Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. 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.” 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.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” 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.
Matthew 15:21-28 (NRSVue)
My sermon from the 11th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (August 16, 2026) on Matthew 15:21-28.
What was the last thing you brought to God that God initially answered with silence?
Now I know, when I think about that question, I don’t, at first, think about anything good. I don’t pause and reflect on all those times when silence was exactly what I needed to get in deeper touch with myself and with God. Instead, I immediately think about all those moments in my life when I brought something hard to God – and didn’t really hear anything in response. It might have been a prayer, a cry for healing, or even just a blank stare because I didn’t have the words or the energy to say anything out loud. I, as best I could, leaned on God – and when I wanted an answer, I heard nothing. That silent response from God didn’t feel loving or caring at all.
I wonder if the Canaanite woman, in our reading from the gospel according to Matthew, felt that same way when Jesus responded to her with silence. She had come to him with a request. She needed mercy. And when she shared with Jesus the hard thing that was in her life – Jesus didn’t answer at all. That, for her, must have been extremely emotionally hard – because, as we see in the words she used to address Jesus, she had understood him to be exactly who he was. And that, in itself, is kind of odd because she wasn’t Jewish and Jesus was no longer in Jewish lands. He, after making a name for himself all across Galilee and other parts of ancient Israel, chose to leave the land filled with people like him and enter some place new. The territory centered around the cities of Tyre and Sidon were once ancient kingdoms that competed with Israel. They fought wars, haggled over trade routes, and struggled with their religious differences. Even though ancient Israel and Tyre and Sidon were now occupied by the Roman Empire, the cultural and religious barriers between those two communities had not broken down. The Canaanite woman did not belong to the same group as Jesus did and Jesus didn’t really belong to her group either. Yet he chose to cross the border between their two communities and when he did, she came to him. She spoke with a loud and strong voice – admitting her need and declaring who she knew Jesus to be. She called him, at first, Lord – showing him the respect a rabbi expected while also affirming that she, as a foregin woman, wasn’t supposed to really be talking to him at all. She then named him as the Son of David – a term that had value and meaning for Jews but wasn’t really applicable to gentiles like herself. Yet her word choice was strategic because in the genealogy that appeared way back in chapter one, three of the four women named as Jesus’ ancestors were Canaanite women like herself. In the words of Professor Mitzi J. Smith, “the anonymous woman’s foremothers are Jesus’ kinfolk,” and so she believed that the cultural barriers between them weren’t necessarily as large as others might say. The Canaanite woman then told him, without reservation, the hard thing in her life. Her daughter was ill. Her daughter was suffering. And all the Canaanite woman asked for was mercy.
So Jesus responded by not saying anything at all.
His silence was more than just a “no.” Jesus, for a moment, basically refused to acknowledge her at all. He was the one who initiated the cross-cultural movement that created the opportunity for the Canaanite woman to come to him. But when she did – Jesus’ silence could have stopped her cold. If he had at least said “no” – then we could claim that he had initially seen and heard her. But Jesus acted like she wasn’t even there. That kind of silence hurts. It hurts because she, in a moment of desperation, revealed how vulnerable, scared, and hopeful she was. The Canaanite woman was willing to shed all the emotions, history, and cultural baggage that told her not to talk to a Jewish rabbi because she needed mercy. She – it seemed – was able to do something that even Jesus found hard to do.
We don’t usually like to imagine Jesus, the Son of God, struggling with hard things. We don’t mind if he holds our heavy emotions – but, in today’s story, the hard thing he needed to do was change. Change isn’t an attribute we typically give to God. We want our God to be holy, all-powerful, and steadfast – firm and unmovable because we, unlike God, have to live through change all the time. A God who is love and a Jesus who is always Jesus – is a comfort in times of uncertainty and fear. Yet this immovable God is One who made the choice to experience change. When Jesus entered the world, he didn’t come out of Mary’s womb fully formed with sandals, robes, and a tight group of friends. He started as a newborn – one who would grow up and experience all the change that happens in our lives. That means he knew what it was like to be cared for and to cry real tears. And, I think, Jesus also knew what it meant to carry all the cultural, religious, ethnic, and other identities that we are given by the culture we grow up in. Jesus didn’t transcend all the baggage that comes with being human. He, instead, found a way to live through it.
And so did the Canaanite woman. She refused to let Jesus’ silence change who she knew Jesus to be. She, in a way, created the opportunity for Jesus’ ministry to expand and change. Jesus had already done the work of crossing the boundary between what he knew and what else was out there. So she pushed him to affirm the ministry he was already doing. She kept shouting, knelt before him, and simply said “Lord, help me.” In that moment of extreme vulnerability, Jesus responded with a hard word – calling her a dog. Yet her identity as a gentile allowed her to use the cultural difference between them to help Jesus see so much more. Dogs, in the community Jesus grew up in, were typically kept away from the family. But for the Canaanite woman, dogs were more “endeared as household pets” and they would have been fed under the table. There was no binary choice between who gets to experience God’s love and who doesn’t. Instead, all can be fed.
And that’s when, I think, Jesus faced his own silence. In the moment after the woman spoke but before he responded, something changed. Matthew doesn’t tell us Jesus’ internal monologue – nor does he describe how the disciples acted after she spoke. But I like to imagine that there was a kind of pause where even Jesus was confronted by silence. It was a silence full of everything he had experienced up to that moment – and the truth that God’s kingdom is as inclusive, loving, and diverse as God’s creation. The silence might not have lasted very long but it was created by a persistent woman who wouldn’t let Jesus be anything else but God.
The silence we experience during our hard moments won’t always turn out the way we hope. There will be times when our need for mercy won’t lead to our loved one being healed. Our hearts will be broken and that silence will be louder than we expect. Yet the silence we live through is not a silence that Jesus doesn’t know. He experienced it when a woman refused to let him be anything else but himself. And he felt its crushing effect when he cried out to God on the Cross – and heard the jeer of Roman soldiers in response. We are called to be, like that woman, persistent despite the silence. We are called to raise up, in prayer or in a blank stare, everything that is hard. We, like her, should call God to account – and to not be afraid to ask for mercy, grace, or hope. And we can, also, I think – be a little like Jesus. We can give ourselves the chance to be changed and to assume that whatever and whoever you are right now – is all that you can possibly be. The silence that surrounds you is not what determines your worth or your purpose. You are and you always will be a beloved child of God. Even when your faith feels small and in those moments when you wonder if you actually believe anything at all – Jesus is right there with you. The silence he originally expressed – is a silence he’s lived through. And you – with him and in him – will live through your silences too.
Amen.