As the teacher entered her village,
a woman from the region came out and started wailing
But all they heard was barking as of a dog
Barking
and barking
Nipping at their heels
refusing to leave them alone
That dog-hearted daughter
of an inferior race
whose genocide was long-ago complete
That dog-hearted daughter of Rahab,
the Canaanite Roxanne
who turned on the red light
let down the red cord
sparing her family while the rest
were unprepared for the coming onslaught
the wholesale slaughter,
of every woman, man, son and daughter
when they found themselves besieged
by Joshua, Caleb and the Israelite marauders
That is, if you believe the dominant narrative
If you were to believe
that the seven Canaanite tribes had been wiped out
that God had ordained their genocide
that none had survived
Because there’s a counter-narrative too
There’s another story, a minority report
a story in which the Canaanite survives
one in which the culture is not decimated
one in which the Indian is not beat out of the child
one in which they will not be defeated
one where the oppressed are Idle No More
Which brings us back to this stray, yapping, homeless dog,
this godforsaken Canaanite woman
they wished would just go the hell away
That’s when the teacher speaks up, eyes averted
That’s when the teacher speaks up, playing the party line
Those self-righteous ingrates must go away.
These people must leave us alone.
This is about us. Not them.
After feeding the five thousand men
and untold numbers of women and children besides
He feeds his entourage a line,
speaking loudly, directly
“I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”
As if to test their understanding
As if to say:
“I was sent only for the chosen few.”
“A doctor for those who are well.”
“A teacher for those who always agree.”
As if I would be sent for
those on the outside
those who are sick
those who don’t already know what’s up
As if I would be sent for
those of no consequence
those whose culture ought to be abolished
those whose language ought to be dead
those who ought long ago have been assimilated
And you have to wonder if the disciples find themselves
affirmed in their biases, hatred and xenophobia
Until she, she, unflappable, persistent she, speaks again
She speaks
in a posture of humility,
in a posture of power
She speaks
and Jesus listens
and Jesus hears her
and you can just imagine
he turns, meeting her gaze
and you can just imagine
that moment of mutual transformation
when she calls his bluff
when she too demands crumbs,
from the one who just had
Taken
Blessed,
Broken and
Given
to one and all
with twelve baskets left over
Crumbs. All she wants is crumbs
She speaks
To a man whose stories
whose words
whose actions
whose very life seems to indicate
that last will be first
that unlikely friendships will transform and renew you
heart, soul, mind and strength
whose choice of friends companions should be enough to prove
that no-one will be left behind
and that justice for some requires justice for all
She speaks
Saying, “Lord, help me.”
He retorts
She speaks again
“Thou callest me a dog,” she says
“before thou hast cause.
But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.”
(Merchant of Venice III, iii, 7-8)
He averts his gaze.
Great is her faith
Great is the faith of
the woman who dares to talk back
the one who dares to question
the one who dares lean in
the one who dares to demand
justice and equality for all
Great is the faith
of those who dare question the status quo
of those who demand God’s blessing
of those who refuse to put up with the second best
imposed by glass ceilings
and systemic injustice
and phobias of every kind
Great is the faith
of those who seek and pursue God
even when the religious establishment gets in their way
even when they are told
you must get out
God hates you
and who you are
Great is the faith of those of us
who are coming to know
and to boldly declare that this table
is for all
and that all are welcome in this place.
Amen.
