Jesus and the Canaanite Woman

Just Enough Light… to Hold On

We’ve been in a short sermon series called Just Enough Light. Each week we’ve looked at a unique moment in Jesus’ ministry that gives us a glimpse — just enough light — of who He is and what His kingdom is like. These aren’t things Jesus did all the time. They’re almost singular events, but they shine enough light for us to walk by.

In the first week, we looked at the feeding of the 5,000. Jesus doesn’t walk around feeding every hungry person on earth, but for one day in the wilderness He opened His hands and showed us a glimpse of heaven’s abundance. A place where hunger, sickness, sorrow, pain, and death will be no more. That’s just enough light to live with hope.

In the second week, we saw Peter step out onto the water. Jesus doesn’t usually invite people to walk on waves, but for a moment He called Peter to trust Him beyond the safety of the boat. It gave us a glimpse of resurrection life, when bodies are no longer bound by weakness or fear. That’s just enough light to step out when Christ calls us.

This week we meet a desperate Canaanite woman. Her daughter is oppressed by a demon, and she will not let go until she receives mercy.

Martin Luther wrote often about this passage. He described the woman’s persistence as three great and hard battles of faith. In each of those battles, Jesus gives just enough light to show us what faith looks like, and what His mercy is like.

The first battle: Pushing past our sense of not belonging

Matthew tells us the woman was a Canaanite. That word carried centuries of baggage. Canaanites were Israel’s old enemies. By the first century the label marked her as unclean, unwelcome, an outsider in every way. Everything about her background shouted, You don’t belong here.

Luther called this the first battle of faith: silencing the voice that says, I’m not worthy. I don’t belong. I should just give up.

What’s remarkable is how she comes to Jesus anyway. She addresses Him with His messianic title: “Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David” (Matthew 15:22). Her plea is not built on her own identity, but on His.

Moses once did something similar. After the golden calf, God told Moses He was ready to wipe out Israel and start fresh with him. Moses responded, “But what will the Egyptians think? Will they say You brought Your people out just to kill them?” (see Exodus 32). Moses based his argument on who God is, not on who Israel was. And Moses was persistent.

This woman does the same. Her case rests on Jesus’ mercy, not on her worthiness.

That’s good news for us. How often do we tell ourselves, I’ve sinned too badly. I don’t measure up. Once I get straightened out, I will feel accepted. God’s mercy is for people better than me. Those voices come for all of us. Sometimes they even come for pastors. But they are lies.

In Alcoholics Anonymous, the first thing you say when you introduce yourself is, “Hi, I’m ____, and I’m an alcoholic.” The admission of weakness is the doorway to healing. Maybe in church we ought to say, “Hi, I’m John, and I’m a sinner. Hi, I’m John, and sometimes I feel like I don’t belong here.” Because the truth is, none of us belongs on our own. But all of us belong because of Christ.

That’s the first battle: pushing past the voice that says we don’t belong and coming to Jesus anyway.

The second battle: Trusting when there is silence

Matthew says, “But He did not answer her a word” (15:23). Jesus is silent. The disciples are no help either. They beg Him to send her away.

Luther called this the second battle: enduring the silence of God. Silence feels like absence. Silence feels like rejection.

But silence is not rejection. Silence is not absence.

The Psalms are full of this experience:

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?” (Psalm 13:1).

David prayed that. So have countless others. But even in Psalm 13, lament gives way to trust:

“But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
because he has dealt bountifully with me” (Psalm 13:5–6).

That’s what faith does. It stays engaged even in silence.

Think of parents who pray for a prodigal child year after year. Silence stretches on. And yet they keep praying because they know God’s mercy is deeper than delay.

Think of the parable Jesus told about the unjust judge (Luke 18). Even a man who cared nothing for justice finally gave in because a widow wouldn’t stop pestering him. Jesus says, “If even that man finally responded even out of his own self-interest, how much more will your Father in heaven hear His children who cry to Him day and night?”

Silence is not absence. Silence is not rejection. And this woman shows us how faith endures in the silence.

The third battle: Living in humble dependence

When Jesus finally speaks, His words sound harsh: “It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs” (15:26).

She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t defend herself. She simply agrees: “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table” (15:27).

This is Luther’s third battle: humble dependence. She acknowledges her unworthiness. But she clings to His mercy. She knows even a crumb from Jesus is enough.

James 4:10 says, “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will exalt you.” That’s exactly what happens here. Jesus commends her great faith and heals her daughter.

Luther’s final words before he died were, “We are all beggars. This is true.” After all his accomplishments (Martin Luther is often counted among the 10 most influential people in Western history), that’s how he summed up the Christian life. Beggars with empty hands, clinging to Christ.

That’s the heart of this story. Faith doesn’t come making excuses or building a case for worthiness. Faith comes as a beggar, trusting in mercy. And the Lord never turns beggars away.

Just enough light

The Canaanite woman’s faith is great not because she is strong, but because she empties herself and clings to Christ through all three battles.

• Just enough light to push past the voice that says you don’t belong.
• Just enough light to trust when there is silence.
• Just enough light to live in humble dependence, where even crumbs become a feast.

That’s what this series has been about:

• Just enough light to hope when Jesus feeds the hungry in the wilderness.
• Just enough light to step out when Jesus calls across the storm.
• Just enough light to hold on when mercy seems far away but is closer than ever.

And isn’t that what the Lord’s Supper is? Just a little bread. Just a sip of wine. It looks like crumbs, but it’s everything. Christ’s body and blood, forgiveness of sins, life, salvation.

We come as beggars, and He feeds us as children. That’s more than enough.