“Listen and understand,” Jesus says in today’s gospel (Matthew 15:10-28). Imagine what our world and lives might be like if listening and understanding were our daily practices. There is a lot of practical wisdom in what Jesus says and we’ve all experienced the truth of his words.

Haven’t there been times when deep thorough listening gave you greater insight into and understanding of another person or a situation? Maybe even your own life? Understanding follows listening. 

You’ve probably also experienced the opposite. There probably have been times when you weren’t understood because the other person didn’t listen to you Or maybe you misunderstood someone because you weren’t listening. Misunderstanding is preceded by not listening.

It’s as if Jesus is telling us, “Listen deeply. Pay attention. Move beyond the external circumstances of what you hear and see.”

I love what Jesus says in the first half of today’s gospel (Matthew 15:10-15). It’s beautiful, expansive, and generous. It’s Jesus at his best calling us to our best. But I don’t really love what Jesus does in the second half of today’s gospel (Matthew 15:21-28). His initial treatment of the Canaanite woman is not at all beautiful. It’s narrow and exclusionary. It’s not Jesus at his best. 

There’s a disconnect between what Jesus says in the first half of today’s gospel and how he behaves in the second half. Jesus tells us, “Listen and understand,” but then he refuses to listen to the Canaanite woman and understand her life, her pain, her needs. There is a disconnect between the Jesus I’ve been told about and the one I see in today’s gospel.

I grew up with the idea that Jesus is perfect. He always knows what to do and he never doubts. He always says and does the right things and he never has a bad day. He goes to sleep at night without guilt, regrets, or seconding guessing himself. He’s everything I’m not and nothing at all like me. He’s the perfect one. Maybe you too were taught or told those things growing up. Maybe that’s what you believe today. I struggle with the perfect Jesus and wonder if he really can know what my life is like. 

On the one hand I so want Jesus to be perfect. It lets me off the hook. I can use my humanity as an excuse. Have you ever said or heard something like this? “I’m only human. What do you expect? I’m not perfect.” It’s one of the ways we defend and justify ourselves. It’s really, however, just a refusal to take responsibility for ourselves and our lives. 

On the other hand if Jesus is perfect and I’ve committed to follow and live like him then I too should be perfect. WWJD and all that kind of stuff. I’ve lived a good part of my life trying to close the gap between my humanity and Jesus’ perfection. I have to say though, I’ve never possessed perfection but I have often been and sometimes still am consumed by perfectionism. Maybe you know what that’s like.

The longer I live and the more I experience, the less helpful and meaningful a perfect Jesus is in my life. The disconnect I experience in today’s gospel has me asking, “What if Jesus isn’t perfect? What if he’s more like us than we know or maybe want him to be? What if he has disconnects in his life just like we do?”

There is an important theological term for the disconnects in our lives. It’s a word I’m certain you know though you may never have thought about it as a theological description of your life or Jesus’ life. You ready? Here’s the word: Uh-oh. 

Uh-oh. You know what that’s like, right? We’ve all said it. 

The uh-oh moments of our lives are the recognition that a disconnect has taken place. We’ve disconnected from our truest self. Uh-oh. We’ve disconnected from the values we claim to hold and the ways we want to be. Uh-oh. We’ve disconnected from another person. Uh-oh. We’ve disconnected from the pain and needs of people in our town, across the country, throughout the world. Uh-oh. We’ve disconnected from the beauty and authenticity of our humanity. Uh-oh.

I wonder if that’s what is happening to Jesus in today’s gospel. A Canaanite woman comes to Jesus and says, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” And Jesus “did not answer her at all.” Uh-oh. He ignored her. He showed her no interest, no compassion. He did not listen to her. Uh-oh.

“I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” he tells her. He could just as well have said, “You are a foreigner. You and your daughter’s torment are not my concern.” Uh-oh. He shows her no understanding. Uh-oh. How could he? He didn’t listen to her. Uh-oh.

She knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” She’s on the ground begging for her child’s life and Jesus says, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Uh-oh. He called her a dog. Uh-oh. 

The reason I can recognize the disconnects in Jesus’ life is because I have them in mine. My life is full of uh-ohs. I suppose your life might be too. 

Haven’t there been times when you said or did something and almost immediately you said to yourself, “Uh-oh”? Or maybe you wake up in the middle of the night thinking to yourself Uh-oh. Or maybe a week or month later something about a situation strikes you anew and you feel an uh-oh in the pit of your stomach.

What are the uh-ohs in your life today? What’s the disconnect? From whom or what are you disconnected? And what are you doing about it?

Maybe we don’t need a Jesus who is perfect but a Jesus who knows and understands what it’s like to be us. Have you ever thought of Jesus as learning from his mistakes, deepening his self-understanding, continuing to grow, reconnecting when he’s become disconnected? What if he doesn’t have it all figured out but is figuring it out as he goes? That sounds more like what my life is really like. How about yours?

Every disconnect is an uh-oh inviting and asking for reconnection. That’s what the woman offers Jesus. “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Uh-oh. She just called him out. She called him back to his better self, to a larger self, to a new self.

“Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.’” He reconnected to himself and to her. 

What would reconnection look like for you today? With whom or what do you need to reconnect? In what ways are you disconnected from yourself? 

Maybe reconnection isn’t about trying to get it just right, perfect. Maybe it’s enough to just listen and understand. 

Listen and understand. 

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Image Credit: Le Christ et la Cananéenne – Francisco Antolinez y Sarabia – Musée des Beaux-Arts d’Agen photograph by Didier Descouens – Own work, Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons.