Because They Feared God

Exodus 1:8-2:10

August 23, 2026

 

There is a key moment in the movie It’s a Wonderful Life when George Bailey has been granted his wish to have never been born. He doesn’t understand the insight that he’s been given at first, and along with his guardian angel, Clarence, he goes into his hometown of Bedford Falls and is scared and angry at the changes that he sees. Goerge and Clarence go to what should have been a nice, clean housing development that the Bailey Building and Loan has worked to build. Instead, he finds a cemetery, and in the cemetery, he finds the gravestone of his younger brother Harry.

George argues with Clarence that Harry Bailey is still alive. Harry Bailey is a war hero and the whole town is gearing up for a huge celebration for his homecoming and for the honor he received. Harry Bailey saved a whole transport ship of men from being killed when their ship came under fire. But Clarence tells George that on that cold winter’s day so long ago, Harry died when he fell through the ice on a frozen pond and drowned. And that whole transport ship of soldiers? They all died because Harry wasn’t there to save them because George wasn’t there to save Harry.

Even before Clarence tells George that it is strange how one person’s life touches so many others, those of us watching the scene play out recognize that truth. George’s life has touched so many others. George saved his little brother Harry from drowning when they were kids. Harry grew up and saved a transport of soldiers. Who knows if any of these soldiers when on to save other people? The point is that without George in the world, living in his life, the consequences are greater and more widespread than he could imagine.

I think we see this truth in scripture as well. When we talk about Moses being called to liberate the Israelites from enslavement in Egypt, we have to go back in time and consider the women who ensured that Moses could be born so that he could be called to liberate his people from Egypt. Moses’ story does not begin with a burning bush, nor does it begin with a basket on the Nile. Moses’ story begins with two women named Shiphrah and Puah.

First, it is remarkable that we know their names. Women often go unnamed in scripture, so to know the names of these midwives is a gift. Shiphrah and Puah were two midwives to the Hebrew women and Pharaoh commanded their presence. There is some debate as to whether these two women were Egyptians who midwifed the Hebrew women or whether they were Israelites. Dr. Wilda Gafney analyzes the etymology of their names and concludes that they are Israelites. Because of her scholarship, I am going to stick with the assumption that Puah and Shiphrah are Israelites as well.

So, these two midwives, who were part of the enslaved people under Egypt’s thumb, were ordered to come before Pharaoh. Pharoah gives them a terrible directive. He is terrified of the Israelites and their growing numbers, and he wants to stop their increase. From the very beginning of these verses we know that trouble is coming. This Pharoah is new to the throne, and what’s worse is that he does not know Joseph. The word know is better interpreted as remember. Generations have passed since Jospeh was alive, but the Pharoah should know that history. But he did not know or remember Joseph, and all that Joseph did to save the Egyptians from starvation during famine, or of Joseph’s close ties to the previous pharaoh. This new guy did not remember or know any of that, or maybe he didn’t care. But what he does know is that Israelites are many in number, and he does not like that at all. So, he decides to deal with what one scholar called, “the Hebrew problem.”

He directs these two women, who were responsible for bringing life into the world, instead to act to end life before it begins.

“When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live.”

Surely these two women were horrified by the decree Pharoah gave them. Gafney envisions that there were probably many more midwives than just Puah and Shiphrah, and that perhaps these two women were the heads of a midwifery association of sorts. She imagines that they go back and call a meeting and tell the other midwives what Pharoah has directed them to do, and then they come up with a plan to thwart this evil order. And it would seem that their plan was to continue on as usual. We won’t do anything. We’ll just let the babies be born as they are born until Pharoah notices.

Pharaoh notices. I suspect that when the king sent them out to do his dirty work, he never thought he would have to deal with these midwives again. But the Israelites were still multiplying in number and his Hebrew problem was not going away. So, he summoned the two women once more. They must have had their response rehearsed because at least from what we read in the text there is no hesitation in their reply. When Pharoah asks,

“Why have you done this, and allowed the boys to live?”

Shiphrah and Puah reply, “Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous and give birth before the midwife comes to them.”

We can’t stop the baby boys from living, Pharoah. These women are so strong that they give birth before we can even get to them to help, to do our job. Moses leads his people out of enslavement in Egypt because Puah and Shiphrah ensure that no baby boys will be killed on their watch. Pharoah will have to find another way. And sadly he does. If killing the baby boys as they’re being born doesn’t work, then they must be killed afterward. He then orders that the Hebrew baby boys should be thrown in the Nile.

We don’t know if Puah and Shiphrah or another midwife was present at Moses’ birth, but we know that his mother looked at him and saw that he was a fine boy. In Hebrew these words are the same as God looking at his creation in Genesis and seeing that it was good. This child is part of God’s creation and he is good. But because he was a baby boy, he was supposed to be thrown into the Nile, yet Moses’ mother is not going to destroy God’s good creation. She is not going to be the instrument of her child’s death. She hides her son for three months. But after three months, a baby gets much harder to hide. So she takes a new action. She covers a basket in bitumen and pitch, the same materials that Noah used to waterproof the ark. In fact, the Hebrew word for basket in these verses is the same word used for the ark. Basket, ark, ark, basket. Just as the ark ensured that life would continue even in a catastrophic flood, so Moses’ mother ensures that life will continue in spite of Pharoah’s deadly orders.

Moses’ mother places her baby boy in this tiny ark and sets him in the reeds on the edge of the Nile. In this way, she obeys Pharoah, thwarting his wicked plan in a way he probably could not have imagined. But this did not mean that Moses was safe. His mother knew she was taking a great risk in doing this. She knew that her son may still not survive. Moses’ older sister, Miriam, is told to watch from a distance and see what happens.

It was Miriam who saw Pharoah’s own daughter find the little ark. It was Miriam who watched as Pharoah’s daughter opened the basket and discovered the baby boy. Pharoah’s daughter knew immediately that this was a Hebrew baby, and she must have known what was supposed to happen. But she took pity on the baby. She felt compassion for the baby. Even being a member of Pharoah’s household could not make her do her father’s vile deed. She did not throw this baby out into the river to his death. She saved him. Miriam steps out of her watching place and tells Pharoah’s daughter that she can find a nurse for the baby. When the other woman agreed, Miriam goes and brings Moses’ mother to her. This is strange and wonderful twist because not only did Moses’ mother save her child, but she is also given her baby back to nurse and is paid for doing it. When the boy is old enough to leave his mother, she brings him back to Pharoah’s daughter to raise as her own son. Moses’ mother ensured that her son would live, and the compassion that Pharoah’s daughter felt for the baby ensured that he would be raised in the household of the king.

Moses brought his people out of slavery because these women made certain that Moses could be born at all. Why did they do this? The answer for Puah and Shiphrah is stated clearly. They feared God. They feared God far more than they feared Pharoah. And other women? Moses’ mother saw the goodness of God’s creation in her baby boy, and maybe she feared harming that creation, that which is good. Even more, she was a mother, and she loved her child. She could not do what Pharoah commanded because she loved her child. Miriam, still a girl, must have loved her mother and her brother enough to stand guard, to stand watch, to act quickly and shrewdly when she saw Pharoah’s daughter discover the ark where her brother lay. And Pharoah’s daughter proved that compassion and kindness can win out over evil, even if that evil lives close to home.

Because they feared God. I’ll be honest, I struggle with the whole fear God aspect. I was brought up both to fear God who could annihilate me and to see God as a loving shepherd who loves me. It got confusing. But while I don’t spend most days afraid that God will strike me down or that God’s enormous foot will come down from the heavens and stomp me out of existence, it gives me pause to think of meeting God face-to-face one day and being asked hard questions. I do fear meeting God and being asked, “Why?” Why did I see injustice and not speak up? Why did I see someone hurting and pull back my hand instead of reaching out? Why did I stumble so many times while I was trying to follow Jesus, trying to live the good news, trying to live as though the kingdom of God is already here? Why did I live in fear?

Because they feared God. These women feared God. They respected God. They loved God. They feared God more than they feared Pharoah, and it must have been terrifying to defy Pharoah. But they did it anyway. And that’s the point. God calls us to act with courage, to live boldly, in spite of our fears. And that is what we must do because we fear God more than we fear those who deal in death. And we are not alone. God is mentioned very little in these verses. But God is there, with them, and God is here. With us. With us. Thanks be to God.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

 

 

 

 

Great Is Your Faith

Matthew 15:21-28

August 16, 2026

 

            “Across the world, in every culture, in every time, in every imaginable crisis, mums have gone looking for their children.”

            This is a quote from Dr. Sarita Robinson, a United Kingdom survival psychologist, and it is said in the new limited series, Pompeii: Out of Time. This series is currently streaming, and it is brilliant. It is a retelling, a reimagining, and a reconstruction of what happened on that terrible day in 79 AD when Mount Vesuvius erupted and destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum and affected other communities along the Bay of Naples. Tapping into the sciences of volcanology, archaeology, classics, and psychology, the series seeks to recreate what would have happened on Pompeii’s last day.

            One of the scientists that was consulted for the series was Dr. Robinson, and she says these words about mothers in relation to the story of a young boy, Avi, who it is believed, based on archaeological evidence, to have escaped from the city. Tom Hiddleston, the show’s host, producer, and driving force, comments to Dr. Robinson that Avi must have faced the terror of that day alone. But Dr. Robinson says that he may not have been alone, at least not the whole time, and then she says these words.

            “Across the world, in every culture, in every time, in every imaginable crisis, mums have gone looking for their children.”

            Her point was that even in the midst of a horrific crisis, such as a volcano erupting, a mother will not stop looking for her child. And even though the woman in our story from Matthew’s gospel is not caught up in a natural disaster, her child, her daughter is facing another kind of disaster, another kind of crisis. She is being tormented by a demon.

            Thinking about what this survival psychologist said about moms (and dads too) made me want to begin this sermon by first asking questions of the woman we encounter in our story rather than turning our questions on Jesus. In the past, I have done the opposite. I’ve focused solely on what Jesus says and does, because this is a story where his response to someone does not resonate or jive with the Jesus that we think we know. This is one of those hard stories about Jesus which requires us to ask hard questions of him, but first I want to know about this woman.  

            In Mark’s gospel, the other gospel where we read this account, she is a Syrophoenician woman. But in Matthew’s gospel, she is referred to as a Canaanite. The Canaanites were not a nation per se, but groups of people living in a particular region. Even though they were not a nation state, Canaanites were considered enemies of Israel from the earliest days of Israel’s existence. When this woman approached Jesus, that ancient enmity and all that it implies would not have been lost on the woman, on the disciples, or on Jesus. She is an Other. Perhaps she is the most Other of the many Others that Jesus encounters. She is an Other because of her culture. She is an Other because of her gender. She is an Other because of the circumstances of her birth. She is an Other. I grew up in the last years of the Cold War, and if I had been called upon to describe someone who was considered a complete Other to my life, my country, my way of thinking and living, I would have described a Russian. But every generation has its Others, so replace the word Canaanite with any person who might be an Other in your world, and you get the picture. But this woman, this Other, clearly recognizes Jesus for who he is, and she does not hesitate to approach him. Approach is too mild. She shouts at him. She yells at him, trying to get his attention. But notice that she uses the language of worship and reverence,

            “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.”

            Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David. I don’t think this is just sweet talk on the woman’s part. She recognizes Jesus and she recognizes that he is not just another guy who might have the ability to help some folks. She sees him and she recognizes something in him. But Jesus ignores her. If she was trying to butter him up, it didn’t work. He ignores her. She could shout till the heavens opened, but he will not acknowledge her.

Another person might have given up at this point. Another person might have walked away, cowed and intimidated at being ignored and rejected. But not this woman. She is undeterred. If Jesus thinks he will ignore her into submission, into leaving him alone, he needs to think again. The scripture passage makes it seem as though this all happens quickly, but in my mind I imagine that she continues to shout and follow and shout some more. She shouts so much and so long that the disciples can’t take it anymore. She is getting on their last collective nerve, so they ask him to send her away. Please Jesus, send her away, so she’ll stop shouting at us. Just make her stop.

But Jesus won’t be swayed, and in response to his disciples’ plea, he says something that would have devasted me if I had been in her place– it devastates me to read it now at a relatively safe and comfortable distance – he says that he has only come for the lost sheep of Israel. And though it is not said, it is implied that this woman is not one of those lost sheep. But even this does not put her off. This woman persists. She does not turn away. Instead she kneels before him, again in a posture of worship and reverence, and utters only three words,

“Lord, help me.”

            And when Jesus refuses even that simple request, telling her that it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs, she turns the table metaphor on him, saying,

            “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

            So, who was this woman? She was a Canaanite. She was an enemy. She was an Other. To so many people she would have been a nobody, without status, without power. But she would not be consigned to nobody status because she recognized Jesus and saw that there was something in him, something about him, that could help her daughter. But who was she? We will never know her specifics, but we do know one essential detail about her. She was a mother.

She was a mother. She was a mother with a daughter who was hurting and tormented. She was a mother, and her child needed help, and she was clearly prepared to endure whatever it took to get the help her daughter needed. She was a mother. And across the world, in every culture, in every time, in every imaginable crisis, mothers, and fathers, and parents of all kinds, will go looking for their child, and they will do whatever they must to get the help their child needs. They will go to whatever lengths it takes to find healing for their child, to protect their child, to defend their child. This woman was a mother, and Jesus could insult her if that’s what it took because she knew he could heal her daughter.

            In all of the ways that this woman is a stranger, a foreigner, an outsider and an Other, she is also universal. She is a mother with a sick child. She is the mother who demands answers and fights for justice for her child. She is the mother who will put her child in a boat because the sea has become safer than the land. She is the mother who will not stop asking, pleading, persisting, and enduring if that will get her child the help she needs. This foreign woman, this enemy woman is not so foreign after all. She is every one of us who loves someone so much, that we will do whatever it takes to get help for the one we love. She is a mother.

            Now, what about Jesus?

            I will not insult your intelligence or mine by trying to soften or excuse away what he says in this story. He insults this woman. There is no getting around it. Yes, it was a different time, and yes, we are dealing with translations, and yes, in the original Aramaic, maybe what he said would have a different meaning or carried a different connotation. But we have to deal with what is before us, and what is before is a Jesus who ignores this woman, who states categorically that he is only there for the lost sheep of Israel, and who then compares her request for her daughter to be healed to a dog getting the food that should have been given to the children.

            What really makes this so strange and difficult is that in the verses preceding these, Jesus tells a group of Pharisees who complain about Jesus’ disciples not following tradition and washing their hands before they eat, that it is not what comes into us that defiles us but what goes out of us, what comes out of our hearts and minds. And then he and the disciples leave there and go into Tyre and Sidon. Tyre and Sidon are gentile regions. If anything, Jesus and the disciples are now the Others and the foreigners and the strangers. So, he tells the Pharisees that what comes out of our hearts is what really defiles, and then he says terrible things to a mother with a sick daughter. And he preaches about the lost sheep of Israel in gentile land. None of it seems to make any sense.

            In the past when I have preached on this passage or its parallel in Mark, I have reached the conclusion that what is happening in this story is that Jesus needs to learn. Jesus is fully human which means that he is not immune to the biases and prejudices that we all experience. So, in this story, we see Jesus learning. I still believe that is true. I still think that this is a prime example of Jesus learning and growing and maturing into his ministry and into himself.

            But I think what Jesus learns is much more than what I have understood in the past. I don’t think that this is just Jesus learning when he is wrong, although that is part of it. I think that this is Jesus learning that God lives in people we don’t expect. God dwells in people we don’t like. God stares back at us from the eyes of people we consider Other.

            I think, I believe, that Jesus finally looks into the eyes of this woman and sees not just a woman of Canaan or an enemy or an Other, but he sees God. He sees every mother who is desperate for her child. He sees every father who will plead for the life of his loved one. After all, this is the Jesus who tells the story about a shepherd who will leave 99 sheep to go looking for the one that is lost. This is the Jesus who tells the story of a father who will not stop scanning the horizon looking for his lost son.

            This is the Jesus who makes a point of eating with everyone that good society rejects. Which is what makes this woman’s response about even the dogs eating crumbs from the master’s table so profound. Because this is the Jesus who intentionally and frequently opens up the table to the Others in this world. Jesus is the one who teaches us about making room at the table for all. This woman puts that back on him by asking that she be welcomed at the table too.

            If you are going to make the table open to all, then am I not included in that all? Do I not have a share in your good news? Maybe that is the biggest lesson of this story. Jesus learns and understands more completely that if the good news of the kingdom of God is really good news, then it is good news for everyone. It is not just good news for some, but for all. If it is really good news then it cannot be contained or limited. It is for everyone – for you, for me, and for this mother and her child. If the good news is truly good news, then it is good news for all. So, yes, this woman’s faith was great. Jesus saw that great faith in her and he learned from it. If the good news is good news, than it is good news for everyone. Jesus learned and understood this in a new way through this woman. May we do the same. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.