“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” He who is impatient and irritable does not know himself and the human race, and is unworthy of the name of Christian. . . Irritability of temper proceeds from lack of self-knowledge, from pride, and also from the fact that we do not consider the great corruption of our nature, and know but little the meek and humble Jesus” (St. John of Kronstadt).
The woman of Canaan was desperate. Despite shame and embarrassment, she shouted for help: “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” Christ was silent. The disciples ridiculed her. “Lord help me,” she persisted. Our Lord’s response to this broken woman is hard and heavy: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”
Do we recognize the real weight of our sinfulness? Can we bear the reality of who we are?
We have all seen false humility. Charles Dickens personified this in his famous character Uriah Heep, rubbing his hands together, groveling with bowed head, and muttering: “I am the ‘umblest person going.” Psychology Today describes self-hatred as: “Continual feelings of inadequacy, guilt, and low self-esteem. People may constantly compare themselves to others, perceive only the negative and ignore the positive, and believe that they will never be ‘good enough.’” Surely, this in not Christian humility.
But what do we make of the Canaanite woman? Why would Christ refer to her as a dog, and praise her for agreeing?
Our culture today runs to the opposite extreme. It is ironic. We are a society rife with depression and self-hatred, and are simultaneously obsessed with self-esteem. Billboards and Bumperstickers insist: “You are Enough.” Fast Food advertisements all agree: “You Deserve this!” Every team gets a trophy because we cannot ever let our children feel that they did not try hard enough. God knows, we must not bring up all that horrible, old fashioned talk about repentance and sin . . .
In light of all this, what do we make of the Gospel’s stance on evil.
“The way of the wicked,” Proverbs tells us, “is an abomination to the Lord” (15:9).
God’s response to evil is ruthless: “The iniquity of the house of Israel and Judah is extremely great” (Ezekiel 9:9). “I will not show pity or spare them,” the Lord says, “I will bring their conduct down on their own heads.”
The same passage emphasizes God’s repulsion to anyone who takes sin lightly. He sends an angel to place a mark on the head of every righteous person “who sighs and groans over all the detestable practices committed.” Then the angels sweep through and sliey everyone else indifferent to sin (Ezekiel 9:3).
It is Lent. This is the time of the year when we get to talk about the uncomfortable parts of our faith. It is hard to digest this, but paramount.
If you have not gotten an image of sin yet, Psalm 38 does a solid job showing its true colors:
“Thine arrows stick fast in me, and thy hand presseth me sore. There is no health in my flesh, because of thy displeasure; neither is there any rest in my bones, by reason of my sin. For my wickednesses are gone over my head, and are like a sore burden, too heavy for me to bear. My wounds stink and are corrupt, through my foolishness” (Psalm 38:2-5). The psalm ends in desperate prayer: “Forsake me not, O Lord my God . . . Haste thee to help me” (v. 21-22).
So, we can now return to the Canaanite woman. She is on her knees begging for help. She is weeping before the Son of God, archetype of love and compassion. How does Love respond to her: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She returns: “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.’ Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, great is your faith!” (Matthew 15:21-28).
There is nothing all self-deprecating in this woman. She is not overly pessimistic or choked up with self-hatred. Quite simply, she is strong and honest. She knows herself for who she is. She sees her sin for what is, and she does not back down. She says ‘yes’ to all her accusations, and says, “Take me God, even as I am.”
Humility is the highest virtue. It is not self-hatred. It is radical honesty. The humble man knows himself for what he is, and knows God for what He is.
We are broken. We bleed out our sins all day long before God and one another. The beauty of this recognition, is that as soon as we are honest enough to call a spade a spade, then we can begin to hunger after God’s compassion. We cannot appreciate grace if we do not first appreciate how much we need it. Until we stop calling ugliness ugliness, we will never truly value beauty. We will never really be grateful, or joyful, until we see down into the depths of our sin and accept God’s forgiveness. When we stop denying and begin seeing face on the real weight of sin, we can discover something else, the weight of mercy.
Recognizing this, we begin to recognize our brother.
“Yes, Lord . . . I am a dog . . . yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”
We truly are broken, and God truly does love us. How should we love one another? Are any of us unstained by the mess in the world? We are all on the same boat, and we are all sea sick.
St. John of Kronstadt’s words ring out with such force during Lent. How can we continue being impatient or irritable with one another? How can we cling to any trace of unforgiveness or feel bitterly towards our brother or sister.
“He who is impatient and irritable does not know himself and the human race.” To this St. John confesses so sweetly, “In saying this, I pronounce judgment against myself, for I am the first of those who are afflicted with impatience and irritability.” The holy man continues, “Irritability of temper proceeds from lack of self-knowledge, from pride, and also from the fact that we do not consider the great corruption of our nature, and know but little the meek and humble Jesus.”
We must return to the Gospel.
“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2-5).
There is nothing to stand on in this world short of one thing: God’s mercy.