Today’s Gospel reading shows a Jesus playing a role that was not familiar to us: that of someone who is rejecting a request for blessing. The shepherd who was looking for all to come to him was, in effect, telling one of those who could be of the flock to go away. Whether Jesus was tired or upset, I am not sure, but it was not a side we often see of the savior. Maybe because of this, we also see something else that is rare: Jesus being the student and not the teacher. He had to be reminded that those who humbled themselves before God were ones worthy of salvation, no matter where they came from or who they were. And, for me, there was no better analogy that dogs at the table awaiting the crumbs that fall.

Have you ever watched a dog sitting at the base of a table looking for scraps? If you look, I mean really look, you can gain so much knowledge of why the woman in today’s reading used that particular comparison. Some would call that dog an annoyance. I would call it all that should be in a good Christian.

That dog at the base of the table is patient. It sits there and waits for something. There is no guarantee that there will be anything, but still that dog will wait. It may sit, it may lay down. It may look at you or choose to look away. There may be some whining, but above it all there is patience. It knows that something good may come from up above and it is willing to wait to be the recipient of that goodness.

That dog at the table is hopeful. It waits in hope that there will be a reward for its devotion, loyalty and patience. It knows there are no guarantees, but its expectations get raised and its sense buoyed. And all for a scrap of food, a castoff from that table. What if that crumb is not given that day? That’s fine. There is always tomorrow to receive a gift.

That dog at the table is humble. It has the ability to jump up and grab something or to land on the table. Usually it does not do that. It realizes it’s place in the family order and obeys that. It is content to sit at your feet and puts its fate in your hands. It does not ask for special privileges or to be served as an equal. It is happy enough to be allowed to ask for crumbs.

That dog at the table is trusting. Many years ago, while my schoolmates and I were waiting for the bus, we saw a stray dog. It would not come within hand reach of us, but did not run away. We tossed parts of our lunch to it, which it dutifully caught. It would not eat or even chew those pieces we tossed to it. That is not the case with that dog at the table. It trusts you implicitly. It believes that the crumbs you give it will not harm it, not cause it any trouble. Even if it accidentally does, there is no blame. That trust goes beyond the food time, extending to every facet of its life.

That dog at the table is content. It is happy to be in its home and at your feet. Even if no crumbs fall, it knows that it will have a full stomach and a place to sleep that night. It knows that it will be loved and knows it will not go thirsty. It may not get the treat it so earnestly hopes will fall from your plate, but that does not mean it’s life is in danger. That dog will be able to sleep well that night, knowing its needs have been tended to, crumbs or not.

That dog at the table is understanding. It knows that the position it currently occupies is a privilege and not a right. It can be taken away at any time, if the master so decrees. It may be ordered away from the table to another room. It does not fight, does not struggle, does not grumble (well, maybe a little). It leaves, disappointed, but knowing that it is loved always.

That dog at the table is persistent. It knows its rewards may not come today, but tomorrow. If those rewards do not come tomorrow, then maybe the next day. It will still be there, looking for crumbs, day after day. It knows its reward lies in its persistence. For the dog who gives up, the rewards may not come.

In other words, the traits that the dog at the table embodies is what we need to also embody as children of God.

We need patience to know that the rewards God grants us are to be done in his time and not ours.

We need to be hopeful in that God has not forgotten about us, but is just waiting to reveal his glory and majesty to us when he feels we are ready.

We need to be humble before God, gratefully accepting what he has done for us and what he continues to do. As we often say, we are not worthy to be at his table. We sometimes all need to put things in perspective as to our relationship with him.

We need to trust God is there for us. He is always there taking care of us, not letting us fall too greatly. We may think he has abandoned us, but we always have a place in his universe and a share of his boundless love and attention.

If we don’t get exactly what we think we want, then we need to be like that dog and be content. Our wants are different than our needs, and if our needs are taken care of, the we should be content, for many others in this world don’t even have the needs part covered.

We need to be understanding. God is not a vending machine, where we can get exactly what we want when we want it. If things don’t happen or happen differently from what we believe should be the case, we need to be like that dog and know that we are still loved and cherished by a father who knows what is best for us at each point in our lives.

We need that persistence. God is not one of convenience, but a being who needs to be in our thoughts and in our deeds every day, even if we are not at the table. That dog thinks of its master every hour of the day. We should give God no less than that.

It is because of all those traits that Jesus realized the woman was of great faith. She did not ask for herself, but for her daughter. She was willing to be persistent and humble. She was willing to prostrate herself before him in order to get that crumb. She did not demand what she thought was her right, but knelt before him, asking sincerely for one small thing from him, and not even for her. She embodied what Jesus taught in his years of wandering.

We can still learn some good lessons both from that woman and that dog.

Amen.

Michael Gow

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