the trials of life, through the moments of self-doubt, through fear and sadness. They are enough to teach us – how to be humble, openhearted people who are willing to learn and grow and change, ever striving to participate in the mission we all share with Christ.

Let us pray… Gracious and merciful God, you are always calling us to learn, change and grow, but this is not always easy for us. Grant us strength for the journey, and help us to trust that even crumbs of your grace are enough to sustain us in all things. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.