reconciling things

Last Sunday’s Gospel for the 12th Sunday of Pentecost (Maronites don’t have “Ordinary Time.”) was from Matthew 15:21-28 when the Canaanite woman caused a ruckus and begged for mercy for her daughter. She isn’t named, but is simply known as the woman from Tyre and Sidon, which is modern day Lebanon. (Lebanese women are rather known for their outspokenness.) She was screaming in the street to the Teacher, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David, my daughter is tormented by a demon.” If anyone had a valid reason to make a claim on Jesus’ authority over unclean spirits, it is this woman. Yet, the Bible says, “…he did not answer her at all.”

Usually when you hear commentary or homilies on this reading they focus on the fact that Jesus called her a dog. “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” But to me, that is less troubling than the fact that initially he just lets her throw a fit and doesn’t answer her at all. Personally, it is far more problematic for me to be ignored than to quarrel. My husband can come at me with real beef and we can work it out through all the mess. I might cry, I might yell–but I’ll be fine. I can hold my own. However, if he gets quiet and doesn’t engage with me, then I’m truly hurt. I know this about myself and we discussed it at the beginning of our relationship.

Say anything you want, but never ignore me.

Here in this passage we see that Jesus doesn’t say a word to her. She’s causing a huge scene and it appears she’s being completely ignored! I would be LIVID!

The disciples beg him to say something just to shut her up! He says, “I only came to the lost sheep of Israel.” It feels like when a parent says to a child, “When you calm down, I will talk to you. But not until then.” If that is what he meant, I don’t know. But it feels like how gentle parenting sounds. As if Jesus gave her two choices, “By all means, keep screeching. I can do this all day. But, if you want to draw near and talk to me, I’m here for it.”

“I only came to the lost sheep of Israel.” Although he’s clearly NOT talking to her, she answers anyway and kneels and encounters him. He calls her a puppy with all tenderness; she responds in all humility. Yada, yada, yada….a miracle.

Answer Me!

I sat in my pastor’s office back in 2022. I was post divorce and annulment. I was wrestling with God, not because of the end of my marriage. I had actually made peace with that–more or less. But I was wondering what my vocation was. I felt rather impotent. What did God want from me? I wanted to write and pray and be contemplative. But, I also had 9 children and wondered if my marriage had failed how was I supposed to live as a married woman without a husband! What did God want from me?! Every time I asked God, I heard nothing. Every time I demanded an answer, no answer came. Was God mad at me? Disappointed perhaps? Had I failed as a Christian? **Crickets**

As I tried to articulate this to my pastor he had an expression that was almost a laugh. It was truly as if he was looking at a little child who asked why she couldn’t have a cookie before dinner. And he said, “Daja, not every silence is a rebuke.”

He may as well have called me a puppy.

Holy Tantrum

Have you ever thrown a tantrum with the Lord? I don’t mean cried or doubted or been in despair. All that is quite normal and humdrum. I mean, have you ever thrown a tantrum? Had a real conniption? Been absolutely hysterical with God? Have you ever lost your shit in prayer?

Those honest kind of prayers when all pretension falls away, you say what you really mean without cushioning it between flowery expressions–the effectual fervent prayer of the righteous availing much.

And maybe God’s initial response is silence.

If you’re anything like me, it can feel like a rebuke. It can feel like being ignored. Silence is not the same as being ignored though.

Between the Canaanite woman’s heart and Jesus’ heart, something happened. She stopped screaming. She drew near. She knelt down. And they had a conversation.

What a beautiful, holy moment. Can you for a moment detect the tenderness that flowed between them? She needed a miracle. He wanted her presence. And then their hearts met. She stopped throwing a fit and showed her true faith. Jesus marveled. And in that very instant her daughter was healed.

Sheer Silence

Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. (I Kings 19)

Maybe you’ve been looking for God in the great wind or in the earthquake or in the fire. He’s not there. Maybe in that sheer silence, in the dead of night when you can’t sleep, maybe in the spaces between the decades on your Rosary–maybe he is there. Perhaps he is that silence. Just maybe his voice is still and small. For only a God who transcends space and time and is truly without limits can remain Almighty and also condescend to be small and handleable.

Consider for a moment that the silence you’re living is not a rebuke. Maybe it is an invitation. If you take a cue from the Canaanite woman in Sunday’s Gospel, you will draw near and kneel. And you and Jesus can have your moment.

But you’ve got to stop your tantrum long enough to hear the silence, experience the silence, not run away from it. I won’t lie to you. The silence may hurt like hell. But also….

It is the invitation you’ve been waiting for.