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
My sermon from the 12th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (August 16, 2026) on Matthew 15:21-28. Preached at Trinity, Long Island City in honor of the building’s 100th anniversary.
Earlier this week, I visited a wellness center in Northern New Jersey to see if we could partner in a new ministry happening at my church. We’ve noticed a lot of folks within our community have recently become caregivers to parents and spouses living with various forms of dementia and Alzheimer’s. These caregivers often become caregivers after an unexpected crisis interrupts their lives. The process of figuring out all the legal, medical, and financial stuff to become parents for their parents isn’t always easy. Caregivers need a lot of information to care for those who will, eventually, forget who they are. And everyone of these caregivers need help handling their own anxieties, fears, and worries. We’re hoping that by partnering with professional therapists, we can help caregivers realize they are not going through this experience alone. I’ll admit, though, I wasn’t entirely sure how this meeting would go. There was a chance we’d spend the entire hour dreaming up all the incredible things this relationship could be. But I also know that, sometimes, things don’t work out. And I was worried the meeting would include long bits of silence that felt overwhelming and full. As we wandered through their building exploring all the different spaces where important mental, physical, and emotional work could be done, I knew this was a place where caregivers could recharge their souls. The long silence that would signify the end to our partnership before it even began – never materialized. Many of us, though, know how overwhelming and hurtful certain silences can be. And while the opposite of sound is often refreshing, there is a type of silence that feels way too final. Silence has a way of forcing us to confront all the anxiety, fear, and worry we carry. So it was a little strange that when Jesus visited the land of Tyre and Sidon, he responded to a Canaanite woman with the kind of silence we do everything to avoid.
Now Matthew’s version of Jesus’ life is full of all kinds of silence. Jesus regularly hiked up mountains to be by himself while he prayed and he often remained silent when he knew his words wouldn’t be heard. Matthew, I think, invites us to recognize that Jesus – in a very human way – knew when to speak and when to stay quiet. Yet his actions in today’s reading doesn’t feel like Jesus at all. After taking time to feed thousands with a few loaves of bread and fish and then healing those living on the other side of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus and his friends left the area where he grew up and headed towards the coastal cities of Sidon and Tyre. These communities were once independent kingdoms who fought against ancient Israel over power and wealth. And while the Roman Empire had, in theory, united the region under one rule, the vast cultural, religious, and historical barriers between these cities and Israel still remained. Matthew doesn’t tell us why Jesus took his friends towards the Mediterranean Sea but we can assume he went to heal, teach, and connect with the large Jewish populations that called these cities home. As he neared the coast, I can imagine the conversation with his friends centered on all the amazing things they expected would come next. But as they walked, an unnamed local woman who didn’t share their ethnicity got in their way. Being interrupted was something that Jesus experienced all the time and he regularly stopped what he was doing to compassionately pay attention to those in need. This mom’s behavior, though, was a bit different. And she didn’t really follow the cultural expectations of what should happen when a non-Jewish woman tried to talk to a male religious leader. Instead of throwing herself down at his feet and waiting to speak until Jesus spoke first, she shouted and yelled and filled the entire space with sound. She called him Lord and even identified him as the Son of a king who, a thousand years before, led armies against her people. Those around Jesus might have seen her actions as a betrayal of her own identity or maybe as a really terrible attempt at flattering the ego of the religious leader in her midst. She, however, was desperate and in front of all her neighbors and friends, she pleaded for mercy. Jesus, who was used to this kind of attention, saw and heard her cry. And yet, unlike other situations, his initial response to her was filled with silence.
Now many of us, I think, know exactly what this kind of silence is like. When life tears at our souls, healing and wholeness and the resurrection feels very far away. What we want and long for is a God who breaks the silence that is overwhelming us. Yet when that long quiet lingers, it fills our everything within and around us. Matthew doesn’t tell us what thoughts and fears raced through the Canaanite woman’s head. Instead, he lets Jesus’ disciples articulate all that dread and fear instead. They encouraged Jesus to send her away since this wasn’t how things were supposed to be. And while Jesus doesn’t initially follow their advice, his spoken and unspoken words seem to confirm the worst parts of silence. It reads as if Jesus told this mother – and her daughter – that they weren’t going to be part of what God was up to in the world. In the presence of the One she had identified as the Lord, this unnamed Canaanite woman had the very human experience of feeling completely alone. That silence could have been – and for those around Jesus should have been – this story’s final words. Not only had she failed to ask for help in the way they expected; she was doing everything she could to get in the way of where Jesus was going. Jesus, in that moment, embodied the fullness of how harsh and unforgiving silence can be. And none of those watching Jesus felt as if the silence shouldn’t be the start of his goodbye. This unnamed woman, however, refused to let this silence be the final word. She kept going – pestering and badgering and not letting Jesus go. She, with guts and all kinds of courage, reminded all of God’s agents – including Jesus himself – to be exactly who she trusted he could be. Jesus could have kept walking, letting his silence and his harsh words be all that needed to be said. Yet he, in that moment, decided to the culturally unexpected thing of partnering with this unnamed woman so that the silence wouldn’t be the last word too. Maybe he knew that, after embodying the same kind of silence he would later experience while praying in the garden of Gethsemane before the Cross, that it was time to remind this woman, his friends, and even himself, that there is always still one more thing to say. When the waters of baptism were poured over us and when faith stirred in our hearts – the promise that you matter, that you are loved, and that you are seen and known – is a word no silence can ever overcome. It’s a promise we often struggle to hear or feel or even recognize while living through everything life throws our way. Yet God’s words to you will always remain. This doesn’t mean that every one of our prayers will be answered in the ways we want or that, if we badger God enough, we will finally get our way. But it does mean the silences we live through will never ultimately determine our value or our worth. We can – and should – be persistent in asking for help and inviting all of God’s agents – including ourselves – to embrace our responsibility in loving, caring, and supporting those in need. Yet whenever the silence feels way too full, you can trust the One who heard the Canaanite woman and who broke open the silence of the tomb – this Jesus won’t let the silence you’re living through be the last word of your story too.
Amen.