+When I served at the Cathedral, everyone called me Mother Cathy. This freaks some folks out, reminding them of scary Mother Superiors from old movies. For others it feels artificial and forced. At first I couldn’t stand it, preferring to just be called Cathy. But I must admit, since leaving the Cathedral and moving to Good Shepherd and now Ascension, I kind of miss it. Never having been a Mother in the usual sense (unless you count my dogs) the respect and affection attached to the title Mother was something I, deep down, longed for and came to enjoy. It’s not the formality of the title I learned to love, it was that respect and affection. Of course, not all the images conjured by the term “mother” are pleasant.
For those who didn’t enjoy the love of a mother in the traditional sense, the term can bring painful memories. For those who have recently lost their mother, it can pierce the heart. “Mother” is a powerful image. An icon of sorts.
When we are blessed to have an attentive, healthy, aware mother, we are supported through, defended by, and cared for by a force stronger than anything else in nature. To paraphrase the famous saying , “Hell hath no fury like a mother scorned.” I wish that type of mother, or mother figure in all our lives. The Canaanite Woman in today’s Gospel was such a mother. She would not be denied or pushed aside, regardless of the consequences.
Remember, she’s not a Jew—but a Gentile who approaches Jesus and his followers with determination, pride and a love beyond all measure. Her story is remarkable on a number of levels, not the least of which is the fact that she out-wits Jesus and gets him to admit he is wrong. At this stage of Jesus’ life (in Matthew’s Gospel) Jesus is still coming to grips with who he is and what his mission is to be. Jesus, and in turn his disciples, consider his mission, his ministry, to be for the Jews…and only for them… the fulfillment of the covenant established by God through Moses. He’s traveled to Syro-Phonecian territory, a predominantly non-Jewish region, to get some rest and relaxation…assuming that no one would pay him any attention, since he wasn’t “their messiah.” Suddenly, out of nowhere, comes this woman screaming for Jesus to heal her daughter. She has trouble written all over her---there’s no man: no husband, no father, no brother…an unaccompanied woman approaching a group of men is bizarre and completely inappropriate for that culture. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, not only is she a Gentile---she’s a Canaanite--her ancestors came from the land of Canaan---the residents of the land promised to Moses, the destination for the Exodus people. A land the Jews forcibly wrestled from the Canaanites.
Her ethnicity is dripping with symbolism, a symbolism further underscored by Jesus’ response when the disciples ask him to get rid of her: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But Jesus is wrong. He’s been sent to the lost sheep of the world---he’s to heal all the broken, to lift up all the down-trodden, to heal all the sick…but he doesn’t get it. The Canaanite woman—the unaccompanied, unclean woman who should, on all accounts, despise the Jews, does get it.
This woman—a desperate and determined mother--helps Jesus see the full scope of his mission, she teaches the Teacher.
Jesus learns.
Mothers have a way of doing things like this---of knowing more than they should, of acting braver than they think they are, of enduring whatever it takes to get their children what they need.
This Canaanite mother was no different. She was a force to be reckoned with.
Of course, most people cringe when they hear Jesus’ response to her “Lord, help me” plea.
“It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”
What???? Has Jesus lost his mind? Can this possibly be the same Jesus who teaches that we must love everyone, no exceptions? Yes, it can be. Yes it is.
Jesus is simply saying, in language not unusual for his culture, that he was the messiah for the Jews and that his work was for them—the lost sheep—not for anyone else.
But, not to be denied, the woman says,
“yes Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.” She hasn’t taken offense, she isn’t going to make a scene. But she also isn’t going away. She accepts where Jesus is at—that he has come for the Jewish people and no one else—and challenges him with the very fact that dogs will eat the crumbs which fall from their master’s table and that all she wants—this unclean, unaccompanied, socially unacceptable person—are the crumbs of his grace. She has such faith in who Jesus is, and such desperation to help her child, that she is willing to accept the left-overs, the trash, if it will save her daughter. Hell hath no fury and Hell hath no smarts, like that of a desperate mother!
Thank God the woman responded as she did. For if she hadn’t, her daughter would not have been healed, and Jesus wouldn’t have been taught.
Mothers, and mother figures across the ages, have tempered their fury, have bridled their rage,and at times have swallowed their pride….not because they felt unworthy, not because they felt unclean, not because they felt uneducated…but because they have put their own needs aside in order to provide for their children. For mothers---those who have earned that moniker in their life---set aside their own desires, their own pride, their own needs in order to provide for those whom they love without reason, those whom they love beyond all measure, those for whom they will lay down their very life…not because they’re super-human, not because they’re heroes, but because they are, plain and simple: mothers. Sound familiar?
Jesus came to teach us that God loves us beyond all reason, beyond all measure and without any limit. We worship the One who laid down his life for us. Not because we deserve it, not because we earned it, but because God, our eternal parent has a love for us which is fierce. Just like a mother.+
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