This sermon is about the crumbs that fall from the sandwich formed by the two feeding stories in Matthew’s gospel: the Feeding of the 5000 and the Feeding of the 4000. Between the two, there’s a woman who talks about the crumbs that drop from that sandwich. (It’s inspired by the readings appointed for today, Trinity 11A, Isaiah 56:1-8 and Matthew 15:21-28)
I’m calling the place where this happens Scar City.
OK. I’ve made that up.
The gospel tells us that Jesus was in the region of Tyre and Sidon.
But I’m telling you,
it’s Scar City.
And it’s where we all live.
Scar City,
where we’re all scared to death
there’s not enough,
not enough resources,
not enough time,
not enough money,
not enough room,
not enough bread.
Scar City.
The locals, who,
– for the most part,
rush around, face down –
pronounce it Scarcity.
Today, in this place where we live,
we are introduced to an array of characters:
There’s the exiled
the foreigners,
the eunuchs,
the Canaanite woman,
her daughter,
– and the dogs!
And they all have one thing in common.
They are all outsiders.
This is no new WOKE nonsense.
This is ancient biblical business.
This is always what the people of God have been engaged with.
Isaiah’s writing goes back over 2500 years.
He is the one who introduces us to the plight of the exiles,
the foreigner and the eunuch,
to those particular people who have been told
by those taking control of their borders:
“You do not belong”
“There is no room for you here”
That’s the trouble in ScarCity.
The fear of ScarCity is one of the forces that produces exclusion.
And it’s here that the scriptures,
treasured and curated by those excluded,
land in our lap to challenge us,
like the eunuchs,
Who we might be tempted to pass over very quickly,
not quite knowing what to do with them.
But Isaiah won’t let us.
The eunuchs are people whose bodies
have been used to tell them
that they have no future among God’s people.
No children.
No descendants.
No name that will carry on.
And God says:
I will give them a name,
a name better than sons and daughters;
an everlasting name
that will endure for ever.
In other words,
God isn’t simply making an exception
for people who don’t fit the rules.
God is changing the rules,
changing the rule of the world,
the rule of scarcity,
for the rule of the kingdom.
In that kingdom rule
it is God who decides who belongs,
and it’s God’s way to keep gathering,
more and more, more and more.
And where do they all come from?
They come from outside, outsiders.
Here’s God’s rule:
“I will gather still others to them
besides those already gathered.”
Isaiah sees God building a house.
It’s the same house talked about by Jesus in John’s gospel,
the house with many rooms,
with so much room.
Isaiah gives the house a name:
it’s a “house of prayer for all nations”
(or “for all people”).
But every house needs a table.
A house without a table is empty.
A table is a sign that the house is a home,
a place of belonging and a place of invitation.
There are rules about who sits where,
and who doesn’t sit anywhere.
Matthew sets the table in today’s gospel.
He sets it between two other tables:
the fields in which Jesus feeds 5000
(plus women and children)
and in which Jesus feeds 4000.
Between those two stories comes this:
a foreign woman coming to Jesus
to ask for help,
because her daughter is demon-possessed
and suffering terribly.
The disciples wanted to send her away.
Jesus also was dismissive.
“I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel”, he said.
“It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”
“Yes it is, Lord” persisted the woman.
Yes it is.
Matthew doesn’t call her a foreigner or a Gentile woman.
He calls her a Canaanite.
She comes from the people Israel displaced
when it claimed this land as its own.
And here she is,
not demanding the land back,
not demanding the children’s bread,
but asking for crumbs.
She takes Jesus to the table
and she shows him that even the dogs eat the crumbs
that fall from their master’s table.
She doesn’t suggest that Jesus take bread from one mouth
and put it into hers.
She simply points out
that there is something about bread
that makes crumbs.
There is enough to fall.
There is enough for those who are not sitting at the table yet.
This woman,
who has been called a dog,
who the disciples wanted to shoo away,
is the one who understands
the abundance of the table.
She is the neighbour
who comes from the other side
of an ancient boundary
and teaches God’s people
that there is room at the table.
She is one of the “still others” Isaiah talks about.
They all have names, histories and memories –
and sometimes they arrive at our table
carrying a history that we would rather not remember.
She refuses to accept that the table
is as small as Jesus and his disciples made it
and reveals the only table that fits
the house God is building,
where all are welcome,
all are fed:
the foreigner,
the eunuch,
the exile.
It’s the table we see prepared for us in Psalm 23,
the table God prepares for us
in the presence of those who trouble us,
who say there isn’t enough
in this Scar City.
And it is this table,
where we gather,
where there is so much to feed on,
where still others, outsiders,
will be gathered beside us,
to teach us the ways of the table
in the kingdom,
in the house of prayer for all people,
in the house prepared for us
with room enough for all those excluded
by the rule of Scar City.
Those who live in Scar City
insist there’s not enough room.
But those who live for the kingdom of God
persist: Yes, there is. Yes, there is.
When we come to Communion
we walk right into this gospel.
God makes the room
around the table where we gather.
We taste the proof.
Is there enough for sinners like us?
Yes, there is. Yes, there is.
And more besides.
Grits and Grains 