A love that knows no limits

This morning's gospel lesson may leave us scratching our heads, wondering how to square things up in a way that makes any sense. Jesus’ words make it clear he understands his mission is to the children of Israel, not to Gentiles. Even more confusing though is the tone of this interaction; there's just no getting around it: comparing a person to a dog, as he does this marginalized woman, is profoundly insulting. 

What exactly is going on here? Are we really to believe compassion only extends to some people, while others rightly find themselves on the outside? Is there some kind of a limit to the love of God?

Before traveling on this journey, Jesus and his disciples are confronted about observing Jewish traditions around handwashing. What’s at stake in the debate is the same as it always seems to be: how to properly maintain one’s purity in order to become worthy of God’s love. The point Jesus makes in response to criticism is that things around a person's life don't make them unclean, but rather it's the harmful intentions rising from within the human heart that really defile persons.

Receiving love for ourselves—and in turn loving others—isn't an issue of worthiness; it's about what's going on inside of us, and the things that can so easily get in the way of love.

So then, after this exchange with scribes and Pharisees, Jesus and his followers travel to Tyre and Sidon—a prominently Gentile district.  

For any concerned with maintaining the purity laws required for sacrificial ritual, this would be a place to avoid. There are just too many ways interacting with people outside a familiar, safe setting could make one impure. And yet, Jesus makes the journey anyway; as he’s said before, sacrifice isn’t of primary concern, but rather what is really to be desired is mercy. 

In the memoir, Just Mercy, the civil rights attorney Bryan Stevenson remembers wisdom his grandmother imparted to him: “You can’t understand most of the important things from a distance, Bryan. You have to get close.” 

These words changed the trajectory of Bryan’s life, leading him to devote himself to defending the falsely accused on death row. In a now famous Ted Talk, Bryan shares about the value of getting “proximate to pain”—because entering into the suffering of another changes things. The particularities of people’s lives will upend our understanding, how we live, and maybe even the traditions or teachings we simply take at face value. 

Jesus knows the value of proximity. And, sure enough, as they enter into a place filled with pain, a woman comes and pleads her case. “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David,” she says.

Not only does this Gentile woman invoke a Messianic title for Jesus, she appeals to mercy—that very thing Jesus says God most desires. And in doing so her words have something of a prophetic quality. 

In the Biblical tradition, a prophet's role is always about pushing boundaries, much the same as how we might think of a social activist today. Their creative imagination and relentless advocacy expands who gets to be treated as fully human, and thus who gets to belong. 

Rabbi Joshua Heschel says, “Prophecy is the voice that God has lent to the silent agony, a voice to the plundered poor… God is raging in the prophet’s words.” In the lives of those building greater equity and mercy in our world, we are given an up close encounter with the things God desires. And very much like a prophet, this woman’s actions are unpolished and rather impolite.

It’s not especially surprising then that Jesus prefers not to respond to a desperate and seemingly crazed woman screaming at him in a public place. What’s more, in committing many social faux pas, it is outright insulting to him. So, the disciples try to restore dignity to their teacher and to this woman by wishing her away, and along with her all the discomforts of polite society being violated.

But Jesus remains proximate to pain. And because of this a dialogue unfolds.

What takes place in the space created between Jesus and this woman is highly politically charged. It evokes a long history of conflict, as Canaanites were the historical enemies of Jesus’ people. Even though the violence between their tribes is in the past, memory of political division is quite resilient.

An entire hierarchy has since been built to preserve the ethnic prejudices between them, and they find themselves standing on different sides. There is really no love lost between their people. And this social context is the very historical reality within which Jesus operates.

Now, there are many ways of interpreting all that happens in this conversation. Some attempt to justify Jesus’ insult, some dismiss any harm from his words by softening what’s happening, and some condemn him for it—all of which are typically presented with absolute certainty.

So, to interpreting just exactly what's going on here, let me say: we don't know. The truth is we really do not know with any measure of certainty. Christians have debated for centuries now what Jesus says and how he says it and why he says it, and we will continue to do so. It’s right for us to wrestle with this passage. But for as much as we wrestle with it, some uncertainty will remain.

Sometimes, Jesus says things we don't expect and just doesn't always perform the way we might want him to. Because Jesus is not a jukebox. Our faith is not as simple as inserting a few coins into the gospel, expecting it will deliver a nice, predictable response. In the whole of his disruptive life, Jesus defies all attempts to be placed in a neatly confined box.

This Canaanite, Gentile woman though recognizes Jesus as the Messiah. Even still, she doesn't put any precise parameters around just how he will bring salvation. As she makes her case to Jesus, Howard Thurman imagines her saying, “The world is one. And you can’t do for Israel without doing for others. There is an inner logic that binds all life. And I do not think that even God can be God if one, single person is left out.”

She knows Jesus has power to act, and she trusts that he will. And for this her expectant faith is commended.

This isn't the only time Jesus seems to make an exception to his mission; it’s as though he just can’t help but pour mercy on all who come seeking it. And this is very much the story of the gospel. 

Even at the very beginning, where Matthew's Gospel outlines Jesus’ genealogy, we find the presence of Tamar, Rahab, and Ruth. It’s notable these women are included, but it’s especially striking that the presence of three Gentiles is evidently paramount in God’s plan of salvation. And then when Matthew's Gospel concludes it does so with Jesus' final words to the disciples to “Go and make disciples of all nations…” That everyone is invited to find a seat at the table and receive mercy is the final word.

With any wrestling we might do around this lesson then, perhaps we ought to wonder about who created these social circumstances and why… Who builds structures that place limits on compassion? Are they really created by God, or are they constructed by human persons? 

God is always working through what is particular to reach what is universal. It’s through the very particularities of lives—of identity, conflict, division—that God’s plan for salvation takes shape. And it's always the case that God is up to something bigger than we’ve imagined ourselves.

As the Apostle Paul puts it, I am convinced that neither things present, nor things to come, nor anything else in all creation, can separate us from the love of God.

With faith like the Canaanite woman then, may we too dare to insist on a love that knows no limits.