Sermon for Sunday, August 17, 2014

Sermon for Sunday, August 17, 2014

Matthew 15:10-28

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

One of the ways I was involved in my suburban Chicago community was serving as an appointed member of the county’s mental health board. This board had the task of distributing about $12 million dollars of annual tax revenue to meet the needs of citizens with mental illness, addiction, or developmental disabilities. When I was nominated, I frankly thought it would be a good thing to add to my resume, and might be a way to learn about the community in which I lived. Within a month, I was vice president. And three months after that, the president suddenly resigned, making me acting president. (Here’s a tip—beware of people who convince you to take the vice-presidential spot because it’s the “easiest job!” and “You hardly ever have to do anything!”)

So I arrived at one of my first meetings as the new Acting President of the Board to see about 100 people gathered in the conference room.  They were all seated together, some with children and teenagers next to them. And they all looked angry.

I called the meeting to order a little nervously, and asked, as usual, for public comment. Thus began a stream of angry citizens coming to the microphone, one by one, each one angrier than the next. Some read prepared letters. Some were crying. Some were accompanied by their children. Emotions were so high that I had a hard time understanding what they were saying or just what the situation was. Looking around at my fellow board members, they appeared just as befuddled.

Finally, I was able to stop the next person at the mic and ask: “Can you explain for me, clearly, what your concerns are?”

And so she explained: Without warning, the monthly county epilepsy clinic had been cancelled, leaving all of these families without vital treatment for their epileptic children. The rumor was that we, the McHenry County Mental Health Board, had cut funding and were refusing to pay the epilepsy doctor.

And then I understood: These parents were fighting for their children. Suddenly, the letters and tears and emotional stories made sense. These mothers and fathers were demanding to be heard, refusing to back down, and it was clear they would populate the public comment microphone until they got an answer—and treatment—for their children.

Well, the good news was that I (and the mental health board) had nothing to do with the closing of the epilepsy clinic. The even better news was that we, as the Board, did have the power to help solve the issue and reinstate services to these parents and their children.

The details of that difficult meeting and the negotiations afterward are now lost to memory. But what has stuck with me are the faces and voices of those parents at the microphone. Out of love for their children, and in desperation to help them, these mothers and fathers were insistent, audacious, and in-your-face—much like the Canaanite woman in today’s Gospel text.

The Gospel tells us the Canaanite woman’s daughter was tormented by a demon. It’s unclear what that meant in 1^st Century Palestine. What we today call epilepsy, autism, bipolar disorder, or addiction, may have been attributed in that context to demon possession. As in other biblical accounts of miraculous healings, we don’t know what the ailment really was. But what we do know is that this mother was insistent, audacious, and in-Jesus’-face, because she was desperate to have her daughter healed.

This is, in the end, a healing story. But it’s not a simple one! Hear again verses 22 and 23:

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.

This mother called out in her great need, and Jesus did not answer her at all. Unfortunately, I heard this story often from that public comment microphone: There’s a three month wait for an appointment with a psychiatrist. There’s no in-patient mental health facility for children in the entire county. The closest bed in a rehab center is 3 hours away. The insurance company refuses to pay for a new wheelchair. Services for children with autism end when the child turns 22.

In the Gospel text for today, this was the Canaanite woman’s chance for public comment, and she didn’t need a microphone. “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon!” She shouted at Jesus, to the point where his disciples had to say, “Seriously, Jesus, send her away, because she’s getting on our nerves!”

Jesus hasn’t responded, and his disciples are busy trying to ignore her. So why doesn’t she walk away? Why doesn’t she just turn around and go home? What makes her stay, and persist, and even argue with Jesus until he changes his mind?  

In a word: LOVE. 

Jesus and the Canaanite Woman
by Sadao Watanabe

Love for her daughter is what drives the Canaanite woman. Love, and an unwavering belief that there must be an answer. There must be healing. There must be room for her daughter within the arms of Jesus’ grace and mercy.

And, finally, Jesus does respond. First, with words we can hardly imagine coming out of Jesus’ mouth: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” And then, with words of grace and mercy we expect: “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”

And her daughter was healed instantly.

The Canaanite woman’s faith was so great that she pursued healing even when Jesus seemed reluctant to give it. A change happened—some would say it was a change in Jesus’ heart, some say it was a change in his mission—but the most important change happened for the girl, who was freed from the demons that had tormented her.

It’s all too easy to recognize the Canaanite woman in our midst today. Who is it who reaches out and demands our attention? Who is it who shouts out to the world, “I am here! See me! Hear me! Have mercy!”

In my home country this week, it is the young black men of Ferguson, Missouri (and across the nation) who are shouting: “Please don’t shoot!”

In every country, people with depression, addiction, and other mental health struggles are pleading to be seen, and heard, and shown mercy (as well as proper treatment and care.)

And here in our context, it is the people of Gaza (and the West Bank, and East Jerusalem) who are calling out to those in power to stop the bombing, stop the killing, and finally stop the occupation.

Will their cries be ignored? Will they receive a few crumbs from the table? Or will they, too, finally receive not just acknowledgement, but healing and mercy and a place at the table?

Today’s Gospel lesson, then, in which the persistent faith of the Canaanite woman convinced Jesus to heal her daughter, can inspire us to be open to those whose stories would change our hearts, our minds, and even our mission.

But I want you to consider something else, before we wrap up this confusing healing story too neatly in a package and go home.

First: If, when reading a biblical text, I find myself too easily identifying with the role of Jesus in the story, it’s a good idea to go back and start again.

And second: If the only thing I’ve heard in a Gospel text is a lesson on how to change my behavior, then I haven’t really heard the Good News.

So consider this for a moment: A fellow pastor recently wrote on this text, wondering if the Canaanite woman, bold enough to challenge Jesus, could be a little like God.

Which made me think: If she’s God, then perhaps we’re not Jesus, but rather the daughter.

Perhaps we are the demon-tormented daughters. After all, we are in desperate need of healing—from illness, from despair, from pride, from unchecked privilege, from sin of every kind.

Read in this way, the Canaanite woman becomes our loving parent, audaciously and persistently speaking out on our behalf, breaking down barriers, making a place even for us in the community, and at the table, and within the reach of Jesus’ healing touch.

This is the voice of God the Creator, opening Jesus’ own eyes and heart, and expanding his understanding of his mission and ministry.

How do you hear the Good News in this healing story today? Are you the one whose heart has been opened by the cry of the Canaanite woman? Have you been the parent at the microphone, whose great faith and great love will not be deterred? Or are you the one in need of healing, wondering if Jesus’ reach extends even to you?

Wherever you find yourself in this story today, hear again the Good News: God’s great love for the world is audacious, persistent, and big enough for all.  Grace and mercy, healing and wholeness are yours today, through the cross of Jesus Christ.