Silence, as nearly everyone knows, can be used as a weapon. A spouse is angry and hardly speaks five words all day. Perhaps they are silent because they cannot trust themselves to speak without saying things that should be left unsaid, or because they are so hurt and overwhelmed that coherent speech is impossible; but too often silence is a weapon. So, what are we to think about Jesus when he gives the silent treatment?
The story is told in Matthew 15 and in Mark 7. A Greek-speaking Canaanite woman, born in Syrian Phoenicia, learns that Jesus has come to town and goes to him to request healing for her daughter, whose illness she believes has been caused by an “unclean spirit.”
The fact that Matthew characterizes her as a Canaanite is worth noting. Canaanites were among Israel’s greatest enemies in Old Testament times, and were “the most morally despised” of all Israel’s neighbors, according to Craig Keener. Matthew’s description of this woman would agitate any first century Jew with racist tendencies. Clearly, the woman faced serious obstacles in approaching Jesus for a favor.
It is easy to imagine this mother, who has suffered along with her daughter, hearing that Jesus, the well-known healer, is in town. She would give anything to free her daughter from her terrible situation. She is determined to see Jesus and ask for his help. Nothing can deter her.
When she finds Jesus, she boldly – should we say rudely? – intrudes upon him, begging for her daughter’s deliverance. And how does Jesus respond to this woman, whose heart was breaking for her little girl? He gives her the silent treatment. He heard her pleas, knew her distress, and yet walked away without saying a word.
The desperate woman followed, “crying after” him, pleading for help. This either embarrassed or annoyed Jesus’s disciples, and they asked him to “send her away.” Jesus did not do that, but neither did he respond to the woman. He continued the silent treatment.
With the woman following them, crying for help, Jesus entered the house where he was staying (perhaps a first century version of an Airbnb), but left the door unlocked, and the woman boldly followed him right into the house. She got down on her knees and implored him: “Lord, help me.”
Finally, Jesus spoke. But what he said was not what she wanted to hear, and most people would have taken it as a racial insult: “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.” Undeterred, the woman pressed her case: “Yes, Lord,” she said, “but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Matthew says that Jesus responded to this by saying, “Woman, you have great faith!” and he healed her daughter.
It is a challenging passage for the biblical exegete. I can think of no scholar who suggests that Jesus was racist or mean, but what else can explain his refusal to answer? If he was not using silence as a weapon, what was he doing?
I am not sure I understand what Jesus was doing, at least, not fully. But I am sure that his silence was not a weapon. Quite the contrary, his silence seems to have been an invitation to the woman to keep asking; that is what happened. Jesus could have turned this poor mother away, as his disciples requested, but he did not. His silence resulted in focusing her faith on him and causing it to deepen.
No doubt, there was more going on than that. And when I am the one pleading for an answer, but Jesus and his Father remain silent, there is also more going on than that. The silence can focus my faith on Jesus himself and on his Father rather than on my trouble and my desire. And faith only grows when it is so focused.
Faith is not a substance, like one of Professor Snape’s magical potions. Faith functions as a relational bond that makes it possible for persons to cooperate with, share with, understand, and enjoy one another. God is in relationship with every creature he has made (the relationship of creator to creature), but the possibility of cooperating with him while enjoying and deepening that relationship is only available to those who exercise faith.
We should never assume that Jesus’s silence is a punishment. It may be the opportunity we need to exercise faith, see it grow, and develop our relationship with him.
So when the questions dissolve into the silence of God
The aching may remain but the breaking does not
The aching may remain but the breaking does not
In the holy, lonesome echo of the silence of God. – Andrew Peterson




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