Homily for Reminscere - 2007

[Genesis 32:22-32 / Romans 5:1-5 / Matthew 15:21-28]

Last week's readings reminded us that we Christians have a enemy who likes to act like a friend. Today's readings remind us that we have a Friend who sometimes acts like an enemy.

The difference is that behind the friendliness of Satan is only malicious hatred and destruction. The devil befriends you for one reason only: so that he can torment and enjoy your sufferings for eternity. But your friend, who sometimes acts like your enemy, behind his occasional rough handling of you, his tormenting of you, desires nothing for you but that you come to share in His joy, His peace, His light and His love for all eternity. The enemy sugar coats his malice while the friend disguises his benevolence beneath a guise of roughness that toughens our faith and makes it strong.

Jacob learned this as he wrestled through the night with that mysterious figure on the banks of the Jabbok. He walked away from the encounter limping, in pain, but a blessed man. A man with a brand new name: Israel. The one who wins against God and man. With that new name and that blessing, he was strengthened and encouraged to face his brother Esau - whom, recall, the last time we met him was planning Jacob's murder. Though he seemed like an enemy, wrestling against Jacob, he turned out to be Jacob's dearest Friend. The self-same one who had promised him years before: "I will not leave or forsake you until I have done all I promised you."

And the woman in today's Gospel - she surely knew something of the Friend who disguises himself as an enemy, no? She came to our Lord, crying for mercy like so many others. "Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David: my daughter is severely oppressed by a demon!" And look at how her best and dearest Friend treats her. "But he did not answer her a word."

Ignored. Just as though she wasn't even there. Just as though He never heard her cry or saw her desperation. He just kept on going. As though he were not her Friend at all. Rather, her enemy. But she doesn't give up. She kept on crying behind Him, begging mercy.

The disciples must have wondered: what on earth is He up to? This is getting downright embarrassing! Look at all the people beginning to stare. "Send her away" they say to Him, "for she is crying out after us."

How does her dearest and truest Friend answer that? "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." Did He look at her when He said it? Did He make it clear to her that He knew she was no Jew, despite her calling Him "Son of David"? That He knew she was a Canaanite and had no claim whatsoever on Him at all. He owed her nothing. Would she give up now? Would she just crumble and lie on the roadside in despair? Would she believe the whisperings of the Enemy, as he tells her: "See, He doesn't love you. He doesn't care for you at all. You're not among those who might hope for His kindness. Despair and die!"

If such thoughts battled in her heart, and I don't know how they wouldn't have, she doesn't give in to them. She refuses to take no for an answer. She refuses to believe that His love and mercy is so small that it cannot embrace her and her daughter. And so as Jesus had spoken to his disciples, she uses the opportunity to plant herself in the dust before Him and lift a tear-stained face to Him, to heaven, and to insist: "Lord, help me."

Surely now? But no. He has his sharpest blow yet to deliver. "It is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs." The dogs. Luther was quite honest when he said that if he had been treated so by the Lord at this point he thinks he would just have gotten up and walked away. But that is what this woman does NOT do. She looks up at Him and says: "Yes, Lord." Yes? Yes, I am dog. I am nothing but a dog. I really have no right to the children's bread. But if I am your dog, won't you give me the dog's due and share the crumbs under the table with me? A crumb is all I ask, for my little girl. Please.

Instantly gone is the guise of the enemy. Instead He shows Himself for who He really is: her Friend, her dearest and truest friend, who will not abandon her in her need. "O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire." Her daughter, of course, was healed instantly.

Have you been there with Him? Maybe you are there with Him right now? Maybe He's handling you or someone you know roughly. And Satan is whispering in your ear: "You can hang it up. He's got no room in his heart for you." Don't you buy it. Not for a second. Like Jacob hold tight: "I will not let you go until you bless me." Like the Canaanite woman persist in believing in His goodness, that He is truly your dearest and best Friend.

For such He is. He showed that by the path He walked for you. All the way to Calvary. All the way to the pain and abandonment of the Cross. There the Father “made Him who had no sin to be sin for us." And this Jesus, your Friend, freely consented to do. To exchange His life for yours. To shed His blood to blot out your sin. To pour Himself out to death that death might not be able to hold you. Your friend did not stay dead - no matter what the Discovery Channel tries to sell you - He rose from the grave in glorious triumph over decay, the pledge and promise to you that the life He gives you is the life that never ends. As the proof of it, He gives you His body and blood, that you might never forget how much He loves you – especially when the times are rough.

Was there ever such a Friend? For he did this for us, when we could care less. When we were still hopelessly mired in our rebellions. This is the Friend you have, and having done all of that for you, faith knows that behind all of the rough handling there is the certainty of benevolence and kindness and love.


That's why the Apostle could insist in the Epistle that having been justified by faith, we now have peace with God. A peace so great, so confident, that we can even rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that God is using them to produce endurance, character, and hope that does not put to shame. The rough treatment doesn't scare us because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit. Come what may - even when He treats us roughly and leaves us limping, when He seems to ignore our prayers or insult us, we KNOW that this One is our dearest, truest Friend, and that He is the master of working all things together for our good, for our blessing. So faith hangs tight to Him who loved us all the way to the Cross and the Empty Grave. To Him be glory with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and ever and unto the ages of ages! Amen.