Jesus, then, withdraws at strategic moments, moments when he is confronted, externally and internally, with great conflict and when he is faced with deciding what to do next. They are times of emotional turmoil as he sees both John’s rejection and his own ministry not being received. All of this is lost when we just pick up with the phrase, "At that time, Jesus withdrew…” Jesus is not just withdrawing in the sense of closing the door, taking the phone off hook, turning over the "Do Not Disturb” sign. The fate of John the Baptist severely saddens him and terribly rattles him. The animosity and hatred with which his teaching is received also not only saddens him, it profoundly shakes him. Clearly, the path he has been pursuing needs to be reevaluated. It is not working. It is not working as one would have hoped.
In withdrawing to Tyre and Sidon, he is not getting out for some air, taking a walk around the block, or even into the hills.The city of Tyre, the nearer of the two, is about 30 miles from Capernaum. Sidon is another 20 miles beyond that. On foot in the company of his disciples, it would be two to three days of walking to get there. Plus Tyre and Sidon are as far, philosophically, as a Jew can get from his own land and culture. It is the land of the infamous princess, Jezebel, who brought idolatry to Israel corrupted King Ahab, and persecuted the prophet Elijah. Jesus is in foreign territory.
Yet even here, he is known. And his reputation brings him some unwanted attention from a foreign woman. Mark refers to her as the Syro-Phoenician woman and Matthew uses the more ancient, Hebraic term, Canaanite. But she has clearly come from her home for the purpose of seeking out Jesus. Both Jesus and the woman have left what they call home. Both are seeking answers, are on a mission. Each one is driven by concern for someone they love—the people of Israel, a sick child. Both have come here hoping to receive what they need. Jesus needs clarity about his purpose and mission. The woman needs health and healing for her daughter. They are on a collision course that will change them both. Hollywood could not have done it better than Matthew. Each has a back story unknown to the other and each needs the other in ways yet to be revealed.
Their initial encounter does not go well. The woman calls out clearly her need but "Jesus does not say a word to her.” Is he preoccupied? Perhaps. His response is not unlike our own. It is how we react to beggars on the street, hoping they will go away. What else are we expected to do? There is no bond of connection—except that here we both are (and of course, that they have an obvious need and we have the capacity to meet that need). But the woman does not go away, much to the consternation of Jesus’ disciples who say, "Get rid of her.” Jesus does not do as they ask but he speaks for the first time, to the disciples, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.” Jesus speaks, as if to explain his inaction. He speaks aloud what is weighing so heavily on his heart. He is as aggrieved for his people as she is for her child.
Perhaps the woman is encouraged by just the sound of his voice. Very likely speaking Greek, she said words we use to this day, "Kylie Elie son.” Approaching directly, she "did Jesus homage.” This is the same phrase used for the Jewish official pleading for his daughter, the one who was interrupted by the hemorrhaging woman who stole up from behind, also seeking a cure. Jesus is used to this kind of desperation and the kind of faith it inspires. He has responded with compassion in the past. Nonetheless, his response addresses not her need but his own, not what she has come here for but what he has come here for, the question burning within his heart. "It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.”
There is, I think, no whitewashing this language. In preparing for this weekend, I read tons of commentary, much of it given over to explaining Jesus’ words and how they really weren’t as harsh as they sound. We either accept the fact that they are harsh and Jesus is acting way too much like we ourselves here, or we have to do some exegetical gymnastics to explain away the language. I find it eminently plausible that Jesus, "like us in all things but sin,” was conditioned by his birth and upbringing and right now that is limiting his vision and mission. His words reveal that mindset and his need to "grow in understanding,” as Luke puts i
Jesus is struggling but he doesn’t yet know the answer is right before him. He does not know, that is, until the woman speaks again, borne of a desperation known to parents everywhere. In her need and her love for her daughter, she speaks with authority and addresses what she and Jesus hold in common.
In a truly inspired moment, she speaks out of her own pain but unwittingly addresses his."Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table.” And Jesus hears her. She will gladly receive from him what his own people will not.
I think it is with relief and gratitude that Jesus then answers her. "O woman,” a term of great respect, the complete opposite of his earlier tone, "great is your faith.” You know that kind of relief when someone has really heard us, heard what we haven’t even known the words to form, has heard what we did not know to say? He is happy here, happy to reply, "Let it be done for you as you wish.”
How remarkable that Jesus can be changed by an encounter with the other. The Gospels are full of stories of how people are changed by an encounter with Jesus but here we see a mutual transformation. In this case, we can enter into the Gospel narrative in the persona of Jesus himself. I know I find it hopeful to consider that it is, ultimately, Christ-like to encounter another, an "other” who challenges my world view, and to be changed by that encounter—even if it takes me a while to get there.