CHAPTER 22

Matthew 15:21–39

LISTEN to the Story

²¹Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. ²²A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is demon-possessed and suffering terribly.”

²³Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.”

²⁴He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”

²⁵The woman came and knelt before him. “Lord, help me!” she said.

²⁶He replied, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

²⁷“Yes it is, Lord,” she said. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

²⁸Then Jesus said to her, “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed at that moment.

²⁹Jesus left there and went along the Sea of Galilee. Then he went up on a mountainside and sat down. ³⁰Great crowds came to him, bringing the lame, the blind, the crippled, the mute and many others, and laid them at his feet; and he healed them. ³¹The people were amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the crippled made well, the lame walking and the blind seeing. And they praised the God of Israel.

³²Jesus called his disciples to him and said, “I have compassion for these people; they have already been with me three days and have nothing to eat. I do not want to send them away hungry, or they may collapse on the way.”

³³His disciples answered, “Where could we get enough bread in this remote place to feed such a crowd?”

³⁴“How many loaves do you have?” Jesus asked.

“Seven,” they replied, “and a few small fish.”

³⁵He told the crowd to sit down on the ground. ³⁶Then he took the seven loaves and the fish, and when he had given thanks, he broke them and gave them to the disciples, and they in turn to the people. ³⁷They all ate and were satisfied. Afterward the disciples picked up seven basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. ³⁸The number of those who ate was four thousand men, besides women and children. ³⁹After Jesus had sent the crowd away, he got into the boat and went to the vicinity of Magadan.

Listening to the Text in the Story: Genesis 9:24–27; Joshua 7:9; Judges 1:27–33; 3:1–7; 1 Kings 17:8–24; Isaiah 23:1–18; 35:5–6; 49:5–6; Jeremiah 23:1–8; Ezekiel 26:2–28:24; 34:1–16, 23–24; 37:24–28.

Following Jesus can be tough. He will take you places you least expected to go. “What are we doing here?” When he draws near to you, he won’t do what you expect. “Why are you doing this?” And, when you need him, he expects you to follow him no matter what. “Why do we have to do this?” We may be reluctant to admit it, but sometimes it seems like Jesus makes it difficult to follow him. And here’s why: he acts like he’s the Lord and we are his followers—not his advisors, his planners, or even his assessors. We may try to give him advice: “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us” (Matt 15:23). We may question his itinerary: “If he were sent only to the lost sheep of Israel, what are we doing in gentile territory?” We might even offer an accurate assessment of the situation: “Where could we get enough bread in this remote place to feed such a crowd?” (v. 33). But if Jesus knows what he’s doing (even though we don’t), shouldn’t that give us enough confidence to believe that we are exactly where we need to be, doing exactly what we should do because we are certainly following him? Given our proclivities to choose the easy way, perhaps a tough road in foreign territory is a strangely comforting sign that we are disciples of Jesus. After all, we’re following the one who loved to go to hard places and save difficult people.

There seemed to be no good reason for Jesus to travel to a foreign land. Was he trying to get away from his opponents or seek relief from the crowds? The Pharisees certainly wouldn’t dog his trail outside of Israel. There seemed to be no crowds of people waiting for him when he came to the region. But he didn’t stay there long—not nearly enough time to let things cool down at home (a huge crowd greeted him when he returned, and the Pharisees weren’t far behind either; see 15:29–31; 16:1). So, perhaps this wasn’t about “getting away” but “going to”—a missional purpose—having been inspired by Elijah to go to Sidon (1 Kgs 17:9–24). Yet, Jesus didn’t go to the region of Tyre and Sidon to save these gentiles. He made that plain when the Canaanite woman asked for help (Matt 15:24). Perhaps he left Galilee to look for “lost sheep of Israel” in foreign lands—reclaiming Jews of the diaspora (Isa 56:3–8). But that doesn’t make sense because he didn’t visit other gentile cities where there may have been a significant Jewish population. Perhaps Jesus was there to reclaim the territories conquered by King David, presenting himself as the true “Son of David” to both Israelite and non-Israelite subjects of the kingdom.¹ Whatever his purpose, like his previous, brief excursion into gentile territory (Matt 8:28–34), Jesus acted like he didn’t go there with much of a plan. Both times he cast out demons, but that’s all he did. The first time the locals begged him to leave (v. 34). But this time he finds a woman of great faith (15:28), and yet that wasn’t enough to compel him to stay.

After his fight with the Pharisees from Jerusalem, it appears as though Jesus thought, “I’ve got to get out of here.” So he withdraws to gentile country. After healing the daughter of a Canaanite woman, it’s as if Jesus decided, “I can’t stay here.” So he returns home. Truthfully, if I were one of the Twelve, I would have gotten a little perturbed with Jesus. “Are we coming or going? Jesus is walking around aimlessly, and he expects us to follow him.” If that were the case, it could explain the disciples’ behavior when Jesus wanted to feed the four-thousand men (vv. 32–38). By then they were tired of getting the run around—you can certainly hear it in their response (v. 33). No one suggested, “Hey, why don’t you perform another miraculous feeding of the masses?” Most commentators think the Twelve suffered from amnesia. I wonder whether they were dealing with a severe case of apathy. Who could blame them? If Jesus had compassion for these people, why did he wait three days to feed them (v. 32)? He didn’t seem to care until now, so why should they? I wonder if Jesus’s behavior was as confusing to the Twelve as it is to us who are trying to make sense of this story.

EXPLAIN the Story

Scholars puzzle over why Jesus appeared to brush off the Canaanite woman. First, Jesus ignored her (Matt 15:23). Then he said she didn’t fit his mission (v. 24). Finally, he acted like it would be foolish for him to help her (v. 26)—living proof of what he had taught the disciples: “Do not give dogs what is sacred” (7:6). Then, he finally gave in and helped her (15:28). But one wonders why, especially since this never happened before—a desperate person having to beg Jesus several times for help. Some think it might have to do with the long, bitter rivalry between Israel and the people of Canaan. Remember, the Canaanites occupied the land long before the Israelites blew in like locusts from the wilderness, claiming their God had promised Canaan to them. After the centuries-long battle over land rights, the Canaanite people were Israel’s number one enemy.² Or perhaps because Tyre and Sidon were such great trade centers, they had recently posed a significant economic threat to the welfare of the Galileans. So Jesus was determined not to help any of them at all.³ But if that were the case, why didn’t Jesus give the cold shoulder to the Roman centurion—a far more significant threat to Galilee and a more present and oppressive enemy of Israel (8:5–13)? Besides, Jesus taught his disciples to love their enemies, so why wouldn’t he help this woman too?

Some commentators think Jesus was testing the faith of the woman (to see if she would be persistent)⁴ or her humility (to see if she were willing to admit that she had no claim on Jesus).⁵ Some argue Jesus changed his mind—that the woman convinced Jesus to expand his mission beyond Israel.⁶ Others maintain that Jesus’s behavior wasn’t morally offensive for his time; first, Jesus wasn’t obliged to heal every person he met,⁷ and, second, contending with God for his help was a very common practice (read the Psalms!).⁸ Due to our cultural sensitivities, we may have a problem with Jesus’s behavior—having to make excuses for him—but neither the disciples nor the woman were offended by Jesus. Besides, this wasn’t the first time this had happened. Jesus had ignored two blind men when they cried out for help (9:27–31). As a matter of fact, their plea was very similar to what the Canaanite woman shouted as Jesus walked by: both cried out, “Have mercy,” and called Jesus the “Son of David” (9:27; 15:22). Even though Matthew has made this claim from the very beginning of his Gospel (1:1), Jesus ignored the acclamation both times it fell from human lips. Indeed, one might get the impression that Jesus didn’t care for the title at all—or at least he was leery of people who used it.

“These People Honor Me with Their Lips”

Was it obvious to Jesus or his disciples that this woman was a Canaanite? Did she dress like one? Did her accent give her away? The reason I bring it up is because she tried to sound Jewish when she said, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me!” (Matt 15:22). That may explain why Jesus ignored her. People will say all kinds of things they don’t mean when they are desperate. Obviously, she had heard reports about Jesus from Syrians who had been healed (4:24). Moreover, Jesus once said that the people of Tyre and Sidon would be more receptive to the miracles he performed than his own people (11:21). One then wonders why she didn’t make the trip to Galilee to find this wonder-working prophet. Possibly her daughter was so demonized that she couldn’t find anyone to go with her. Whatever the case, it must have come as a shock to this Canaanite woman when she saw Jesus coming to her country. What was he doing there? Had Jesus come to the region to save the Jewish people who lived there? Or did Jesus come to help gentiles too? It must have felt like a miracle that he came. So, she cried out loudly, using the proper Jewish honorific titles, laying out her case to him: “My daughter is demon-possessed and suffering terribly” (15:22). But Jesus didn’t stop for her. And she didn’t stop crying out for help—incessant begging that quickly became a nuisance to the Twelve (v. 23).

When the disciples urged Jesus to “send her away,” we can’t tell if they meant “liberate her” or “get rid of her” (apolyson can be translated either way; v. 23). If the former, then it might make better sense of Jesus’s oblique response: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel” (v. 24). They knew she was a Canaanite suffering the just consequences of her idolatrous religion: a demonized daughter. But they were sick and tired of her begging. They needed Jesus to grant her request—for their sakes as much as hers.⁹ (Obviously, they didn’t think they could do it, perhaps because she was a gentile and they only had power to reclaim the lost sheep of Israel; see 10:1, 5–8.) But Jesus wouldn’t give in, to her need or his disciples’ request, reminding the Twelve of his Jewish mission. On the other hand, if the disciples were asking Jesus to get rid of the woman, then that’s exactly what he was trying to do when he told her in essence, “I came here only to help my own kind.” Of course, both scenarios assume the disciples had recognized the woman as a Canaanite. But, what if they hadn’t? What if her Jewish confession fooled them but not Jesus? In other words, what if Jesus said “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel” to expose her duplicity? “You may try to sound Jewish, but I know you’re not.” I think that helps explain the rest of the story, especially Jesus’s calloused remark about bread intended for children and not dogs (15:26). Jesus had already helped gentiles (8:5–13); this was no different—except that here we have a woman trying to talk like someone she’s not.¹⁰ A Roman centurion was easily recognized by his appearance and reputation. The centurion who asked Jesus to heal his sick servant even talked like a Roman soldier, giving the analogy of receiving and taking orders. This Canaanite woman, on the other hand, talked like a Jew,¹¹ hoping her words would convince Jesus to help her. But I don’t think Jesus was going to help her until she confessed her true identity. “These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me” (15:8). Ironic, isn’t it? She had already confessed Jesus’s true identity, but that didn’t seem to matter—Jesus kept walking. But a genuine confession—admitting who we are because of who he is—will always get his attention.

Saying the right words didn’t make Jesus stop. So, the woman knelt down before him and begged for help (v. 25). Was she presenting herself as one of the lost sheep? Or, had she given up the pretense of her proper confession? This time she didn’t call him “Son of David”; she simply pleaded, “Lord, help me!” Yet it wasn’t until Jesus used the analogy of the children’s bread that the woman admitted her station. Everyone knows you don’t toss children’s bread to dogs. And it was also common knowledge that Jews referred to gentiles as dogs, scavengers of God’s grace.¹² Therefore, at that very moment, everyone must have connected the dots: she’s the “dog” begging for bread intended for God’s children, Israel. What would she do now? She could have persisted with the ruse, keeping up the pretense: “Yes, Lord. Behold, a child at your table!” She could have stomped off in protest, offended by the epithet: “What are you doing here, Jesus? To tease us and get our hopes up? Just go back home and help your own kind.” She did neither. Instead, she admitted her role in Jesus’s little parable (she understood the parable because she saw her reflection!),¹³ and then she proposed an “alternate ending.” Sometimes housedogs¹⁴ are accidently fed from the master’s table (v. 27). Jesus was impressed: “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted” (v. 28).

What made her faith great? Was it because she was clever, extending Jesus’s parable beyond what even he expected? In other words, did Jesus reward her for her witty response? Or did Jesus grant her request because she was persistent—that never giving up is a sign of great faith? Or was the greatness of her faith revealed by her willingness to humble herself, admitting that she was only a dog hoping for scraps of grace that fall from the Master’s table? Probably all these reasons have merit. But one thing is for certain: Jesus was surprised to find great faith among persons like a Roman centurion and a Canaanite woman. These are the only people Jesus has praised for having a faith greater than anyone else (8:10; 15:28). Typically, Jesus takes pity on the helpless, attacks his opponents, or corrects his disciples. So far, however, a Roman centurion and a Canaanite woman are the only people who have demonstrated great faith in Jesus—something he appreciated and hoped to see in his own disciples.

“But Their Hearts Are Far from Me”

This story, in the words of Yogi Berra, seems that “it’s like déjà vu all over again.”¹⁵ Jesus and his disciples are faced with the problem of dealing with a hungry mob in the middle of nowhere. The disciples don’t know what to do about it. Jesus acts like it’s their responsibility to feed the masses. Jesus takes inventory of their food supply, orders the crowd to sit down, blesses God for the meager meal, and has his disciples distribute the food. Miraculously, everyone eats their fill, and the disciples collect the leftovers in several baskets. A head count of several thousand men reveals the magnitude of the miraculous feeding—a large group who had followed Jesus into the deserted place and needed to be sent back home. Afterward, a boat stands ready to take Jesus and his disciples across the lake. Indeed, we have been here before—just a chapter before this episode (Matt 15:29–39), Jesus fed five-thousand men (14:13–21). In fact, the stories are so similar—following the same script—one wonders why there wasn’t at least one difference: the disciples should have known what to do about the hungry people. But, they didn’t (15:33), and that’s what makes this story so puzzling.

When Jesus brought up the problem, saying that he had “compassion for these people” and didn’t want to send them away hungry (v. 32), the disciples should have said, “Fine. Here are seven loaves of bread and a couple of little fish. That should be more than enough to feed four-thousand men when all it took were fives loaves and two fish for you to feed a thousand more. Here you go. Do that thing you do.” Instead, the Twelve act like they’ve never been in that situation, even though they came to the same conclusion as before: “Where could we get enough bread in this remote place to feed such a crowd?” (15:33; 14:15). That’s weird. Surely someone in the group would have remembered the only miracle that made it into all four Gospels. “Hey. Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago when we were in the same mess, you know—surrounded by thousands of hungry men in the middle of nowhere? Let’s see, what happened? Does anyone recall what we did? Wait. I remember: we gave our bread and fish to Jesus, and he performed a miracle. Right? Didn’t that happen? Or was I just dreaming?” But they didn’t remember; or, at least that’s what some scholars think. Matthew is using this story to critique the problem of “Christian amnesia”—when we tend to forget what God has taught us through past experience.¹⁶ Taking the spotlight off the Twelve, other scholars think Matthew had a theological purpose in repeating the story: 1) to highlight Israel’s rejection of Jesus;¹⁷ 2) to fulfill Zion eschatology;¹⁸ or 3) to add credibility to his Gospel story via another “doublet”—something Matthew loved to do.¹⁹ All of these explanations assume a Jewish context for the miraculous feeding. But some scholars think the disciples’ behavior makes better sense if they were still in gentile territory. In other words, the Twelve weren’t suffering from “amnesia” but indifference.

Imagine the scene: Jesus climbing a mountain, followed by his disciples and the large crowd bringing their sick and lame. He keeps ascending, and they keep climbing. To any bystander, it would appear as though Jesus was trying to get away from them. After all, if his intention were to heal the crippled, why would he make them climb the mountain? A level spot would do just fine. I wonder how difficult it was, dragging the lame or leading the blind up the side of the mountain. But that didn’t stop them. They kept coming. And, just as we would expect, Jesus healed them—albeit after an arduous hike (15:30–31). Then, all of the sudden, Jesus recognizes how hard it’s been on everyone. They’ve been following him for three days (even hiking up a mountain) without any food (v. 32). He says he has “compassion” on them. Well, if that were the case, why did he make all these lame and blind people hobble up the mountain? Why did he wait three days—approaching starvation (“they may collapse on the way”)—to do anything about it? Honestly, if I were one of the Twelve, I would be a little confused and very frustrated. For up to this point it would appear to me that Jesus was trying to get away from the mob, not to help them. Besides, if the crowd was fatigued from walking and hiking for three days without nourishment, wouldn’t that be true of the Twelve too? So when the disciples respond with the usual, “Where are we going to get enough food for them?” I think they’ve come to the point where they don’t care. Their hearts weren’t in it anymore. They’re tired, worn out, hungry, and ambivalent, having followed Jesus on a meandering path leading to nowhere.

LIVE the Story

Did anyone ever ask Jesus, “Hey, where are we going?” I’m surprised it never happened—at least no Gospel writer ever recorded such a conversation. I would expect at least one disciple, perhaps Peter, to approach Jesus, wanting to know where they were headed. Not only did they walk everywhere they went, but Jesus seemed to have no idea where he was going. Look at the itinerary. Up a mountain, across the lake, some time in Capernaum, back across the lake, brief stop in Gadara, across the lake back to Capernaum, wandering around several Galilean villages, brief stop in Nazareth, across the lake, into the desert, up a mountain, across the lake, traveling through a few Galilean villages, brief trip into gentile territory, back to Galilee, hike up a mountain again. At some point, someone in the crowd (especially one of the Twelve) must have wondered: “Where is he taking us? Does he even know where he’s going? What’s he looking for? Does he need directions?” Then I imagine one bold soul walking up to Jesus and saying, “Can I help you find something? You seem to be a little lost, wandering around like you really don’t have a clue where you’re going.” Of course, in a few verses Jesus will talk like he has a plan, an itinerary, a destination: “From that time on Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things” (16:21). But up until that point, for his disciples following Jesus meant taking a meandering path without any destination. And, for most of us, if there is no destination there is no purpose.

The most common question I get from ministerial students graduating from college is, “How will I know God’s will for my life?” It’s a question all Christ followers ask, but for men and women called to gospel ministry it can be a very troubling question to answer. You wouldn’t think that would be the case. If God has called you to the ministry, go to it. The problem is that there are so many different kinds of ministry; it’s hard to know what you’re supposed to do. Sometimes the Lord will put a burning desire in the heart of a young minister to go to a specific place and perform a particular task (“I’m going to plant churches in West Africa”). But most of the time, these men and women have no idea where they are going or what they’re supposed to do. Graduation day is fast approaching, so they come to my office seeking some advice about their future. They explain how they are wondering what the next step will be, listening to their friends talk excitedly about their careers, setting up plans, plotting incremental steps to achieve their life goals. Then these young ministers look at me, an old man sitting comfortably in a chair in a nice office, doing everyday what I love to do—teaching students during the week, preaching for pastorless churches on the weekends—and they wonder: “How did you do it? Is this what you planned from the beginning? How did you get here?” When I tell them my story, knowing what it felt like to be a college senior, staring out my dorm window and dreaming about my future, hoping one day that I would be here (teaching New Testament at my alma mater and helping churches), it doesn’t seem to help them at all—that is, until I talk about my journey.

I realize, of course, that life works out for some people just as they planned—a straight-line trajectory from point A (origin) to point B (destination). But for most of us, even for those who have dreams of what could be, things don’t happen like that.

I believe God called me to preach the gospel when I was sixteen years old. Since I came from a blue-collar family of modest means, I wasn’t sure how I would make it to college. But like many others, by God’s grace, I graduated from college, attended seminary, and even had the privilege of doing a year of doctoral study at one of the most prestigious universities in the world. All along the way, I served churches in a variety of ways: from youth and music leader, to associate pastor, to pastor, to adjunct professor, to professor, as interim pastor, back to pastor, back to college professor and interim pastor. I want to believe the Lord has led me every step of the way. Even now, looking back, it looks more like a meandering path than a planned itinerary for life—especially when I recall those moments in “the desert” where it felt like I followed Jesus to the middle of nowhere.

One time it got so bad at a church—at the end of a rough day that had been going on for weeks—I assumed a “Charlie Brown posture,” bent over in despair, my head face down on my desk, muttering to God, “Get me out of here.” The last thing on my mind was trying to help others for the sake of Christ and his kingdom. Like the disciples who plodded along, following Jesus all over Galilee and beyond, one minute headed west, the next east, through familiar neighborhoods and into foreign territory, up the mountain and across the sea, into the city and out to the desert, feasting sometimes and hungry for days—honestly, there have been a few times during the journey when it felt like Jesus was just jerking my chain, seeing how far I would go before I screamed out in frustration: “Where in the [bleep] are you taking me?” There was one moment I will never forget: I had just graduated with my PhD, couldn’t find a teaching job, was leading music in a church part-time and working for a temp service, cleaning up computer files at a bank. During break time one afternoon at the bank, I dug around in my pockets, trying to find a dime to buy a lousy cup of coffee when it hit me: I am a desk jockey with a doctorate and no future. At that point, I would have given anything to hear Jesus say, “We’re headed for Jerusalem.” Going somewhere—even a place of crucifixion—would seem more purposeful than heading nowhere.

Recently, I shared my story with a soon-to-graduate ministerial student. He gave me a sympathetic look and said, “I never would have expected that.”

“Me neither,” I said. Then I told him about the time a seminary professor, Dr. Robert Sloan, offered some invaluable advice. After listening to my sad story he said, “Rodney, where did you get the impression that following Jesus would be easy? At the heart of the gospel we preach is a cross. Sometimes following Christ is the hardest thing you’ll ever do.” I’ve never forgotten that moment.

“Yeah,” the student said, “that makes a lot of sense. Maybe I already know the answer to my question, ‘What is God’s will for my life?’ It’s following Jesus. I just wish I knew where he was headed.” We talked a little more, exploring his gifts, desires, and opportunities. (I’ve discovered that when these three things come together, it may point us in the direction we should go.) Then we prayed together, and I watched him walk out my door and into his future.

As I think about conversations like these, my life’s journey, and this story from Matthew’s Gospel, I can’t help but connect the dots. Maybe all of this “aimless” walking around Galilee had a purpose. Perhaps Jesus was teaching his disciples how to follow him—a meandering path with no particular direction—until it was time to carry the cross to Jerusalem. Then, all things would become clear. Until then, disciples of Jesus have nowhere else to go but follow him. In the meantime, he will continue to look for people with great faith, finding them in the most unusual places.

1. Willitts, Matthew’s Messianic Shepherd-King, 210–14.

2. Keener, Matthew, 414.

3. See the discussion in Garland, Reading Matthew, 167.

4. France, Matthew, 590–91; Bruner doesn’t agree, Matthew, 2:100.

5. Chrysostom, Homilies, 322–23; Nolland, Matthew, 636.

6. Bruner, Matthew, 2:103–4; Nolland disagrees, Matthew, 636.

7. Garland, Reading Matthew, 166–67.

8. Talbert, Reading Matthew, 190.

9. Garland, Reading Matthew, 165.

10. Bruner thinks the difference could be attributed to Jesus’s reluctance to work miracles in gentile territory (Matthew, 2:100).

11. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2:548; Willitts offers a more gracious assessment: she is exhibiting a Jewish faith (Matthew’s Messianic Shepherd-King, 215–16).

12. Garland, Reading Matthew, 166.

13. See above, 265–66.

14. The word kynarion could refer to household pets (Keener, Matthew, 416).

15. Nate Scott, “The 50 Greatest Yogi Berra Quotes,” ForTheWin, September 23, 2015, http://ftw.usatoday.com/2015/09/the-50-greatest-yogi-berra-quotes.

16. Bruner, Matthew, 2:109.

17. Luz, Matthew, 2:346.

18. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2:566–67.

19. See above in the introduction, 18–20, 28–31.