I confess to wrestling mightily with this gospel reading we have today – in many ways it shakes me to my core. It swirls around me like the winds of the hurricane which brushed passed us yesterday, threatening to push me off my feet with its hard gusts. I am turned about and troubled, for any number of reasons.

Jesus gets really personal today. Jesus says, “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone…. if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you.” Later in the New Testament, the Epistle of James echoes Jesus’ admonition from the other side of the relationship, from the perspective of the one confronted. James says, “Confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed (5:16).” Jesus talks about this sort of relationship conflict because well … it isn’t something any of us wants to talk about. Think about the jokes about topics to avoid at family gatherings. The theme of those jokes is the conventional wisdom of, “Don’t even try,” right? “Don’t have the hard conversation.” Jesus says, “Oh, go for it!” But, people, including me, don’t tend to look forward to conversations about how their behavior may have harmed another person. Few of us ever want to say, “Yes, let’s talk about how I have hurt you.”

Our gospel reading tells us of a Gentile woman with a sick daughter who pleads with Jesus to heal her daughter. The world Jesus lived in, however, was afflicted with many of the same prejudices, divisions, and hatreds as our world is. The vast majority of our memories of Jesus are stories where he is with his own people. There are a few stories where a true outsider intrudes. This morning’s desperate mother is one of those outsiders. Notice that he at first ignores her and does not respond at all, as if she lacked the necessary status to bring to Jesus any request at all. Jesus’ disciples urge him to send her away complaining how bothersome her shouting at them is. They want it to stop. Dismissed and insulted, nevertheless, she persisted.  

We have all done it at one time or another. The door closes behind us, and with a sudden flash of panic we realize that it is locked, with us on one side and the key on the other. If we are lucky, there is a family member or friend nearby who can let us in with a spare key, even if we have to wait awhile. Perhaps there is a first-floor window left unlocked that we can wiggle through. But that feeling of being locked out, of being powerless to access all that is comforting and sheltering in our lives when it is so close, is gut-wrenching.

Have you ever taken a big risk that later on you wish you hadn’t? Ever stepped out of the boat toward some great wild dream and found yourself floundering in the waves? Ever tried to steal home and ended up back in the dugout with mud on your face and a bunch of disgruntled teammates? Ever launched a great new project at work only to have it blow up and make you look like the biggest idiot in the world?

In 1933, during the Great Depression, a young Catholic convert named Dorothy Day created the Catholic Worker movement, a group founded on the principles of common life and worship, serving the poorest of the poor, and working toward a more just society. From the beginning they ran bread lines and soup kitchens and shared their communal houses with the homeless. In the 1940s and 50s they were serving close to half a million meals every year at just one of their houses of hospitality. Others soon followed their lead.