Change Your Mind
Matthew 15:10-11, 21-28
Matthew 15:10-11, 21-28 (NRSV):
10 Then he called the crowd to him and said to them, “Listen and understand: 11 it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.”
21 Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. 22 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.” 23 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.” 24 He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” 25 But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” 26 He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 27 She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” 28 Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed from that moment.
If someone who knew very little about Jesus said to me “Matt, I would like to learn more about Jesus…understand what he was like, what he stood for…can you tell me where, in the Bible, to start?” Sending that person…here…would be a very bold move.
I’m going to assume that this is a reliable presentation of Jesus, rather than question it. And if you, generally, assume that Jesus is a person who cares about the needs of others and doesn’t tend to insult and exclude desperate people, this passage might be puzzling or upsetting. And rightly so.
In verses 10-11, the key part of a talk before this scene, Jesus shifts the moral focus from purity laws to actual impact: what is most defiling are harmful words and cruel actions. This is interesting, given what follows. Jesus challenges his people’s excessive concern with cultural practices that might cause them to view “outsiders” as impure and less worthy of compassion and as a result treat them poorly; and then—Jesus acts like a total butthead, defiling this woman by dismissing and demeaning her.
Maybe you sense some ethnic and geographic tensions here. It would be reasonable to say “Jesus is a product of his time” and give him some grace for this unfortunate moment, where we see a side of him many may not want to see, or can’t see, or won’t see. For any theology that depends on Jesus being absolutely perfect, this passage is problematic. It might tempt some to ignore a plain reading of the text and say, in the spirit of Nixon, “if Jesus said it, it must have been the right thing to have said.”
Jesus, no matter how in harmony with the Divine he might have been, could apparently, at times, act like a butthead. You know the difference between “being a racist” and unlearning biases and prejudices that sneak out from time to time. Those missteps don’t make you a bad person, they just show that you’ve still got work to do.
Now I definitely don’t think Jesus is pretending to be a jerk, to create the conditions necessary for this woman to find the inner resources needed to change her reality for the better, as many interpreters might suggest. This is the real Jesus and…that’s fine?
If I tell my child “you’re perfect,” I mean it, but I’m not saying “you are incapable of mistakes” or “you have no room to grow.” I’m saying, among other things, “you don’t need to be anybody other than what you are.” If you think a job opening would be suitable for your friend, you might tell them “that would be just perfect for you.”
I think Jesus is just perfect. I think he doesn’t need to be anything other than what he is. But I don’t think that means he never makes a mistake, never causes harm, never gets too scared to do something hard, never stands idle when he should act, never says the wrong thing, never displays unexamined hostilities inherited from his community.
Jesus invites people to follow him on his journey toward Love, and the road is unavoidably bumpy. If we glorify arrival, perfection, and flawlessness, over being on the way, learning from mistakes, and accepting our flaws, I think we do ourselves and others a disservice. And we turn Jesus into something he never claimed to be.
Here’s my bottom line, today: Jesus can remind us that people can change; this parent can remind us that we are potential agents of change. Jesus demonstrates openness to changing your mind and practices, and the woman, what it looks like to make change.
I assume Jesus changes, here. I guess you could conclude he’s more like a frazzled parent, who after repeatedly saying “no” to their relentless child exclaims, in defeat, “fine, I give up!” But…I think he changes. I think his heart expands, a little more. In other times, Jesus will be the change agent. In this moment, he is the old guard, the institution, the past; he is rigidity.
And the woman pokes at the “establishment,” undermines it, invites Jesus and others to grow beyond it. Not because that was her goal; she may have just wanted to help her child, and parents will often do whatever it takes to help their children. Just because an authority says “this is the way” doesn’t make that way good and right.
You know that. Actually, anti-authoritarianism is in our Quaker DNA. Rejecting the authority of both Anglican and Puritan churches as mediators of Divine presence. Rejecting the authority of a government who requires you to fight. Rejecting the authority of exclusively male religious leadership. Rejecting the authority of an allegedly higher social class and established social rules of deference. Rejecting the authority of the Bible if elevated over direct, personal experience of the Divine.
There are a lot of people about whom you could say “oh, this person was a Quaker before there were Quakers.” Even Jesus. But I’d like to uphold this woman’s Quaker spiciness. A woman who rejects authoritative social boundaries. A woman who pushes back on a man, a rabbi. A woman who persists despite a crowd of men telling her to go away. Maybe a woman who listens for the Divine, notices where that Divine is taking Jesus, and nudges him toward it, inviting him to move forward in his personal journey.
And Jesus changes, yes—good for him! But the real hero of this story is the woman, who transgresses boundaries, who nudges Jesus and his community to widen the circle even farther, and who calls them to practice what they preach. Jesus speaks words about Love, but can he let his life speak? Jesus is put to the test, and…he gets like a B, maybe a B+, since, while he does come around, he does…he does call her a dog.
Maybe dogs were held in high esteem? Or maybe Jesus didn’t mean to call her a dog, but was just illustrating, for her and himself, how important it was to take care of his wounded and weary community, and so maybe to be asked to momentarily set that aside, for some rando, felt like being asked to abandon his sacred calling. Whatever is going on, the woman’s request is jolting, and transformative.
If he did mean to call her a dog, I love this playful yet fierce reappropriation of a derogatory remark, a move we see often in history, including in our tradition with the word “Quaker” itself. “That’s right I’m a dog!” she might say, “and dogs gotta eat too!”
The woman knows how to speak truth to power, and make things happen. This isn’t someone selfishly pushing their way to the front. This is someone who knows which levers to pull, how to get the system to work for her. Jesus might be outside the institution, in ways—but not as far as outside as this Canaanite woman in the district of Tyre and Sidon! She asks him to “have mercy”—to give her and her tormented daughter relief—and appears unwilling to take “no” for an answer. Women are often demeaned for expressing when they need something, told to be small, to not disrupt the men pulling the strings. This woman persists, disrupts, and makes her voice heard.
It’s interesting that Jesus talks about fairness here. It’s not “fair” to help her? Really? Maybe Jesus is thinking, “to be asked to help you, means not helping them, and that’s not fair to them.” So maybe the simple truth that the woman helps him see is that “there is enough mercy to go around.” She’s not asking to be his priority; she’s just asking for the crumbs. She’s not asking for the moon, just that her child be well.
Jesus is moved; he praises her “faith.” I don't think he’s talking about religiosity or belief in him; I think he’s talking about her persistence, fueled by Love. As someone developing his own ability to persist in his mission, maybe he finds her inspiring. Maybe he saw himself in her, and realized that what she was doing, in trying to get him to care, was the very heart of his work in the world. Maybe “great is your faith” is not a pat on the head, but a recognition of the qualities Jesus wishes for himself, and for all.
Jesus was a student of Love. As he listened to Love in the wilderness, in his friends, in the wisdom of his tradition, in the crowds, and in himself, he learned how to dance with Love, recognize the call of Love, make Love a habit and a vision. AND…still, here, for any number of possible reasons…Jesus acts like…a butthead.
Now the woman doesn’t call him a butthead. “Yes, but even the dogs…” she says. There is a personal challenge beyond the words, here. As if she’s saying, maybe using all her inner resources to not completely lose it on Jesus: “totally get what you’re saying, my Lord, and yet I wonder what it would be like to think about things, to think about me, differently. I wonder what’s next for you, in your learning journey. I know you like plant metaphors, rabbi, and I wonder if you are a flower still blooming.”
I’m not saying Jesus gets prickly when criticized and so needs a super gentle touch. I think this story shows quite the opposite, actually—that Jesus, when challenged by this woman, pivots or expands. He validates her, her request, and, at least the way I read his response, admits he was wrong and behaved badly, and gives her what she seeks.
And right then, healing began. On multiple levels. Right then, a whole new range of possibilities opened up, as if from that moment forward, a new creation, a new reality had emerged, history had changed course—at least for this family, and for Jesus. Because of a parent’s love for their child and the dramatic things Love can make us do.
We’re all capable of goodness and…buttheadery. How do we appeal to the good in each other and draw that out? How do we push back when our friends or leaders or whomever, are acting out of alignment with that goodness, if we know they can do and be better? And when is helping someone become a better human understandably beyond our capacity or concern? It’s cool that this woman may have helped Jesus grow. It’s even more badass that she fought for her child, and won. I want to fight for things that matter, like she does. Maybe Jesus felt the same.
As I bask in the afterglow of Peace Playhouse, I recognize that these two individuals show us some actions that grow and sustain peace. Knowing that it’s okay to change your mind. Changing others’ minds. Advocating for those who are precious to you. Embracing those you have othered. Developing good goals and staying the course, but not so rigidly that you overlook a pressing need in front of you, that might at first seem like a distraction from your goal, but is actually the whole point of your goal. Voicing your needs, and responding to others' voiced needs, because peace often arises, not when imposed from on high, when people on the ground get what they need.
May we listen to Jesus, who does, in his words, “listen and understand”...eventually. And may we listen to the Canaanite woman, who says “have mercy” and “help me,” not only making things happen for herself and her child, but also possibly magnifying the needs of her community and opening the door toward greater harmony between groups of people, who, for all their importance differences, really aren’t that different.
Queries:
What might we take to heart as we listen to Jesus and the Canaanite woman?
What actions might this story be nudging us to take?