Isaiah 56:1-7
Psalm 67
Romans 11:13-15, 29-32
Matthew 15:21-28

           Mid-August in an Episcopal Church in New York City.  Not the liveliest month by a long shot, even given that last August, 2004, with our preparations for the impending Republican National Convention, was completely aberrational.  It used to be that not a few churches in this city all but shut down from some time in June, or certainly by the Fourth of July, until after Labor Day.

            Those who can get away do—certainly including church people.  Those who are just back struggle mightily to get back in the saddle—and I include myself in that number on this day.  This may be a particular low point for those who cannot get away at all.  Actually, I marvel that there are no fewer than three clergy here today, for this is the time in which it used to be not that unusual to have but one, or, maybe even two.

            Now, if it should be objected that the church should be above such mundane matters as August, heat, vacations, and such, I would offer two observations.  Number one:  it is interesting how few rectors are present in their parishes this morning, or how many of our bishops are making visitations this morning.  It seems the overwhelming majority of those who can be away in August are. 

            But, number two, even our gospel lesson for today seems to understand, and those who chose the lections to be read for this day certainly understood.  Jesus has been working very hard.  Crowds of people are asking things of him everywhere.  He is tired.  The disciples are tired.  Burnout may be looming for some of them.  It is time for a vacation. 

            Our gospel lesson for today begins with these words: “Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon.”  In other words, he went abroad, to a foreign land not much trafficked by observant Jews, and to a beach no less.  To a cool, beautiful spot, away from his own people who might feel they had a claim on him, to a place where, as custom had it, you didn’t speak much if at all with the locals.  Good Jews, that is to say, male Jews, as Jesus and his disciples certainly were, did not even speak to male Canaanites.  They were considered sinful and unclean.  In other words, this was a time to be in a different world, apart, on retreat, and to be quiet, Jesus alone with his closest friends.  That means, no cell phones, no pagers, no internet access, no laptops, no e-mail.  A very human and understandable need to spend time apart.

            And so, let us take a look at this story. 

            In the Matthean context, Jesus went away to Tyre and Sidon.  He needed to get away, badly.   Then we read that “just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting.”  She comes up to him shouting! 

            How many of us cannot imagine or have not actually experienced finally getting away, and having the call of business or vocation or family interrupt us when we needed it least?  How many of us were, or could imagine ourselves pleased?  Especially if it were an interruption by someone who had no standing, no legitimacy, no claim on us, in any case?  By a seeming crazy, shouting at us!  …the worst kind of intrusion.

            At any rate, here is this Canaanite woman.  Not mild-mannered, not polite, certainly not very Anglican.  Agitated, disturbed, possessed of her own private mission, pushing herself forcefully on the scene with a, “have mercy on me Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” 

            Now it is truly bizarre that a Canaanite female would address a foreign Jewish male at all, much less in those messianically-tinged terms, “Lord, son of David,” and that may be a gloss by our evangelist, Matthew.  But what is clear is that, even in this foreign land, Jesus’ reputation as an incredible miracle-worker has preceded him in his visit to this land.  And the severity of the condition of the Canaanite woman’s daughter has made her do the unthinkable in daring to approach and speaking to, no, shouting at, Jesus.

            And what happened?  A thoroughly believable and very human thing, given the circumstances.  Jesus “did not answer her at all.”  He ignored her.  He was silent.  He pretended she did not exist.  How easy it is to identify with the sense of not wanting to be bothered, and hoping against hope this crazy would miraculously disappear or just give up.  But no such luck.  His disciples come up to him and beg him to send her away, for her shouting is getting to them.

            Actually, there is the suggestion that they are actually asking him to grant her request so that she will then go away.  It is clear they want to be rid of her, whatever it takes.

            But Jesus answers, perhaps in the hearing of both the woman and the disciples, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”  Jesus’ mission is to his own people.  That is where his energy and devotion is focused.  And yet he has made the occasional exception in the past.  But plainly, he is not ready for this one.

            Yet the woman will not be silenced.  She will not go away.  She kneels before him and pleads, “Lord, help me.”

            It is here that Jesus says one of the most shocking things we hear him say in all the gospels.  “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”  Is this gentle Jesus, meek and mild?  Now the word he used for dogs is not the wild, feared, and unclean scavenger dogs, but the word for “puppy,” or household pet.  But even so, Jesus is being pretty dismissive, even humiliating this desperate woman.

            But again, this woman will not be deterred.  She swallows her pride and comes right back at him with this retort: “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”  She will take the crumbs that are left or discarded or thrown to the dogs, as degrading as that might be, for two reasons.  She is desperate to save her daughter.  And she believes that anything at all from this man will be efficacious.  She believes and is committed that strongly.

            Jesus, finally, is moved.  Last week, Jesus addressed Peter as he lost confidence and was falling into the water instead of walking on it, “you of little faith.”  In stark contrast, this week he says to the Canaanite woman, “Great is your faith.”  And then, “Let it be done for you as you wish.”  And our lesson concludes, “And her daughter was healed instantly.”

            What are we to make of this story?  How can it speak to us, even in the middle of August?

            The first thing that might be said is that Jesus is fully human, believable, real.

            The second thing that might be concerns the Canaanite woman.  She brings to mind Woody Allen’s immortal observation, “Eighty percent of success is showing up.”  Showing up is what, this Canaanite woman did with a vengeance.

            And this woman does not exactly act the way women were supposed to act in that day.  This is not a woman who fades into the background.  She fights for her daughter like a mother lion, and she seems to have as much wit and acuity and bravery as she has faith.

            We have been witnessing a modern-day parable of this woman’s grit and determination in Cindy Sheehan’s camping out in Crawford, Texas, a grief-filled mother seeking the attention of the president of the United States.  Except that it is too late for Cindy Sheehan’s son—but she is wanting to save other mothers the grief she has endured, of supporting our troops by bringing them home from what seems like an inexorably increasing quagmire.    

            But, unfortunately for us and for Cindy Sheehan, she has not quite gotten the attention of the one with whom she wishes to speak, or, rather, she has certainly gotten his attention, but most certainly not his listening ear.  But miraculously, it seems like she has energized a whole lot of others in her struggle.

            But back to the Canaanite woman and in stark contrast with our modern story, Jesus is ultimately moved by and marvels at this strong woman.  The strength of her faith puts Jesus’ disciples and all Israel to shame.  For this kind of faith is not, categorically not limited to the seeming elect.  But rather, it is open and available to all, even to those who may consider themselves, or be considered by others, unworthy or unreachable.  In Isaiah’s most compelling word, the household of God is open even to the eunuch and foreigner.  It is open to all.  God’s house shall be a house of prayer for all people. 

            In the synoptic gospels in general, and in this story in particular, faith is connected to the possibility of transformation.  The faith Jesus recognizes and even delights in, occurs when genuine human weakness gives way to an openness to the power made manifest in and through Jesus.  It is when our belief in our own self-sufficiency and self-righteousness, and self-confidence is finally shattered, that Jesus can speak to us with power and authority, giving us strength, and even making us whole.   

            Courage in the face of struggle, transformation as a result of our faithfulness seems in such short supply in too much of the Episcopal Church and in so much of the Anglican Communion.  And it is so disheartening that the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, with which we are in full communion, could fail to affirm on Friday even a limited policy of ordaining gay and lesbian candidates in committed relationships.  The vote was close, with 51% opposed to 49% in favor, even though the measure needed a two-thirds majority to be approved.

            Although as a dog-lover, I find the image distasteful, this day the gospel went to the dogs was in fact the day it came to us, to all of us who are gentiles, the day in which no one, not any one, eunuchs or foreigners is excluded—which is to say everyone, and most especially those who have faced prejudice and exclusion.   If every house of God is to be a “house of prayer for all people,” isn’t the message pretty clear?  Are we not to honor and stand with and support not only that Canaanite woman, but also Cindy Sheehan, and all those who would stand for inclusion over exclusion, and for peace and justice in our church, in our land, and in the whole world?

            It is well for us to remember on a hot day when most of us would rather be brief and stay cool and relaxed, that being faithful is categorically not to be merely polite; faith is not sugar-coated; it does not gloss over with good feelings the pain and anguish and suffering that mark our world. It is well to remember the pain and anguish Jesus and his band had been through when they sought the brief respite of going abroad to the beach—not to mention all that was to follow not that much further down the road Jesus was taking.  Faith is persistence, it is  showing up, even in August.

            Faith is determination and commitment, even in our weakness and uncertainty.  It is asking God and Christ and the Holy Spirit to be present in our personal lives and in those we love and care for, for each one individually, but also for our church, our nation, our world.  For then, the healing and transforming presence of the divine can do its work in us, in those we love, and even in our church and nation and world, in the sure knowledge that more is promised than we can ask for or imagine.  For our Lord has been there before and bids us come.

            We may be weary and hot and tired.  At times we may wonder what the future could possibly hold for us.   We may feel we are facing the equivalent of that intrusive woman shouting for our attention.  And yet just when we are most skeptical, even cynical, we can experience in the grace and witness of a Gene Robinson, or a Cindy Sheehan, or even, simply and miraculously, in receiving the sacrament of Christ’s body and blood, something that overtakes us and remind us who we are and whose we are—even in the dog days of August. 

            Glory be.  And thanks be to God.  Amen