Sermon for the 2 nd Sunday in Lent, February 28, 2010
“He answered and said, It is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to dogs. And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters' table. Then Jesus answered and said unto her, O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt. And her daughter was made whole from that very hour. ”
AN uncommonly beautiful prayer in the Book of Common Prayer sets the stage for the priest at the altar and the entire church full of people to receive Holy Communion. It informs us what we will now do, but first establishes that we have no right at all to do it, no quality in ourselves that makes us worthy of this unspeakable honor. In more than flowery, pious language, this prayer kills any pretence we may have, and levels all human classes into one lowly, needy group. “We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy: Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body, and our souls washed through his most precious blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.”
The allusion to crumbs is biblical, as is every prayer in this volume, but this one specially calls up a scene in the life of Jesus Christ. At a time when the popular success of Christ's preaching and miraculous self-revelation has drawn fire from the Pharisees around Galilee, Jerusalem's priestly caste, and King Herod's court, Jesus escapes notice in the northern pagan lands around Tyre and Sidon, ancient Phoenicia. The Sidonians are idol worshippers, which means they crudely dedicate themselves to fertility gods and participate in rituals with the gods Baal and Ashtoreth, and with temple prostitutes that we would only describe as satanic. Playing around with this religion could only get you demon possessed. The Jews shun the Phoenicians, though at times they have been political allies and Israel even prospered by trade with the world's greatest sailors, whose territories held the famed cedar trees of Lebanon.
The crowds are finally gone. Jesus and His band of close followers can breathe a sigh of relief from the incessant throngs of those wanting healing, and those accusing Him of healing on the wrong day of the week. It might be a time of quiet instruction for Him, of prayer and retreat in this non-Jewish but picturesque seacoast. But who is this?
She comes wailing and shrieking, “Healer! Son of David! Listen to me! Help me! I have a daughter and she is terribly vexed with an evil spirit. She doesn't know me anymore. You have to deliver her. Come and set her free. I know who you are. You're the Messiah. Healer, listen! Don't go! Come back, please.” As Jesus seems about to pass her by, His disciples say, “Master, tell her to go away. She's making a racket.” Jesus stops walking and breaks His silence.
“I have only been sent to the lost sheep of Israel.” The foreign woman runs up to His face, but stoops down before Jesus and begs Him again, “Master, Lord, help me!” Testing her again, Jesus answers, “It is inappropriate to throw the children's food to dogs.” Now, in any culture calling a person ‘dog' is an insult. Dog was how the Israelites referred to all of our forebears, the Gentiles, the pagan tribes. And spiritually they were accurate. My ancestors did disgusting things religiously up until the conversion of the Vikings about 1,000 years ago. Nevertheless, you usually don't call a person ‘dog' to their face, especially in his home town. At this point, Jesus hasn't directly addressed this woman, as His Jewish custom would dictate. She has a decision to make now. Will she walk away insulted with all her people?
The religious practice of her people has brought her to this day. Dedicating your child to Ashtoreth, goddess of love and fertility, exposed the girl to spiritual infestation. This moment is decisive for her mother's entire faith life: is the God of Israel and His Messiah the truth, or are the gods of her Sidonian people still true for her? He calls her dog. She accepts His judgment as true.
“Truth! Master. I agree! And still,” she reframes the argument, “the dogs may eat crumbs when they fall from their master's table, can't they?” A more humble pleading can't be imagined. She gladly places herself with dogs, and from that humble place still begs her daughter's healing. She passes the test. Jesus slowly begins to smile. Only a few times have we heard Him address anyone with greater affection: “O woman, great is your faith. It will be for you just as you desire.” He nods and the Phoenician woman at last looks up at Jesus, tears streaming, filled with wonder, her agony relieved at last. Hope begins clearing the clouds in her expression like a spring breeze. She struggles to her feet and, watching Him still, makes her way home to see for herself. A while later, she comes back to the Lord's entourage shouting again, this time praises to Jesus, “Son of David! God be praised in you! My child is returned to me. You are everything you say! We are dogs, but happy dogs, your own sweet dogs. Thank you! Thank you!”
English worship has always called up the most dignified, worthy language for God. High fallutin' and sometimes pompous to our ears, the Elizabethan tones of our liturgical custom, the elaborate dress of high church worship, vaulted altars, ceremonial activity, smells and bells may easily enlist in us the attitude that we are something special. Some of us might claim nobility. How lucky for God to have us actually coming to see Him in church today. I'm just a Viking, but some of you actually have a lineage from kings and queens of England. Great. Good for you.
The wonder of the common cup quietly makes quite another case. Everybody drinks from it, just the same. The other night, on Ash Wednesday, we drank wine from this goblet with a man who spent 18 years in prison. He has the tattoos up his neck. He was once a member of the Arian brotherhood gang. His chiseled face would freeze your blood were you to meet him in an alley on a dark night. He told me, “I hadn't tasted real wine in 30 years. That was the real stuff. Amazing.” Michael became a Christian in prison, watching a television preacher while cooling his heels in solitary confinement. His ministry began before he left incarceration, and today, 14 years later, he is a minister to those who come out of their former lives of crime. He loved our worship, a very foreign experience to him. And Jesus, whose bloodline never reached another generation through any natural children, freely gives His human and divine nature through consecrated wine, His Blood, which we all drink in common from the same royal cup. The blood of the King then flows through each of us, making us blood brothers and sisters, and now with an ex-con.
Crumbs fall from the master's children's table to the dirt underfoot. Well-bred kids will not stoop down to pick these up and eat them, but rather leave these crumbs to the dogs, who aren't so picky. These were the crumbs the Canaanite woman begged of the Son of David, and received them gratefully. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, compiler and translator of the first Book of Common Prayer and its lovely, lofty English liturgies, found the need for a new prayer, one not found in the Sarum Latin rites of the Catholic Holy Eucharist. Perhaps inspired by the braggadocio of the court of Henry, perhaps by the pride he found in his fellow clergy, Thomas called up the memory of this low-born foreign woman for an example. And he took us a step further.
We can't have any presumptions of our own goodness, our worthiness to receive the Blessed Sacrament. We aren't worthy. There is no good thing in us that translates to God owing us so much as an honorable mention in the lists of the damned. No achievement of ours, no gallant act of service, no sacrifice or rich gift to the Church qualifies us for anything. We are approaching the throne of the King of the Universe and we are pond scum, water beetles, amoebas by contrast. Only on His mercy may we rest our case to receive this honor. We are not worthy so much as to gather up His crumbs . Cranmer places us a step beneath the Syro-Phoenecian, who does merit a crumb through her humility and great faith. Not even a crumb do we deserve by our personal merit. Let's not think we've earned this. Communion is the great leveler and reminder of who we are and Who He is. He always has mercy, grace, unmerited favor towards us. It's our command , our sacred duty to respond to this honorable meal and to come forward as supplicants. Our bodies are sinful, our souls are soiled by sin. We have no health native to us. It is for me that Christ came, not to prove my worthiness, but to save me from my destitution. I may refuse, and that is pride. Or I may submit, but then I have to leave my pride behind me. I am a sinner, needing everything the Savior may give me, for without Him I am nothing.
This meal gives us life. The Son of God shares His nature with us, feeds us on His own Body and Blood, that we might live in this life more holy lives, but also dwell gloriously in the next life in His presence.
This is a forever endeavor, a record mountainous ascent, and we aren't worthy even to start on the expedition. We can't rightly assess our fitness for the climb. Heaven makes Everest a foothill. The air thins out up there so much as to make conventional aircraft ineffective. It's impossible to do it, to train for it. Nobody can climb this peak. But with holy food, and the breath of God, His Holy Spirit within us, giving us new life, we start now on the quest.
PFH+