Crying for Help

This summer R and I had a wonderful two-week vacation on the West Coast. Some of the time was spent in Berkeley, where she had a conference. Most of it was in Seattle, a beautiful city with cool air and lots to see and do. We spent a lot of time drinking coffee, of course, and made our pilgrimage to the original Peet’s in Berkeley. In Seattle, R browsed the Elliott Bay Book Company while I checked out the flagship stores of Daniel Smith and REI. We’d love to go back there again.

Like any big city, and unlike where we live and work, there were people on street corners asking for money. Some were clearly destitute, carrying all of their possessions with them. Usually they had a territory staked out and were present on the same corner every day. They also knew one another. In Seattle one man sold an alternative newspaper as a way of earning a small wage, a practice I had seen and supported when we lived in Evanston. But by and large, the needs were always greater than my ability to give. And, of course, there was no way to determine what the money would be used for.

I returned from vacation with a new perspective on the many people who drop by the church asking for assistance. Some have obvious needs – the fellow who walks everywhere, thin as a rail and brown as a nut, asking for food. The sickly, pale young woman who needs gas money to get to Iowa City for leukemia treatments. Then there are those who appear to be gaming the system, giving stories that aren’t true when checked, arguing when told no as though assistance is their right. I try to work through Community Action whenever possible, because I know that at least there’s some screening and accountability there.

My response to people in need undoubtedly developed from what I saw others around me doing as I grew up. For instance, my mother used to make a sandwich for anyone who came to the door asking for money for food. Then one day she found a sandwich in the bushes, and that was the end of that. We both became more wary of people who said they were hungry.

In the Gospel story this week, Jesus seems very constrained by his Jewish upbringing. Jews had interactions with non-Jews out of necessity rather than choice. When Jesus and his disciples went off into Gentile territory, one gets the impression that their teeth were set on edge just by being there. Sure enough, a foreign woman came running up and started shouting at them. “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David!” she cried. “My daughter is tormented by a demon.” I imagine a disciple muttering under his breath, “and she isn’t the only one!”

Jesus remained silent. “He answered her not a word” is the literal translation. That, of course, did not quiet her down. Like any parent, she wanted help for her child. Her persistence annoyed the disciples so much that they asked Jesus to send her away. Finally Jesus the Jewish Messiah spoke, telling her that he was only sent to the lost of Israel. Still she persisted, kneeling down in worship before him. “Lord, help me,” she said.

What follows is an exchange that is guaranteed to offend anyone with modern sensibilities. In effect, Jesus calls her a dog, saying that isn’t fair to throw the Jewish children’s bread to dogs. Remarkably, she comes right back at him. “Yes, Lord,” she says, “but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the table.”

I can just imagine what would happen if I told someone who asked for assistance that they are a dog. The parish administrator’s eyes would get very big. And the supplicant would be very offended and either leave in a huff or cover me with verbal abuse.

So what’s going on here? Bad day for Jesus? One request too many? Did he think the woman was on drugs? Some would say that the woman caused Jesus to change his mind, making him realize that he was sent to non-Jews as well. Others use this passage to show that the whole Bible is hopelessly patriarchal and should either be rewritten or thrown out.

There’s no question that this is a remarkable woman. For one thing, she addresses Jesus as the Jewish Messiah, the Son of David. She falls at his feet and worships him. She is willing to take him on his own terms. When he talks about dogs, she even goes with that. Her one goal is to get her daughter healed.

And she succeeds. “O woman, great is your faith,” Jesus says to her. “Let it happen for you as you wish.” And that is the key. The woman succeeded through faith. It’s not that she made Jesus change his mind; rather, it became clear to him what was appropriate for this particular woman. Her faith was great, unlike the little faith of the disciples. The whole scene anticipates the very end of Matthew’s Gospel, when the disciples will be told to go into all nations, baptizing in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

I don’t want to minimize the offensiveness of this passage to our ears. No one should be called a dog, much less treated like one. But don’t let offense get in the way of meaning. Jesus responds to faith. Even if there is silence at first, persistence in prayer has an effect. Jesus is willing to listen and respond, if we are willing to come to him in faith. And that is why I pray every day for everyone who comes through the church doors. I may not be able to give them all that they request, but I can pray for them. And someday, unknown to me, Jesus might say, “Let it happen for you as you wish.”

[Pentecost 9: Matthew 15:10-28.]