I don’t think Jesus knew how hateful his comment was. A racial slur, really. Did he really understand? Jesus was called me a dog.
I’m the Canaanite woman in today’s gospel. I’m not Jewish, like Jesus. I’m what you would call an indigenous woman. The Canaanites and Israelites harbored grudges — often for good reasons — for centuries. You may recognize some other Canaanite women that appear in some genealogies surprisingly—Rahab and Tamar.
Where am I from? I’m from the district of Tyre and Sidon. North of what you now call Israel, in what is now Lebanon. Jesus had ventured there and was on my territory. Gentile — not Jewish — territory.
I am not just a nameless woman of course. But since the third century, some writers have given me a nickname of Justa. Justa means “fair” and “upright” in many languages. Because I stood out in Samaria from the corruption, Justa also means “rebel”.
Word spread that Jesus would be passing through. I don’t know he was on speaking tour or would feel safe? He seemed to be needing some distance where he was not as well known.
Life has been difficult. Just putting food on the table was enough. But my daughter had been acting strange, saying weird things. We would say she had a demon. You might call it a mental health crisis or a psychotic break.
When I heard that the miracle worker Jesus would be in town, I ran up to him. I knew I was a woman, a Gentile, a nobody, really. But I made a scene. I screamed. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me. Look at my daughter. She has a demon. Help me, help me, help me.”
I thought I was being respectful. Calling Jesus, “Son of David”. Honoring his family and background.
But Jesus ignored me. He was silent. He moved on. It felt like he brushed me off. He really didn’t seem to think I had any issue. And my heart sank.
Jesus had a band of guys that followed him. Some called them Disciples. These following disciples were protective of Jesus. And they got perturbed with me trying to augment their day and route. I probably made them uncomfortable. They told Jesus, “send her away. She keeps shouting. She needs to learn what her place is.”
Jesus said those hurtful words right to me. Your Jesus-Son-of-God said — and I quote. “It’s not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”
I am a dog – not worthy of food. Was not Jesus making a slur against me of a different race, ethnicity, religion?
When Jesus called me a dog, it was personal. For me a dog is not a cute little pets that you have in your homes. A dog was an unwelcome scavenger, a pest. And even though the word that Jesus used was a diminutive, more like Doggy, it was no term of endearment. It was a racial slur – it was derogatory; you have better translations you use.
Maybe Jesus didn’t realize what he said. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe that’s just the way he was raised. Maybe it’s the difference between what you call individual prejudice and systemic racism. It permeates everything. I am not to be trusted or trust worthy.
But let me tell you, for me it was personal. You all can talk in generalities about race. Or being trans. Or bathrooms. Or being queer. Or affirmative action. Or reparations. People in power pontificate as if they know what it’s like. They write books and blogs and opinion pieces. Often with hatred and arrogance. And not realize they are dealing with people. And families. People like me. Maybe people like some of you. Or people you know. And it’s personal.
Hatred, racism, violence, animosities. We dealt with it. And so do you.
Many people like to tell the story or account history from the perspective of the winners, the people in power, the people on top. One person of color, calls it “Disney princess theology.” You’re the princess in every story. You are the Jews escaping slavery, never the Egyptians. Peter, but never Judas. The woman anointing Jesus, never the Pharisees. And certainly not me, the assertive outcast woman who is poor and without a name.
And let me tell you, for a country that enslaved both Native and Black people, “Disney princess theology” can really warp your understanding of reality.
I’m getting preachy like your pastor now.
I can’t explain it. But after Jesus’ hurtful comment, then something came over me. I decided to take Jesus on. To challenge him. Some would say, to call him out. That could have ended everything for me, I realized. But I said it anyway. “But Jesus, even the dogs eat the crumbs from the master’s table.”
And something changed on Jesus’ face. I know he considered his mission to the lost sheep of Israel. But I think I helped Jesus realize that his message was everybody. Or as you just read from Isaiah, the house of Lord will be a house of prayer for all nations, all people – that includes me and you.
I don’t know if you believe that Jesus could learn something. A lot of Christians wouldn’t agree with that. They would say he was just testing me. But I’m not so sure. I don’t think Jesus really could see or did see how I hurt. Here’s what Jesus said to me. “Woman, great is your faith. Let it be done as you wish.” And my daughter . . . she was healed.
And I was healed. Maybe those around me, in that moment were also healed.
There is healing for you. There is healing in the word of grace that sets you free. There is healing as you eat and drink at this table. There are more than crumbs. There is enough for all. There is healing as you gather in this house of prayer for all people. There is healing whether you said the hateful word, even without thinking, or whether were the one who received it.
You may not be as assertive or persistent as I was with Jesus; I had no choice in that moment. But remember, when you talk about other people, that they are created in the image of God. If they speak English or not. If they are born here or another place. Whether trans or queer. Or Black or brown or red. Or evangelicals or those in red states. Or those with demons or those facing mental or physical crises. They’re people. Like me. And you. So be gentle with one another. We think it is God-like and perfection not to change. But we all have ways to learn from one another, learn how to heal, learn how to forgive and have grace. It is Jesus own nature, I can see it to learn, to understand to be changed.
As an unnamed woman, I am not on many of your Bible lists or in your feed or on your mind much. But I ask you, remember me. And if Jesus could learn and if Jesus could change his ways, maybe you can. Maybe we can, too.
