I preached this sermon on Sunday, August 17, 2026 at St. Anne Episcopal Church, West Chester, OH. The lectionary text cited is Matthew 15:21-28, Jesus’ encounter with the Canaanite woman.
You know that saying, “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans”? I’ve also found it to be true that encountering God is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.
One day in Fort Wayne, Indiana, not long after I was ordained as a priest, it was lunchtime and I wanted one thing and one thing only: Arby’s. Now, I don’t really go to Arby’s very often, but on this particular day I was seized with a powerful craving for curly fries and one of those huge roast beef sandwiches with horsey sauce. I am not ashamed to admit this!
Now, Arby’s wasn’t too far from that church, so I decided I’d just walk over there. I remember, though, that I was in a bit of a hurry—I had some meetings that afternoon. But in any event, as I walked into the parking lot, heading toward the front door, dreaming of that roast beef sandwich, I ran into a man who we’ll call “Jim.” Jim was standing there in the middle of the Arby’s parking lot, rail thin and his clothing worn and dirty, with a big grin on his face.
“Hello Father!” he said. “Boy, am I glad to see you!” Now, I had never met Jim before, but he seemed to know me—maybe the collar made me a familiar figure in his eyes. In any event, I stopped to talk to him, though I will confess to you that I had to force myself to slow down and pivot from my single-minded pursuit of lunch. Because Jim clearly wanted to talk.
And boy did he talk. In the span of more than a few minutes, I learned more than I could have ever imagined about Jim’s life and his background and what had led him to sleep in a tent in a park not too far from downtown, as he was doing in those days.
He was not in a good way—his health was poor and he couldn’t find regular shelter and he said there were mean people out on the streets sometimes—but he was nonetheless an enthusiastic and smiling sort of guy. He asked me to pray with him, which I did, and he asked if I could help him buy some lunch, which I did, and then he went on his way. And it’s funny, I’m sure I eventually ate that roast beef sandwich, but I don’t really remember it clearly. Jim was the reason I had walked to Arby’s that day.
This was not the last time that I saw him—not by a long shot. Over the course of my four years in Fort Wayne, I got to know him very, very well. He came to Sunday services pretty regularly, both to ask for a little help and to receive Communion at the altar rail. We cheered him on when he got a job and a place to stay and I listened and prayed with him when he lost that job because of various personal struggles.
One Sunday we baptized Jim, and I was one of his sponsors. Oh, how he smiled that day. He was a complicated person: simultaneously happy, frustrating, determined, sweet-natured, unpredictable, and always, always showing up at church right when I was trying to work on something else. But I am so glad he found me that day in the Arby’s parking lot and kept showing up.
Because the thing is—and this is as true for those of us who wear collars as anyone else—we can too easily miss God when God shows up. Because so many of us are taught what sacred things are supposed to look and feel like: beautiful, grand, whole, full, safe, pleasant. The Kingdom we dream of is one populated by healthy people and uncomplicated pleasures.
And yet, the utter strangeness of the way of Jesus is that God comes to us very differently. God comes to us, yes, God is all around us, but more often than not it is in an Arby’s parking lot on a Tuesday afternoon when we were not looking for him. Our God is a God of holy interruptions more than of best laid plans. And the sooner we realize this, the sooner we become attentive to this, the more our lives will be changed.
Today’s story from Matthew, which builds on the ones we’ve heard over the past couple of weeks, is a perfect example. Because this God of Holy Interruptions even comes to Jesus, who is already God, who already knows a lot about interrupting the assumptions of others.
Jesus did so when he fed the 5,000 with just a little bit of food and he did so when he met the disciples, walking in the middle of the stormy lake. And yet, today, it is Jesus who is interrupted. It is Jesus to whom the surprising nature of Divine truth is revealed. And this time, this God of Holy Interruptions show up in the form of a Canaanite woman.
I don’t mean she is an angel in disguise, exactly. I just mean God showed up in her. We don’t hear much about her backstory, but somehow I imagine her a bit like Jim—standing in the middle of the city, thin and threadbare, desperate for help, and yet strangely bright and ebullient. Hello Lord! Boy, am I glad to see you!
Now, presumably Jesus had his mind on something more important than Arby’s, but nonetheless, he seems reluctant to slow down for this interruption. He has a clear vision of what his mission is—to first help Israel; to call his people back to the heart of God. It’s a good mission.
But this Canaanite woman, outside the fold of Israel, has other ideas in mind. She needs help now, not on some far off day. And she is willing to go toe to toe with Jesus, willing to risk ridicule or rejection for the sake of her daughter, willing to risk it because when you love that deeply you become bold. You become brave.
And Jesus—who has already been preaching and teaching about the boldness and the bravery of a life made urgent by the hunger for love and mercy—well, he suddenly sees his own teaching staring back at him. Just not, perhaps, in the way he expected.
When I think of this Canaanite woman, I can’t help but think of a different passage we didn’t hear today—that of Lady Wisdom in the Book of Proverbs. She is another embodiment of God, crying out in the marketplace of the city. She says,
To you, O people, I call, and my cry is to all who live…Hear, for I will speak noble things, and from my lips will come what is right, for my mouth will utter truth.
I may be going out on a limb, but I think that Jesus met Lady Wisdom in the city that day. I think he saw divine truth shining from the face of a determined mother willing to savor even just the crumbs of heaven. I think she reminded him that Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.
And I think she comes to all of us, this Lady Wisdom, often as a holy interruption, to rouse us from our daily sleepwalking, to attune us to the opportunities right in front of us to step within the gates of the real kingdom of God. It is not just far off somewhere else, somewhere pretty. It is very near—as near as an Arby’s parking lot, or wherever someone calls you back to the task of loving whoever or whatever is in front of you.
Have you ever been interrupted, friends? Have you ever found your carefully laid plans thrown off course? It can be hard, and even heartbreaking. But if it happens, when it happens, still try and look for the God of Holy Interruptions. Look for her crying out in the marketplace. Look for him grinning at you with a strange light in his eyes. And if the plans you made were not to be, then so be it. Perhaps the interruption will be your new beginning instead.
Since moving away a few years ago, I don’t know what has become of Jim. I pray that, wherever he is, he remembers that he is loved, that he was baptized as a beloved child of God, and that Jesus walks with him always.
And although I can’t necessarily tell him face to face, I hope he knows that his holy interruptions were, for me, an encounter with grace. That they fed me in a way that no roast beef sandwich ever could. And that he taught me to open my eyes a bit wider, to walk a bit slower, and to be ready for Wisdom when she appears, even while I am busy making other plans.
And when she does appear, now I’ll know exactly what to say:
Hello, God! Boy, am I glad to see you.
By Another Road 