A New Favorite

A sermon for the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 15
August 16, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 56:1,6-8; Psalm 67; Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32; Matthew 15: (10-20), 21-28

If you had to pick a favorite person in the Bible, who would it be? The best answer is probably Jesus, but short of that, perhaps you would say Abraham. He’s a favorite of St. Paul, of St. James, and the writer of the letter to the Hebrews because of his faith, reckoned to him as righteousness. Or maybe David: A plucky upstart who dared to answer God’s call, a sinner who knew redemption, a king who knew the pasture. Maybe it’s Esther. She was featured in our Vacation Bible School this year. Called for a time such as this, she used the brains God gave her to outsmart evil. A favorite of mine is Mary Magdalene, in our Resurrection window. She goes to the tomb early in the morning; she remembers the things others conveniently forget out of fear; she knows Jesus’s voice. That’s who I want to be like. But what about the unnamed Canaanite woman today? Would she be on your favorites list? Probably not–but she should be. Now I’ll be honest: this passage has always been a challenge for me. Maybe it has for you, too. Let’s dive in and take a closer look. 

Matthew tells us a Canaanite woman approaches Jesus. The Gospel of Mark tells this story, too. Mark is a little more specific: this is a woman of Syrophoenecian origin. This woman is an outsider. She is marginalized in several ways: She’s a woman in a society that saw women as inferior and even incomplete persons; she is a Canaanite, the traditional enemy of the Jewish people in the land; and as a Canaanite, she’s likely a worshiper of the Baals, not the God of Israel. As if that wasn’t enough, her daughter is possessed by a demon. Perhaps it is spiritual oppression; perhaps it is mental illness or even something physical like epilepsy. We don’t know, and frankly it doesn’t matter. Her daughter is suffering with something that cannot be cured or explained away, and this woman and her daughter were no doubt avoided in the street, excluded from polite company, put to the margins, left without the help they desperately need, even among their own people. 

This is a woman who needs a break, more than a little help, some dignity in a world where that can be in short supply; a woman who will do anything–go to any length–to help her daughter get relief from her terrible suffering. She is desperate, in an impossible situation. I know some folks like her. I bet you do, too. A lot of them come up to our church doors, asking for a bus ticket, a snack pack; hoping to find some dignity in a world where dignity must be earned instead of given freely. She certainly doesn’t find any help among Jesus’s disciples. “Send her away,” they beg Jesus, no doubt jeering at her. We’re tired; she’s bothering us; she’s not important to us. Send her away, Jesus. 

No doubt the disciples had their favorites–those Old Testament heroes. Abraham, Moses, David. They are a far cry from this woman, this worshipper of Baal, this burr in the saddle. But there were people like her in the Old Testament. Rahab the Canaanite, in Jericho, with the armies of Israel at the doorstep. She hides the spies, cuts a deal to save her family. Or Ruth, the Moabite, whose faithfulness to her mother-in-law Naomi takes her to Bethlehem, to the threshing floor. “Wherever you go, I will go.” They probably didn’t make the disciples’ lists of favorites either. Funnily enough: Those women are the direct ancestors of Jesus himself–Jesus has some Gentiles in the family tree. They might be some of his favorites.

For his part, Jesus doesn’t even acknowledge the Canaanite woman at first. When he does acknowledge her, he dismisses her concern. “It is not right to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Jesus uses the common metaphor for Gentile people among the Jews–dogs. It sounds harsh to our ears, difficult to hear. It doesn’t seem to conform with what we know about Jesus. 

But then we read that the woman, this woman who had been on the outside for so long, this foreign woman, this desperate woman, this incredible woman–she does what the Pharisees and the scribes always fail to do. She beats Jesus in a debate. She quips, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” This is a woman worthy of Rahab, of Ruth. She acknowledges the reality: “I may be a dog,” she says; “I may be an outsider; I may not be who you’re looking for; but I believe God’s mercy is for me and my daughter, and all I’m asking for is a crumb. A crumb would be enough.” 

The early Church fathers look at this scene and they argue something incredible happens. Through this woman, an outsider and marginalized as she can be, God the Father speaks to God the Son, in the same way that God can speak to us through those people around us we might rather pass by. Through this woman, the Father tells the Son that his mission is not only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel; it is to all people. In this woman, in this most unexpected encounter, Jesus hears his Father’s voice and obeys. “Great is your faith,” he says. “Let it be done for you as you wish.” 

St. Augustine says that this woman should be the model for all of us Gentile folk. When we list our favorites, she needs to be on the list, this unnamed Canaanite woman. She’s a sign of the inbreaking of God’s grace, of God’s Kingdom, to the Gentiles, to me, to you. We should strive to be like her. 

My friend, here’s the truth: you may be a dog. I know I can be a dog sometimes. I’m a sinner. If you’re expecting the person in this pulpit to have all the answers and be a perfect saint, I’m afraid you’re going to have to go somewhere else. I hope you’ll acknowledge the same about yourself. You’ve messed up just as I have; and you fall down just like I do. But be that as it may, the woman today reminds us of an important truth, a revelation: there is grace sufficient in Jesus Christ. There is forgiveness for you and for me. His blood is for us. God’s mercy is for us. The love of God is big enough to catch us and pick us up. And just a crumb of God’s provision in our life is enough. 

“Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” The woman’s cry is ours today. We don’t deserve to be here. We haven’t done anything to be worthy of God, to force God’s hand. But even so. Even so, we have been made children of God. And even if we are dogs from time to time, we can take comfort knowing that not only does Jesus love the little children of the world, he loves the dogs, too. And we have a seat at his table, because we belong to him.