A Tale of Two Healings

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Preached at the Presbytery of Coastal Carolina Revitalization Retreat

January 28, 2015

Matthew 15:21-28

Jesus left Gennesaret and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon.

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. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.”  He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”  But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.”  He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”  Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

Sermon: 

Her name was Meriah.  My daughter, I mean.  You never hear her name in your story, or mine, for that matter.  I don’t really care that you remember me, because that story never was about me.  It was all about Meriah.

She’d been acting strange for weeks.  Some said it was just a pre-teenage phase of aggression.  But a mother knows better.  I knew something was really, really wrong.  And I knew I had to do something, anything, to get help. 

So, when I heard that a famous healer was going to be near Tyre, I went to be the first to greet him.  Yes, I knew he was a Jewish healer, and as a Canaanite woman, we were enemies.  I guess you might not know that conflict: I’ll give you a brief run-down.  My people descended of course from a great man in your scriptures – Noah.  Well, Noah’s grandson, Ham, to be exact.  It’s no secret those sons didn’t leave the ark the best of buddies.  There was deep conflict, even then.  Joshua later conquered our land, calling us “pagans,” and many of our people were pushed north, into Phoenecia.  We were Israel’s enemies.  And they were ours.  But when your daughter is sick, you’ll do desperate things.  Even ask your enemies for help.

So, I went up to this Jewish healer Jesus and tried to be as respectful as possible, knowing my very skin showed the differences between us.  I swallowed all of the pride of my ancestors and even called him, “Lord, Son of David,” asking for his mercy. 

He pretended he didn’t even hear me.

I would not give up.  His disciples became angry, and told their Rabbi to send me away. 

He responded by saying that he was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.  The message was clear: he didn’t have time to heal the likes of me, or my daughter.

Still, I would not give up.

“Lord,” I said again, in my most respectful tone, “help me.”

The third insult stung more than being ignored, or told I wasn’t the focus of his ministry.  He looked me right in the eye, clearly exhausted and frustrated and said, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

He called me a dog, a derogatory racial slur not unlike other words you’ve probably heard (and I pray never uttered).  Angry tears sprang to my eyes, but I still would not back down.  I had nothing to lose, except my daughter, and I would not lose her.

“Yes, Lord,” I began, again using that respectful word.  I continued, “Yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

This time, it was his eyes that became teary.  He sort of shook his head at himself and replied, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”  He no longer called me dog; he called me woman.  And he healed Meriah.  My little girl was okay. 

But love her as I do, grateful as I am, I don’t believe that was the only healing that happened that day.  I think I healed Jesus that day.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, me, heal Jesus?  Your messiah was perfect, how could he need healing?  Your messiah was sinless, how could he need forgiving? 

Yes, he was perfect, but the social, cultural and religious apartheid he was raised in was very, very broken and in need of healing.

Yes, he was sinless, but the deeply divided context of his ministry was rife with the sins of racism, hatred and indifference, that needed forgiving. 

You see, even Jesus, the Divine One, Son of David, Lord of All, was caught up in a system he could not save himself from, or perhaps he chose not to save himself from.  Because, like most isms of this world that still exist, he couldn’t even see it, even when it was right in front of him, blocking his path, begging for help.

Jesus needed to be healed from that apartheid system he was raised in.  And he couldn’t do that by reading important books, or by writing important papers or by preaching powerful sermons.  He could only do that by looking me – one he considered so completely “other” that he didn’t even see me as human at first – in the eye.  He could only do that by recognizing value in me, faith in me, and I in him.

I wish I could say that this sort of entrenched hatred and fear is something that only existed once upon a time in the pages of your holy text, in my story.  You know that’s not true.  You know that children are still raised in broken systems of racism and religious intolerance.  You know that places of faith are not immune to such systems, but sometimes even play a role in perpetuating such division.  You see, we are all of us demon-possessed, just as Meriah was.  That demon is named fear.

And the only way to cast out that demon is to come face-to-face with Jesus.  But I should warn you – my healing of Jesus that day changed him.  He became even more fixated on breaking down barriers, on eating with outcasts and sinners and tax collectors, on making the religious folk uncomfortable.  He became associated with the other.  And then, on that cross, he became the “other,” crucified by a state that could not comprehend his sort of reconciling sacrifice. 

So, if you want to come face-to-face with Jesus, there’s a good chance he looks like whomever you label as “other.”  There’s a good chance he looks like someone you might ignore the first time, or laugh at with friends, or even outright insult.  But, like me that day, desperate for my daughter to be healed, Jesus doesn’t give up.  He will keep coming back, in the form of one you think so very different from you, until you look him in the eye, really in the eye, and recognize faith within him.  Faith in you.   Faith in this broken, possessed world. 

One day, when she was older, I told my daughter Meriah what had happened to her.  I told her that she had been made well by a man who was also God, by an enemy who was also a friend, and that if such a thing could happen, anything was possible. 

Amen.