September 1965 should have been a great year.  I was a rising 8th grader at St James school in Orlando – you know, about to become king of the school.  That’s when geography dealt a cruel blow. Both my older sisters were going to Bishop Moore HS – which was the opposite direction from St James.  In a moment, my fate was sealed.  I had to transfer to St. Charles which shared a campus with the HS.  I was exiled from all my friends to attend a school filled with kids who thought they were too cool, who wore all the new clothes, who bought all the right albums, who won all the school championships.

I vividly remember the first day of 8th grade – I knew absolutely no one, but that was OK – I already didn’t like them.  I am sure that at lunch and at recess, there was a teacher encouraging my classmates to go over and be welcoming.  And maybe they should have.  But there was also my role in it all. I ate lunch alone, did not introduce myself to anyone, and stood apart at recess – as unwilling as they to cross over. Crossing over is dangerous stuff.

I am sure each one of us has our own story of a time when we came to that bridge too far and we didn’t cross over. Didn’t cross over, couldn’t cross over, refused to cross over – these are very thin lines of distinction.  Sometimes the very act of crossing over presents a paradigm that is just too much for us. Sometimes it is about simple things.  My mom read all the time but could not imagine ebooks, Kindles and the idea of an entire library in the palm of your hand.  Her great granddaughter can’t imagine the world any other way.

Sometimes it’s about more substantive things – times when core principles clash.  That is what Isaiah is addressing in the first reading.  He is holding up a revelation of God’s intention: “Thus says the LORD: … my salvation is about to come, my justice, about to be revealed.”  Can you imagine the shock when it is revealed that salvation is going to include foreigners – you mean those people – Canaanites, Assyrians, Moabites, Persians, Philistines.  Those people are going to be part of the covenant?  Their sacrifice be accepted at our altar?  No way – this is too much….. Isaiah, you are no prophet of God.

The prospect of all the “those people” crossing over into the covenant is a dangerous thing.  What is even worse is the prophet Isaiah will go on to say that Israel is to be a light to the world, a light that illuminates that way for the people to cross over.  Dangerous stuff, this crossing over.  Crossover and carry that light to the others, and you risk being called a traitor, seen as unprincipled, unfaithful, perhaps even being called “no longer one of us….”  And if you are no longer “one of us” it is probably too soon to be “one of them” – then what are you?  Crossing over is something that always challenges our very identity, challenges what we believe, and who we believe in.  Dangerous stuff.

Crossing over can bring old fears, grudges and biases into play.  You know, when St Mark describes this same scene in his gospel, he refers to the woman as “Syro-Phoenician.”  Not Matthew. He digs back into Jewish history and dredges up a name unused in centuries – Canaanite.  A name that speaks of “other,” of enemy, of the ones who offered up child sacrifices to their false gods.  And this one,….. this Canaanite… dares to cross-over and approach our Messiah: “Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David!”  Send her away. Do whatever she needs.  Do a miracle; heal her daughter – and let’s be done with her. She is other and a bother; we’ve no time or energy for her.

Jesus finally says something: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”   Yeah, yeah – that’s right, he was sent only to us – not them.  Just send her away; don’t even heal her daughter.  Perhaps that is what the apostles heard.  They missed the part where Jesus tells them they are lost, they can’t find the way to the altar and the salvation promised by Isaiah. They missed that part.  They aren’t thinking about being so lost that they are no longer a light to anyone, not even themselves.  At this point the apostles aren’t a light shining for anyone.  Without the light no one can cross over to the salvation promised.

While it is easy to think about this passage as an exchange between Jesus and the woman alone. It is really a story about Jesus challenging the woman and the apostles about the focus of their faith and the power of that faith to be a light that leads them and others to cross over toward Jesus.

This woman – desperate about her daughter – but of great faith is crossing over from all she has held true and believed about the Jews, and now she drops to her knees and does homage, worships, this one… this Jesus of Nazareth.   This Jesus of Nazareth.

The apostles – desperate to believe this one is the Messiah, the one who will bring salvation – need to cross over from their narrow belief about who will receive the offer of salvation.  Because, in the end of things, the Risen Jesus will tell them to cross over – to go to the ends of the earth – to the Canaanites, Assyrians, Moabites, Persians, Philistines – to the Romans, the Americas, to China, to the ends of the earth and offer the salvation to all, the salvation they once thought privileged to themselves and their own.

Funny thing is that the very etymological root of the word “Hebrew” means “those who cross over.”

We as church face the same challenge – like the woman to come here and give homage to the Lord, to receive the foretaste of salvation in the Eucharist… to take a deep breath and cross over – out there beyond the walls of this church and be a light to the world – even to the others, to them, to those people. To the immigrant, the alien, the stranger. To the homeless one, the ones for whom we have no time, the one who are new.

From wherever you are, cross over and be the light.

 Image credit: Jean Germain Drouais, Christ and the Canaanite Woman, 1784, Louvre Museum | Public Domain