A Dog's Life

One day a farmer’s old dog fell into a dry well. He was trapped and desperate. There was no way out. The animal cried mournfully for hours while the farmer tried to figure out what to do. Finally, though the farmer sympathized with the dog, he decided that the dog was old and the well was dry, and neither was worth the trouble of saving. So, the farmer decided to bury the old dog and put it out of its misery.

The farmer began to shovel dirt into the well. At first, when the dog realized what was happening, he whelped and cried horribly. But then it dawned on the dog that every time a shovelful of dirt landed on its back, he could shake it off and step up. He did this shovelful after shovelful. Shake it off and step up. Shake it off and step up. Shake it off and step up.

It took all day, but the dog – battered, dirty and exhausted – stepped triumphantly over the wall of that well and trotted off. Each shovelful of trouble was really a steppingstone. What he thought would bury him actually benefited him.

She was trapped and desperate. There was no way out. No one to turn to. She felt buried by her daughter’s demon possession. As a parent she felt helpless with her child in trouble. Matthew gives no description of the symptoms, but the woman is at the end of her hope. Jesus is all she has left.

She had heard Jesus was in the area for some teaching and vacationing along the Mediterranean Sea with his disciples. She’s near Tyre and Sidon – Canaanite country. The Canaanites were those people who were supposed to have been purged from the land under Joshua. Israelites hated Canaanites and the animosity was mutual in return. The Israelites called the Canaanites “dogs” – filthy, garbage-picking scavengers. We don’t know what the Canaanites called the Israelites. So, a respectable Israelite wouldn’t even talk to a Canaanite if one came up to them on the street.

But this Canaanite woman came up to Jesus on the street. Strike one. In that culture, women don’t approach men, much less rabbis. Strike two. She cries out to Jesus. Strike three. Women are not to address men in public. But Jesus is her last hope. She knows who she is; she knows who Jesus is. She’s a Canaanite; he’s an Israelite. She addresses him with a Jewish title, “Lord, son of David.” Then she prays the same prayer we often pray, “Lord, have mercy on me.”

What would you expect Jesus to do? I think all of us would expect Jesus to heal that woman’s daughter. Jesus healed the sick and fed the hungry. They didn’t have to wait very long for their healing or food. Jesus reached down to Peter while he was sinking on the Sea of Galilee. Peter didn’t have to wait until he was going under for the last time before Jesus pulled him into the boat.

But what is Jesus’ response this time?

Nothing. Silence. It’s like Jesus doesn’t even hear her. But apparently, she makes sure he does hear, because the disciples ask Jesus to send her away and put them out of their misery. She keeps at it. She won’t give up. Persistence born of desperation.

She shakes off the silence and steps up.

Jesus finally speaks. But he doesn’t really speak to her directly. He just speaks, reminding her of who she is, and who she isn’t. “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.” Ouch! It doesn’t get much harsher than that, does it? “Sorry, I’m not here for you.” “Sorry, you’ll have to go somewhere else.”

She shakes it off and steps up.

Actually, she steps in front of Jesus, kneels down in deepest humility, and worships him, pleading, “Lord, help me!” (A simple Kyrie eleison, like we used earlier in our service.)

This time Jesus speaks to her directly, “It is not good to take the children's bread and throw it to their little dogs.” Double ouch! His silence was bad enough. His harsh statement about his being sent only to the lost sheep of Israel was even worse. But this is distressing. Jesus appears cruel, heartless, uncaring, unsympathetic. He calls her “a dog.”

You know what this woman is going through – when it seems as if your prayers are met only with silence and rejection. You pray and pray and pray some more. You pray for healing. You pray for increased faith. You pray for peace in your family, nation, and world. You pray for miracles. … And you know what? The people you’ve prayed for have died. The problems you’ve prayed over seem to have gotten worse. You’ve prayed while waiting and suffering … and you continue to wait and suffer.

We cry out to our Savior because we can’t handle what’s going on in our life – it’s too much, too heavy, too long.

So often it seems as if God is not listening. Or even worse, that he doesn’t care.

So, what do you do when this happens to you? Do you leave in a huff? Do you find another healer, another religion, another Savior? Do you tell God off to his face? What do you do when Jesus appears to give you the cold shoulder? When he seems to be turning his gaze away from you? When he treats you like a dog?

This story hits hard on our sense of entitlement. We feel entitled to things. We like to think of God as an omnipotent vending machine into whom we plug our quarters of pious phrases and prudish prayers and out pops blessings on demand. We think God owes us just for showing up and trying hard. We easily say that we are poor, miserable sinners. But when someone dares to rebuke us for our sin, we get all defensive and self-justifying. “How dare you call me a sinner!” Even when God treats us like the sinners that we are, “How dare you ignore my prayers! How dare you turn your face from me! I’m a child. I’m entitled!”

The Canaanite woman didn’t do any of that. Instead, she does something remarkable and unpredictable – something that can only be done out of faith. All she does is … admit who she is. A dog. And from that place of humiliation and disgrace, she finds the hidden blessing. “Yes, Lord, I may be a dog, but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table.”

She shakes it off and steps up. She finds a “yes” inside of Jesus’ “no.”

If Jesus was feigning to ignore her before and talk past her earlier, now he looks right at her – Master to dog, Brother to sister, Savior to sinner. The next word that comes from Jesus is praise. He loves it. This is music to his ears. “Woman, your faith is great!” “O woman,” he says. Before he may have used the horrific term “dog,” but now he entrusts her the honorific title of “Woman!” It’s the same title Jesus gave to his own mother.

It took a while, but the dog, battered, humbled, and exhausted, steps triumphantly over the problems and trots home to see her healed daughter. Each shovelful of rejection or silence or name-calling was really a steppingstone. What she thought would bury her actually benefited her.

If Peter on the stormy sea had little faith, on the road between Tyre and Sidon this woman had great faith. He sank and she knelt. Great faith is not based on proof. It doesn’t know the outcome; it accepts whatever the Lord says and simply clings to him. “Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see” (Hebrews 11:1). Great faith is simply faith that clings to Jesus. It trusts that Jesus is good even when he does not seem to be acting good. It trusts that he will answer even in the silence. It trusts even when others think that trust is foolish. And in the end, her faith is vindicated. Jesus answered her, “Woman, your faith is great! It will be done for you, just as you desire.” And her daughter was healed at that very hour.

But some daughters are not healed. Neither are some sons. Prayer isn’t like instant oatmeal. Some get put on hold. Some get left on the burner a little longer until they’re ready. But when God puts you on hold – as Jesus put that poor woman on hold – it doesn’t mean he’s abandoned you. It means that God is putting you through the fire of trials and suffering, preparing a perfect and well-timed blessing. It means that your faith is like aerobics that push and pull and stretch and expand your faith. It means that God is training you to look up and keep your eyes on God, not on your problems. It means that he’s putting your faith on display so the world will understand what faith in Jesus looks like. It looks like a little dog lapping up the crumbs falling from the master’s table. And if that comes as a blow to your precious ego … good! Our ego, that old Adam, that sinful nature inside all of us, needs that. We call it repentance, that change from standing up proud to kneeling in humility before God.

What we think will bury us will actually benefit us.

This is the Master who dies for all of us dogs. Suffering the rejection of his own people. Enduring the silence of his own Father. Buried under the weight of the world’s sins. Bleeding for those who crucified him. Forgiving those who hated him. Saving all those who will look up at their beaten, bloodied, and crucified God and plead, “Lord, have mercy.”

And God continues to have mercy on us, even though we continue to act like dogs, by returning to the vomit of our sins over and over again (2 Peter 2:2).

Fellow dogs, get down on your knees in humility, crush your ego, raise your eyes to heaven, and pray, “Lord, have mercy.” Because he is the merciful One – from manger to cross to God’s right hand.

We beg for help. And God wants to help. Even though our prayers seem to be met with silence, rebuke, and rejection. Maybe that’s exactly the help you need right now. For the Christian life is not a straight shot to heaven – a fast and smooth super-highway. It’s more like lots of twists and turns, bumps and potholes, one-way streets, and road construction – kind of like driving around Casper. It’s humbling and ego-bruising, that we learn not to rely on ourselves, who we are or who we are not, but cling to Jesus alone. Even if that means waiting or crying out into the silence. Your Lord who died for you is good, even when he doesn’t seem to be acting very good at all.

You see, life in the world is life under the cross. It’s only under the cross that you’re covered with the blood of Christ. Your sins are washed away in his baptismal waters. You are allowed to eat the crumbs of his body and blood at his divine table. You are granted a peace that is beyond all understanding.

There may be times when God is silent now, but if you wait on him in faith, you will hear the songs of praise for all eternity around his throne. God may appear distant at times but know that he has already come close by taking on human flesh and blood in his Son. He may seem harsh or cruel at times but understand that nothing was as harsh or cruel as what he endured so that you might be saved.

So, you could say that the Christian life is a dog’s life. It will never be a life that is the envy of the world. But you know what? Shake it off and step up. A dog never had it so good! Amen.