If you were to say to me, “Matthew 15” my immediate response would almost certainly be, “Little dogs!”
How did such diverse topics manage to become so inextricably
linked in my mind?
I thought you’d never ask…
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It was a Parsons Drive evening, and I was parked in my usual
spot under a conveniently-located lamppost, half-listening to the muffled
sounds of my daughter’s music lesson coming from the house across the street. Over the years I’ve learnt the hard way that
you can’t sit reading with the interior lights on for two hours solid without
risking a flat battery, an “Oh Dad!”,
and a long wait for the breakdown van at the end of an already long evening. But tonight I was fully prepared for my weekly
stakeout, strategically parked under a handy streetlight, with flask in one
hand and Pocket New Testament in the other, and looking forward to spending
another typical evening in the life of Dad’s Ace Taxi Services.
As it happened, this evening was our first at Parsons Drive
since the clocks, if not the weather, had decided it was now British Summer
Time, so I wouldn’t be reading by the insipid orange glow of streetlight for a
little while yet. And as I turned to
Matthew 15 and began to read, I noticed that at the far end of the street – the
end which would normally be sitting in darkness by this time of day – there
were a couple of lads playing football with a little dog. I say the dog was playing football, but it
was more like a game of “piggy in the middle”, with the dog very much in the
role of “piggy”, and from what I could see, not likely to lay a paw on the ball
anytime this side of Christmas.
But what the little dog lacked in natural ball skills, it more
than made up for in enthusiasm. Though
it stood no more than six or seven inches high, it tirelessly scampered back
and forth on its comical little legs, doggedly determined (no pun intended) to
pursue that ball to the ends of the earth if need be, and ready to savage it
mercilessly, with an anything but savage looking set of canines, if even the
slightest opportunity should arise.
As I watched the one-sided competition unfolding, I found
myself actually starting to root for the little guy – “Go on little dog; you can do it boy!”
Then, with one eye still on the game, I decided I’d better
get back to my reading, and Matthew 15, verses 21-22…
15:21 Then Jesus went thence, and departed into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon.15:22 And, behold, a woman of Canaan came out of the same coasts, and cried unto him, saying, Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.
And though I’ve read the story many times, verse 23 always
gets me every time…
15:23 But he answered her not a word.
Throughout his brief but intensely busy public ministry,
Jesus responded to all kinds of pleas for help, in all kinds of ways, but of
all his responses, this is somehow the one I never see coming – complete silence. (Can this really be the same Jesus who by
verse 30 was gladly welcoming “great multitudes” and healing “those that were
lame, blind, dumb, maimed, and many others”?)
And when his disciples pressed him for a response, not out of concern
for the woman’s plight, but because her constant nagging was getting to be a
bit of a pain (verse 23), Jesus’ words were perhaps even more surprising than
his silence…
15:24 I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel.
But back on Parsons Drive, I was beginning to think I might have
a slight inkling of what Jesus was up to.
I was thinking back to the previous chapter of Matthew, the feeding of
the five thousand, and how Jesus responded then to the disciples’ bright ideas
– “There’s no need for them to go; you
give them something to eat!” (Matthew 14:16). I was remembering how Jesus liked nothing
better than to provoke a reaction.
Still if verse 24 is surprising, verse 26 is positively
shocking. The woman, perhaps taken aback
by the coldness of her reception, had now been reduced to a desperate three-word
appeal – “Lord, help me” (verse 25). To which, Jesus answered…
15:26 It is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to dogs.
And back on Parsons Drive, as up and down the street the
lights started to flicker on, another kind of light suddenly came on between my
ears. As I read the words of verse 26, I
suddenly remembered an obscure fact I once picked up from some obscure
source. In the Greek, the word used for
“dogs” can apparently be literally translated, “little dogs”. To a contemporary audience, verse 26 would
most likely conjure up an image of children and their household pets – their
“little dogs”.
15:27 And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters' table.
At the end of the street the game was still afoot, and the
little dog was still going strong – just like the woman in the story. Did neither of them know when to call it a
day?! Apparently both of them were
doggedly determined (no pun intended) to pursue their goal to the ends of the
earth if need be, if that’s what it would take to come, even for one instant,
within touching distance of it.
Sometimes life can give you the run-around. And at those times when you need him most, those
are often the times when God is most difficult to lay a “paw” on. Perhaps at times, that’s the only way he can
provoke a reaction. Perhaps at times, that’s
the only way of getting our attention.
But one lesson I’ve been trying to learn lately is the art
of keeping my eye on the ball, of letting everything else go to the wind, but
to keep my eye on that one source, that one centre, that one focus of
attention. And if the “ball” is slippery
and elusive, as it inevitably will be to the comical little legs of my soul, then
to learn a lesson from a little dog, and to keep after it, keep pursuing it, and
never ever stop chasing it down.
15:28 Then Jesus answered and said unto her, O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt. And her daughter was made whole from that very hour.
Back on Parsons Drive, I looked up from my reading. At the far end of the street a certain little
dog was tearing into a certain football like there was no tomorrow, while a
certain couple of lads made increasingly desperate but futile attempts to prise
it away from him.
“There’s no
discouragement,” wrote Bunyan, “shall
make him once relent.” It’s doubtful
whether the woman of Canaan and the little dog of Parsons Drive were the kind
of “pilgrims” Mr Bunyan had in mind when he penned the words of his well-known
hymn – but there could hardly be a more fitting epitaph for either of them.
