Homilies
Crumbs for a Feast
Holy Spirit take my words and speak to each of us according to our needs.
There is a moment in our Eucharist that always causes me to pause. Just before we receive Communion, where we pray together the prayer of Humble Access: "We do not presume to come to this your table, merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in your manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under your table. But you are the same Lord, whose nature is always to have mercy."
Those words, have been prayed for centuries. They are familiar, comforting and loved, yet sometimes deeply misunderstood. If we hear only the phrase, "We are not worthy," we might wonder why we are asked to speak about ourselves in that way. Surely the Gospel tells us that every human being is made in God's image and is infinitely loved by God. It does!
So what are we really saying? To understand those words, we need to look to a remarkable woman found in today’s scripture.
She is not one of Jesus' disciples. She is not part of the religious establishment. She is not even part of Israel. Matthew simply tells us she is a Canaanite woman, a foreigner, someone whom many would have assumed, at that time, was outside the circle of God's promises.
Yet, she comes to Jesus because her daughter is suffering. She has reached the point where love leaves pride behind. When someone you love is hurting, dignity becomes less important than hope. Some of us might know that feeling having sat beside hospital beds, waited for scan results, worried about children or grandchildren, or prayed for relationships that seem beyond repair. We know what it is to arrive before God with empty hands and a full heart, aching.
She cries, "Lord, have mercy." At first there is silence. The disciples want her sent away. Then Jesus says words that seem most unChristlike. "It is not fair to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs." But there is something important hidden in the translation.
Jesus does not use the ordinary word for dogs, the word that would refer to the scavenging dogs that wandered the streets and ate whatever they could find. Those dogs would have been regarded as unclean because they ate anything, including food that Jewish people would never eat, such as pork.
Instead, Jesus uses a different word: kynaria, a word referring to household dogs. These are not the wild animals outside. These are the animals that belong in the household. They may not have a place at the table in the same way as the children, but they belong within the home. They are part of the household.
And that changes how we hear the conversation. Jesus is still challenging her. He is gently testing the boundaries of her faith. But he is not simply saying, "You are an outsider and therefore you have no place here."
The image is much more subtle. She may not yet have a place at the table because she is not Jewish. But even the household animals are close enough to the table to receive what falls from it.
The woman gets the allusion and replies with courage: "Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master's table." What a remarkable answer. In effect she says, "Yes, Lord. I understand what you are saying. But if these household animals belong close enough to the family table to receive the crumbs, then surely there is enough mercy in you for me."
She does not walk away. She does not allow the label "outsider" to have the final word. She does not argue about whether she deserves God's love. She simply trusts that God's mercy is bigger than every human boundary. She is saying, "Lord, I know who you are. If I can receive even the smallest measure of your mercy, it will be enough."
Jesus immediately responds, "Woman, great is your faith." She came asking for crumbs. He gives complete healing. She came hoping for enough. She leaves having received abundance. That is the story hidden inside the prayer we say every Sunday.
When Thomas Cranmer wrote the Prayer of Humble Access, he deliberately echoed this conversation. He wanted every worshipper approaching Holy Communion to stand where this woman stood. Not because we are worthless. Not because God wants us to think badly of ourselves. But because every one of us comes to Christ in exactly the same way. Not with achievements, qualifications or perfect faith. But with trust in God's mercy.
The Canaanite woman did not allow someone else's definition of her to determine her relationship with God. We too can spend years believing the labels other people have put upon us. Failure. Difficult. Not good enough. Outsider. Sometimes we even put those labels on ourselves. And then Jesus comes along and asks us to see ourselves differently. Perhaps we have mistaken not being worthy for not being loved. They are not the same thing. When we pray, "We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under your table," we are not saying, "God does not want me." We are saying, "I cannot earn what God is giving me." That is very different.
We also pray those words after we have already confessed our sins and heard God's absolution. God has already declared his forgiveness. So, the prayer is not asking, "Will God accept me?" It is the grateful response of people who already know the answer. It says, "Lord, I know I have nothing to bring except my need, but I also know that your mercy is greater than my need."
Our world constantly tells us that everything has to be earned. You study to earn exam results. You work hard to earn promotions. You build your reputation. Without noticing it, we begin to imagine God works like that too. Niggling thoughts creep into our minds - Perhaps God welcomes those who pray better than I do. Perhaps God loves those more, who never doubt. Then we arrive at the altar. Here achievement counts for nothing. Grace counts for everything. No one earns a place here, yet everyone is invited to come
Victor Hugo captured something of this in Les Misérables. Jean Valjean steals silver from the bishop who has welcomed him into his home. When he is caught by the police and brought back, everyone expects condemnation. Justice would be to send him to prison. Instead the bishop says, "You forgot these," and hands him the silver candlesticks as well. And in one surprising act of mercy, Valjean's entire future changes.
He expected judgement but he received grace. That moment becomes the turning point of his life. Mercy does not excuse what he has done but it gives him the possibility of transforming who he becomes. Isn't that the Gospel?
We can see similar moments throughout our history too. When Nelson Mandela walked out of prison after twenty-seven years, the world expected revenge. Many assumed that bitterness would have the final word. Instead Mandela chose reconciliation. That choice did not erase the past, nor did it pretend injustice had never happened. But it refused to allow hatred to determine the future. People expected division. Instead they witnessed forgiveness opening the possibility of a new beginning.
Grace is like that. It does not deny reality. It creates a future that seemed impossible. We can see echoes of that same grace today. Think of someone who has not entered a church for years. Perhaps they left after a painful experience. Perhaps they convinced themselves that everyone would remember the worst thing they had ever done. Eventually, with great courage, they step through the doors again. They expect awkward questions. They expect suspicion. Instead, someone smiles, shakes their hand and simply says, "It's so good to see you." That one sentence can become the beginning of healing. They expected crumbs. They found a place of welcome and grace.
That is the message of the Gospel. Again and again people come to Jesus expecting the minimum. Again and again he gives abundance. He gives them their dignity and restores their standing. The woman asks for crumbs; He heals her daughter. The paralysed man comes hoping to walk; Jesus forgives his sins as well. The thief on the cross asks simply to be remembered; Jesus promises him paradise. We come asking for forgiveness; Christ gives us a new identity as beloved children of God.
Because everything depends upon the character of God. "You are the same Lord, whose nature is always to have mercy." The wonderful irony is that we pray about crumbs while standing before a feast. Which brings us back to the altar. The bread placed in our hands may seem small. The sip from the chalice may be modest. But what we receive is not a small gift. We receive Christ himself. His life. His love. His forgiveness. His hope. His presence. The Canaanite woman thought that just a crumb would be enough. Instead she discovered God’s mercy had room for her all along.
And so do we. Every time we pray the Prayer of Humble Access, we are standing beside her. We are saying, "Lord, I am not trusting in myself. I am trusting in you." And every time Christ gives the same invitation. "Draw near." Come to the table. Receive the Bread of Heaven. Receive the Cup of Salvation. Receive not just crumbs, but the whole gift of Christ. Then go into the world and become people who live the same generous grace.
Where others expect criticism, offer encouragement. Where others expect exclusion, offer welcome. Where others expect only crumbs of kindness, offer it in abundance.
Because that is exactly what God has done for us. When we thought we were standing beneath the table, Christ was already inviting us closer.
The table was always bigger than we imagined. The mercy was always greater than we believed. And the feast was always more abundant than the crumbs we thought we deserved.
Thanks be to God.