The Canaanite woman’s faith is a perennial example (Matthew 15:21-28). People throughout time call upon God for healing, and speak truth to the Powers that get in the way. With modern threats of nuclear action, the spectre of white supremacy, and chronic domestic violence against women, it is clear that we are in need of this faith so that we might be healed, both collectively and personally. The words “Lord, have mercy,” and “even the dogs eat in the master’s house” are both rooted in a sure and certain hope that God’s promises are irrevocable (Romans 11:29).
The Canaanite woman is not named—so let’s call her Tamara, after one of Jesus’ Canaanite ancestors, Tamar. Tamara is desperate, and she comes to Jesus pleading on behalf of her daughter. Tamara’s daughter is also unnamed—let’s call her Ruby, after Ruth, another one of Jesus’ Canaanite ancestors. Ruby is tormented by a demon. Unfortunately, after Tamara’s plea, Jesus stays silent.
There is a man who lives in a local park where I live. I think he struggles with mental illness because sometimes he is calm, quiet, and kind, but other times he is loud, angry, and mean. I usually don’t know how to respond to him, so I often stay silent. I wonder if Jesus stayed silent because he also didn’t know how to respond.
Tamara doesn’t accept silence from Jesus. She insists that her daughter, Ruby, deserves healing, just like the Israelites. “Even the dogs, Jesus; even the dogs…” she says. In most stories, it’s Jesus who comes up with the spiritual aikido to throw his partners off-balance. But in this story, it’s the reverse. Jesus is pinned to the ground by an unexpected opponent.
One of the things I love about biblical interpretation is that there are so many angles of entry. We are the Ruby-s in this story, ourselves possessed by demons. We are the Tamaras, pleading wholeheartedly on behalf of others. And yes, we are the Christ-people, who forget for a time that our Christ-calling is much larger than we thought.
We are neighbors meeting neighbors across borders, just as Jesus and Tamara were. This neighbor-lens is the primary lens of interpretation in this reading. Through these old words, we learn again that God heals, that our borders often get in the way of God’s healing, and that it’s usually the other who shows us the way to Jesus.
This Israelite-Canaanite neighbor dynamic is interesting. These people-groups are neighbors with a lot of baggage. This baggage certainly influenced the interaction between Jesus and Tamara, and it can shape what we take away from the story today. For example, in Deuteronomy 20:16, Moses explains the rules of war as they apply to the Canaanites. “But as for [the Canaanites],” he says, “...you must not let anything that breathes remain alive.” Yikes! Is there, today, any group of people we would like to see exterminated? Be honest. Or maybe we ourselves belong to a group of people that others want exterminated…
Moses’ command for genocide in the name of God is a sin, and it does not make for good community; it is not the will of God on earth as it is in heaven. Likewise, the doctrine of Manifest Destiny, which justified genocide against Indigenous Peoples in the Americas, and still fuels the undercurrents of white nationalism today is a sin, and is not the will of God. Given this history of genocide, there was most certainly bad blood between the Israelites and the Canaanites. While Jesus was temporarily fooled by this bad blood, Tamara was not…
In addition to genocide, there was also a surprising pattern of healing between these Israelite and Canaanite neighbors. Jesus would have been consistent within his own prophetic tradition if he had healed Ruby right away. Elijah healed the widow’s son from Zarephath, a territory of Sidon, in the land of Canaan (1 Kings 17:17-24). Elisha healed Naaman, an enemy military commander (2 Kings 5:1-14). Think of Doctors Without Borders today, an organization who will go anywhere to heal others—no matter the political realities. When Jesus healed Ruby, he was being consistent with Israel’s tradition of healing—that is, after he got reminded by Tamara of his calling.
So the Israelites and Canaanites fought each other, and they healed each other. It turns out, they also cooperated economically. For example, during the time of Solomon, wood and labor for the construction of the temple in Jerusalem came from Tyre and Sidon in the land of Canaan. The cedars of Lebanon that built the Lord’s temple, they came from Tamara’s backyard. This story of Jesus, Tamara, and Ruby is certainly a neighbor-story, sort of like the Good Samaritan. And just like the Israelites aren’t the heroes in the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus and his apostles aren’t the sheroes in this story either. Tamara the Canaanite is.
Tamara is “turning the other cheek” in quintessential Jesus fashion. Jesus implies that the Canaanites are dogs. Tamara takes the slap and turns the other cheek, saying, “Okay, that may be. And how does that change your calling to heal the universe?”
Marginalized communities often do this; they take the language of rejection—the names, the insults, the silences—and they appropriate them, thereby robbing them of their power. This is a fundamental principle of nonviolence. One example is the term queer, which originally just meant strange, but then came to be used as a derogatory slur. It has since been reclaimed by those who can now say with pride, “Yes, I am queer. Even queer people eat in the master’s house.” Likewise, 500 years ago, there were some pesky religious reformers who just wouldn’t shut up. They were called “Lutherans”. But that name was appropriated, neutralized, and transformed in order to strengthen, rather than weaken, the marginalized group. “Yes, I am Lutheran. And even the Lutherans eat in the master’s house.” Tamara says, “Dogs? Okay, dogs then. Even the dogs eat in the master’s house. What else you got, Jesus?”
Jesus suddenly snaps out of his ethnocentric stupor. It’s not that Jesus was an ethno-supremacist. It’s that he was human—fully human. As all humans are prone to limited perspectives and forgetfulness, so was Jesus. Being human isn’t sinful; encountering truth and rejecting it is. Jesus, our Savior, submitted to the wisdom of a foreign woman in a deeply patriarchal culture, recognizing in her the truth that sets people free (John 8:32). Richard Rohr describes this transformation eloquently when he says, “Ideas don’t change people, only an encounter with the other changes people.” Jesus encounters the other in Tamara, and he is changed, understanding more of who he was meant to be.
We learn from this story that God heals, that borders often get in the way of that healing (whether the borders be physical or political, real or imagined), and we learn that when we encounter the other, we are changed; we are reminded of who we were always meant to be. Paul tells the Romans what Tamara tells Jesus: God’s promises are irrevocable. Healing is what God does because healing is who God is.
As a Lutheran, I ask that famous catechism question, “What does this mean for us?” Perhaps it means for us that Kim Jong-Un and Donald Trump will speak not as Israelites and Canaanites caught in the web of age-old animosity or chest-thumping antagonism, but out of an awareness that we are all neighbors on a finite home. When we encounter the other, saying yes to healing across borders, saying yes to God’s irrevocable promises, saying yes to our deep, divine calling, and saying no to cyclical violence, the threat of nuclear war simply disappears from the earth. We are all dogs who eat in the master’s house.
Perhaps this story means for us that US-Mexican economic relations will soon be characterized not by the exploitation of agricultural labor, an undercutting of economies under the guise of “free trade,” or a denial of legal protection for migrants, but instead by mutual benefit. Just as the cedars of Lebanon helped build God’s temple in Jerusalem, maybe the pines of Michoacán and Alabama can help build the Lord’s temple in both countries, instead of the caskets of immigrants who die in the desert while searching for a better life. When we say yes to God’s economy and no to the economics of exploitation, we build international neighborhoods based on interdependence and mutuality.
Perhaps this story means that we are baptized into the prophetic tradition of God, healing across borders, confronting addiction and other demons, speaking truth to power, like Elijah, like Elisha, like Tamara, and like Jesus. When we “go where the need is greatest,” like Doctors Without Borders, healing souls despite the prejudices of society, we see God healing among us.
Perhaps this story means that we are beloved even in the prison of our addictions. When we admit our powerlessness over the demons inside, we encounter the Power who crosses all boundaries for the sake of our healing. This admission is the cross of Jesus.
Let us say with confidence and in good company, “Lord, have mercy. Even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from your table.”
Amen.
