Twelfth
Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 15A)
August 16,
2026
Text:
Matt. 15:21-28
You remember the story. Jacob, seeking reconciliation with his
estranged brother, Esau, sends all who belong to him across the river Jabbok,
while he stays behind, to spend the night alone. Suddenly, there is a Man, wrestling him
through the night. Jacob knows not who
He is, or where He’s come from. He only
knows the Man is powerful… powerful enough to touch Jacob’s hip socket and put
it out of joint. That’s strange. Clearly, the Man could maim and defeat Jacob
with one snap of the fingers. Yet He
gives Jacob to overpower Him. So, Jacob
gains the upper hand. And when the day
breaks, the Man demands that Jacob let Him go.
But now, Jacob is on to the Man.
Perhaps consciously. Perhaps only
instinctively. But he knows. This is no mere Man. Who is it?
An angel? More than an
angel? (You know.) “I will not let you go unless you bless me”
(Gen. 32:26; ESV). Jacob clings to
Him. Struggles with Him. Makes demands of Him. And expects an answer… a blessing. It earns Jacob a new name: Israel. Literally, “Strives with… God.” And now there is no doubt. Who is the Man who wrestles Jacob in the
night? This Man is God. (And we know, He is the preincarnate
Christ.) And Jacob… Israel… would not
have known it apart from the wrestling.
See what’s going on, here?
Wrestling with God. Jacob’s clinging. God could so easily tip the scales with His
almighty power and win. But He doesn’t. He lets Himself be mastered. He gives Himself to be defeated, and into
defeat. And in that, the revelation, and
the blessing. This will define, not only
Jacob’s relationship with God, but that of his children ever after… the
children of Israel, the people of God.
Our Holy
Gospel this day brings the story of Jacob to mind. What is the Canaanite woman doing, if not
wrestling with God-incarnate, Jesus, the Christ (the Messiah)? She fits the pattern, doesn’t she? Like Jacob, who is severely afflicted by fear
of his brother, the woman’s daughter is severely afflicted by a demon. Jacob needs God’s help. The woman and her daughter need Jesus’
help. Mercy. Jacob literally wrestles on the ground with
the Son of God. The woman wrestles with
Him in her pleading, her prayer. Our
Lord wounds Jacob by touching his hip.
He wounds the woman by ignoring, and then insulting her. Nevertheless, Jacob clings. Nevertheless, the woman clings. What is this clinging, but faith? I know, on the basis of Your own Promises, my
Lord, that You are a God of mercy. You
are the God who helps. You will not
forsake one who looks to You in a time of need.
I know that that is the kind of relationship I’ve been given to have
with you. So, I will not let go. I will not let go until You bless me. I will not let go until You hear and answer
my prayer.
You know
who else fits that pattern? You, in your
time of need, and in your prayers to God.
The wrestling. The striving. The pleading.
The clinging. Right? Even when God wounds you. In fact, especially when God wounds you. Sometimes literally, laying upon you the
cross of a physical affliction.
Sometimes in your worry and heartache for others, like the woman for her
daughter. Sometimes when He appears to
be ignoring you (just so we’re clear: He’s actually hearing every word), or
when He seems to turn you away (does He actually turn the woman away? Does He actually turn you away? What is He doing, here?).
Well, what
is He doing, wounding Jacob, ignoring and insulting the woman, and doing
similar things to you? There are more
answers than we can give. In fact, there
is always the hidden will of God to be acknowledged and believed. That is, we are not given to know every
reason, or even the main reason. We only
know He has His reasons, and they are always good and right. But we do know a few things. He does it to discipline us. Not punish, but discipline. Think about the difference. He is not motivated by hatred and
retribution, but love and training. That
we despair of all other help. That our
false gods be toppled, and we be driven to Him alone. That we put all our faith in Him. That we cling to Him, and hold Him to His
Promises. That we exercise our faith in
patience, knowing that He will deliver.
As He knows best. When He knows
best.
There is
one way in which the woman, and most (if not all) of you don’t fit the pattern,
though. She is not an Israelite. She is not a daughter of Jacob. She is a Gentile. From the district of Tyre and Sidon, known
for idolatry. The disciples, and
virtually everyone who first heard this Gospel, would have thought: This Lord,
and His Promises, can’t possibly be for her, right? (Or, frankly, for any of you!) Oh, how wrong they are. Jesus must teach them. They are shocked when He does not send her
away. Even after their pleading. They are shocked that He doesn’t just snap
His fingers and defeat her. He lets her
keep wrestling. Against His
silence. Against His insults. Against His racial epithet (He calls her a
dog! Gentiles are dogs… mongrels, as far
as the Jews are concerned).
And then,
most shocking of all. He turns to
her. He praises her faith. And He answers her prayer. What does this teach us? First of all, the disciples, and all the
Jews, should have known: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob… Israel… were not chosen
merely for their own sake, but to be a blessing to all nations. That was always the Promise. That is what God says to Abraham: “in your
offspring all the nations of the earth shall be blessed” (Gen. 26:4). That is the fulfillment of our Old Testament
reading (Is. 56:1, 6-8): “the foreigners who join themselves to the LORD… these
I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer…
The LORD GOD, who gathers the outcasts of Israel, declares, ‘I will gather yet
others to him besides those already gathered.’”
That’s the woman. That’s the
Gentiles. That’s you! So, here we learn that we must never exclude
anyone from God’s mercy on the basis of race, sex, previous sins, or just
because we don’t like them. God have
mercy on us if we do. Never, ever,
should we tell God to send someone away.
God gathers even you and me into His chosen people, Israel… into His
Family, the Church… so that His Promises are for us, too. That is amazing! And if that’s true for us, who in our own
eyes should always be the chief of sinners, then it’s true for them, too…
whoever they are to you.
We also
learn from the woman how to pray. She
gives us the words (or, better, the Lord gives us the words, through her):
“Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David” (Matt. 15:22). That’s the Kyrie from our Liturgy, isn’t it:
“Lord, have mercy; Christ, have mercy; Lord, have mercy.” We find versions of this elsewhere in the
Bible, too. And it’s beautiful. You can have that prayer constantly at hand,
for any and every occasion. When
something goes horribly wrong in your life.
“Lord, have mercy.” When you hear
bad news from a loved one, or when you’re watching the news on television. “Christ, have mercy.” When you hear a siren in the distance, and
you know someone is in need of help.
“Lord, have mercy.” When someone
asks you to pray for them. Pray
this. Pray it right away. Pray it often. We know our Lord loves to hear it, because He
loves that He hears it from this woman.
And as she knows, this is why He came.
To help. To have mercy. To save.
There is,
by the way, another traditional version of this prayer common to nearly all
liturgical orthodox Christian Churches, including Lutheranism, called “The
Jesus Prayer.” Do you know it? It goes like this. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on
me, a sinner.” It’s very close to the
woman’s prayer in our text. I encourage
you to memorize that one. It’s meant for
meditative repetition. Use it when
you’re anxious, to calm you. Savor each
Word, and think about what it means.
“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Use it when you can’t sleep. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on
me, a sinner.” Pray it slowly, in rhythm
with your breathing. And give all the
pain and anxiety to Jesus, for His mercy and help. And then, wait for Him. Cling, and wait. Do not let go until He blesses.
And the
clinging. Faith. We also learn that from this woman. He calls her a dog. Amazing.
You know what she says back?
“Yes, Lord…” (v. 27). Now, just
pause there, and take note. She doesn’t
deny it. Not because of any racial
inferiority complex, but this is actually a confession of sin. “Apart from You, I am an unclean animal. I agree.
Yes, Lord.” You should make that
confession, too. And, of course, you do,
every time you confess your sins. You
know you are neither worthy of the things for which you pray, nor have you
deserved them. But you ask that He would
give them all to you by grace. As does
the woman: “yet even the dogs eat the crumbs from their masters’ table.” That’s it.
That’s the faith Jesus praises.
Now, don’t miss this, either.
It’s not the act of her believing that Jesus praises, as though faith is
the one impressive good work she gets to do, to merit His attention. No. It
is the Object of her faith that is so great.
Her faith is in the right thing, the right Person. “O woman, great is your faith!” (v. 28). He could just as well say, O woman, great is
your Master. Great is your Jesus. How do you cling to God? (Learn this from her!) By His Promises. By holding Him to His Word. And then, “Be it done for you as you
desire.” Nearly the same words we hear
in Holy Absolution: “Let it be done for you as you believe” (LSB 293). The blessing.
The gift. That’s what faith
receives.
Beloved…
This is the God who gives Himself to be conquered by you. Conquered on the cross for your sins. Conquered by the clinging… by faith in His
Promises. He must have mercy. He must bless. Because that’s what He says. And that is who He is. For you.
Learn from Jacob, beloved. And
learn from the woman. When you wrestle
with Him in prayer… when you pray to Jesus, “Lord, have mercy”... that is
exactly what He will have. Always. For you.
Mercy. Blessing. Salvation.
Life. And freedom from those
accursed demons! In the Name of the
Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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