Gospel according to Saint Matthew 15:21-28:
At that time, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. And behold, a Canaanite woman of that district came and called out, “Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David! My daughter is tormented by a demon.” But Jesus did not say a word in answer to her. Jesus’ disciples came and asked him, “Send her away, for she keeps calling out after us.” He said in reply, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But the woman came and did Jesus homage, saying, “Lord, help me.” He said in reply, “It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters.” Then Jesus said to her in reply, “O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And the woman’s daughter was healed from that hour.

God's will, written in my neighbor

Luis CASASUS President of the Idente Missionaries

Rome, August 16, 2026 | XX Sunday in Ordinary Time

Is 56:1.6-7; Rom 11:13-15.29-32; Mt 15:21-28

Before discussing the protagonist of the encounter with Jesus in today’s Gospel reading, we might ask ourselves why Christ undertook such a long journey from Jerusalem to Tyre and Sidon, a pagan land inhabited by Gentiles who—like the Egyptians or the Babylonians—were also historical enemies of Israel.

He was setting out to set an example, personally, of how we should invite all kinds of people to enjoy the kingdom of heaven, to experience the joy of serving—just like that woman who did not hesitate to expose her reputation to the disciples’ criticism: a Gentile woman—and therefore a sinner—approaching a Jewish Teacher! And the Gospel does not record the comments of her Canaanite compatriots, which would have been no less cruel…

Earlier, at the beginning of his apostolic ministry, Jesus had spoken to a Samaritan woman (Jn 4), surprising his disciples by breaking down all cultural and religious barriers in this way.

The Jews called Gentiles “dogs,” using a derogatory term, but Jesus uses the word “little dogs” (kynarion) when speaking with the Canaanite woman. This was actually an act of kindness, for in this way he did not equate her with stray, dirty, and abandoned dogs, but rather with pets that lived with their masters and came to the table to enjoy a few scraps of food.

The woman, distressed by her daughter’s illness, cleverly took advantage of Jesus’ reasoning, knowing that anything she received from Him—even a crumb—would be decisive for her daughter. She did not mind hearing from the Master’s own lips: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel,” because, of course, Jesus was not going to find any of those sheep in the lands of Tyre and Sidon; thus, her feminine intuition and sensitivity told her that something special and different was about to happen. So, she clung to faith, which does not consist in knowing and believing a series of truths, but in placing oneself in the hands of the One who proves Himself to be the Truth.

Unlike his followers, whom he calls men of little faith, Christ knows that the Magi, the centurion who approached him, and that Canaanite woman have “great faith”; they have welcomed the touch of the Holy Spirit, who is undoubtedly ready to lead them down a new and fruitful path—as James would later say:

You believe that God is one. You do well; even the demons believe—and tremble. But are you willing to admit, O vain man, that faith without works is barren? (James 2:19–20).

Faith leads us to embrace even the smallest crumb, if we are certain it comes from Christ. Those small crumbs may be an opportunity to do a good deed, any act of service, which we must not despise, for it fulfills Jesus’ saying: Whoever is faithful in little things is also faithful in much (Lk: 16:10).

In fact, at times Providence chooses to use us as unexpected instruments for the good of our neighbor. This is what St. Paul sees today in the community of former Roman pagans who embraced the faith:

You, who were once disobedient to God, have now received mercy because of their disobedience. In the same way, they, who are now disobedient, will also receive mercy because of the mercy shown to you.

—ooOoo—

Looking at today’s Gospel account, one might object to all of the above by pointing out that the Canaanite woman and the Samaritan woman had a significant “advantage”—that is, a face-to-face encounter with Christ—after which one saw her daughter healed instantly and the other also immediately became an apostle. And yet, some of us have experienced struggling with all our hearts and pleading with God to end the suffering of a loved one—even to suffer in their place, if possible—and… nothing seems to happen.

We are not talking about intellectual aridity or apathy, but rather a profound sense of frustration, thinking that we are honestly trying to imitate Christ by offering our lives for someone else—and… nothing seems to happen.

The most valuable explanation is not some theological reasoning, but the reality that Christ Himself had that experience. That is why, in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed in anguish for relief from His suffering for the sins of others: If it is possible, let this cup pass from me; and likewise, on the cross, He cried out: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? And, most importantly: Jesus’ pain is not in vain, bringing about nothing less than our salvation from sin and the opportunity to be united with Him from this moment on.

Our perspective is not eternal; we know that God sees the whole picture of life, while human beings see only the present moment. A profound historical and spiritual reflection of what we have just described is Saint Monica’s persistence in prayer amid a divine silence that lasted for decades.

She experienced firsthand the anguish of pleading with all her soul for a loved one—her son, Augustine of Hippo—while, for nearly 30 years, nothing seemed to happen, and the situation even worsened.

Monica did not witness an immediate miracle like the Canaanite woman did. Her son was drifting further and further away from the faith, indulging in excesses and embracing philosophies contrary to what she had taught him. St. Augustine himself wrote in his *Confessions* that his mother shed more tears over his spiritual death than a natural mother would shed over her son’s corpse.

In desperation, Monica turned to a bishop to intercede on her behalf. Seeing her persistence and her tears, he said something to her that became a key source of inspiration for those who suffer for others: “Go in peace, for it is impossible for a son to be lost when so many tears have been shed for him.” Augustine himself compares God to a surgeon. He said that the patient cries out for the pain of the scalpel to stop, but the doctor ignores the momentary plea in order to achieve a definitive cure.

—ooOoo—

Does Christ change because of the Canaanite woman’s courageous persistence? In reality, the Divine Persons cannot change their essence, but as authentic Persons—and in particular, Christ as a true man—He experienced genuine surprise, learning, and emotion.

The Gospel notes that Jesus grew in wisdom and stature (Lk 2:52). Clearly, he was not an impassive spectator; he allowed the pain, faith, and boldness of others to alter his plans and his emotions. This is demonstrated by his encounter with the Canaanite woman, his amazement at the faith of the Roman centurion (Mt 8), and his weeping as he shared in the grief of Martha and Mary at the death of Lazarus.

From our perspective, we can say that our prayer does not change God or alter his plans; rather, recognizing our own need and smallness before God opens the door to true ecstasy—a stepping outside of ourselves that manifests in a profound change, especially in the way we love. This is how the Holy Spirit cultivates our spiritual sensitivity.

The encounter with the Canaanite woman should make us reflect on how we live out our encounters with every person. I remember telling our Founder, Fernando Rielo, that every time we encounter someone, we are no longer the same person. This goes beyond the effects on our soul (emotional contagion, mental stimulation, empathy, fear, compassion…); he explains it simply in his book Transfigurations, saying: God is more present in the heart of your neighbor than in your own.

One way to understand this is to recall the life of St. Maximilian Kolbe (1894–1941), whose feast day we celebrated on the 14th. Maximilian lived an exemplary life, devoted to his mission, but while in the concentration camp, he was moved by the anguish of Franciszek Gajowniczek, a prisoner condemned to death, and managed to take his place so that his children would not be left orphaned.

The pain, the aspirations, the limitations, and the dreams of my neighbor are a true message from Christ that always invites me to take one more step. Let us acknowledge that our attitude is often more like that of the disciples: turning away from the person we see as a nuisance, who approaches at an inopportune moment, “crying out” like the Canaanite woman, or trying to impose their views and their way of doing things.

It does not occur to us to think—as we recalled last Sunday—that we are called to be the feet of Christ, bringing his presence to those who neither expected it nor could believe in it.

St. Teresa of Ávila already affirmed in her famous prayer: Christ has no body now but yours; he has no hands but yours; he has no feet but yours. God’s silence is often broken when we become his response to others.

To help bring this to mind, I would like to illustrate it with an anecdote that became famous in the postwar period, when Europe was plunged into an extreme crisis of orphanhood and shortages. It is the story “Jesus’ Shoes.”

One freezing winter, a boy of about ten stood barefoot in front of a clothing store window. He was standing on the frozen concrete, shivering violently through his worn-out clothes, his eyes fixed on a pair of thick leather shoes.

A woman passing by on the street noticed the scene. Seeing the boy’s bare, bruised feet, her heart ached. She approached him, placed her hand on his shoulder, and asked:

“What are you looking at so intently, little one?”

The boy, without taking his eyes off the window, replied in a trembling voice:

“I was asking God to give me a pair of those shoes.”

The woman smiled tenderly, took him by the hand, and led him into the store. She asked the clerk for half a dozen pairs of thick socks and a basin of warm water and some towels. She took the boy to the back of the store, knelt down before him, and began to wash his frozen feet.

The warm water brought color back to the boy’s skin. The woman gently dried his feet, put a pair of new socks on him, and then helped him try on the leather shoes he had longed for so much. They fit him perfectly. She bought the rest of the socks, handed them to him in a bag, and, stroking his head, said:

“I hope you’re more comfortable now.”

When the woman turned to leave, the boy—stunned and with tears in his eyes—grabbed the sleeve of her coat. Looking at her in utter amazement, he asked an innocent question that touched her soul:

“Ma’am… are you God’s wife?”

The woman crouched down to his level, smiled at him, and whispered in his ear:

“No, little one. I’m not His wife. I’m just one of His daughters trying to lend Him my feet so He can walk through this world.”

_____________________________

In the Sacred Hearts of Jesus, Mary and Joseph,

Luis CASASUS

President