Yea, Lord

A Reflection on the Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

Beloved in Christ,

As contrary as it might seem, there are few words more difficult for us to say to God than these: “Yea, Lord.”

We can say, “Lord, have mercy.” We can say, “Lord, help me.” We can ask Him for strength, for healing, for forgiveness, for deliverance. Yet when the word of God reveals something about ourselves which we would rather not see, our prayer very easily acquires another word: “But.”

Yea, Lord… but Thou knowest what happened. Yea, Lord… but Thou knowest what they did first. Yes, Lord… but surely my anger was justified. Yea, Lord… but aren’t my circumstances are different? Yea, Lord… but I am not really as bad as all that, am I?

We may spend a remarkable portion of the spiritual life explaining ourselves to the One Who already knows us perfectly. The Canaanite woman in the Gospel reading today does something very different. She comes to Christ crying, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, Thou Son of David: my daughter is grievously troubled by the devil.” Her need is desperate. Her prayer is earnest. She asks nothing frivolous for herself, but mercy for her suffering child… And Christ answers her not a word. Still she remains.

The disciples grow weary of her crying and ask the Lord to send her away. Christ speaks of His mission to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. Still she remains.

She comes nearer. She adores Him. Her prayer, which began with a fuller confession and petition, has now been reduced almost to its barest form: “Lord, help me.”

Then comes the word which might easily have driven another person away: “It is not good to take the bread of the children, and to cast it to the dogs.” Here at last we might expect the woman to defend herself. But she does not. She says: “Yea, Lord.” And perhaps here we begin to understand why Christ will shortly say of her, “O woman, great is thy faith.”

For she does not argue with Him in order to obtain His mercy. She agrees with Him and casts herself upon His mercy all the more completely. “Yea, Lord; for the whelps also eat of the crumbs that fall from the table of their masters.”

She does not demand the children’s place. She does not insist upon her worthiness. She does not attempt to prove that the judgment spoken to her is unjust. She accepts the lowest place presented to her and from that lowest place she discovers a reason for hope: If I am not worthy of the bread, then give me a crumb; if I cannot claim anything as mine by right, then I will ask everything of Thy goodness; if I have no argument left concerning my own worthiness, then I have nothing left upon which to depend except Thy mercy.

This is humility, but it is not despair. Indeed, the humility of this woman makes her extraordinarily bold.

False humility says, “I am unworthy; therefore I shall go away.” Faith says, “I am unworthy; therefore I shall remain at the feet of the One Who is merciful.”

The Canaanite woman does not turn away from Christ because she has been brought low. She draws nearer. She does not cease asking because she cannot establish a claim upon Him. She asks because she knows that His goodness is greater than her claim. And so the crumb for which she asks becomes a feast. “O woman, great is thy faith: be it done to thee as thou wilt.” Her daughter is healed from that hour.

There is an important lesson here for our own repentance. Repentance becomes very difficult so long as we imagine its purpose to be the successful prosecution of a case against ourselves. We hear the commandments of Christ, we examine our conduct against them, and almost immediately the defense begins. There are explanations. There are mitigating circumstances. There are comparisons with people who have done worse. There are memories of injuries suffered. There are reasons why we behaved as we did. Some of those reasons may even be true. But none of them can cleanse the heart.

Saint Paul writes in the lesson of the Apostle for this Sunday: “You are the temple of the living God.” And because this is so, he continues: “Having therefore these promises, dearly beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from all defilement of the flesh and of the spirit, perfecting sanctification in the fear of God.” Notice that he speaks not only of defilement of the flesh, but also of the spirit.

There are sins which we readily recognize because they are outward and obvious. But the temple may also become cluttered with things much easier to defend: resentment, pride, envy, contempt, self-righteousness, the nursing of old injuries, the secret pleasure of another’s humiliation, the refusal to forgive. And when God places His finger upon one of these things, our instinct may be to explain why it belongs there.

But sanctification begins when we can finally say: “Yea, Lord.” Yes, Lord, this anger has become hatred… Yes, Lord, I have enjoyed thinking myself better than another… Yes, Lord, I have called resentment justice because I did not want to surrender it… Yes, Lord, I have demanded mercy for myself while measuring it carefully when another needed it… Yes, Lord, this thing which I have defended cannot remain in Thy temple. There is tremendous freedom in those words.

We sometimes fear that if we cease defending ourselves, nothing will remain but condemnation. The Gospel shows us something else. When the Canaanite woman stops with “Yea, Lord,” she does not fall into an abyss. She discovers mercy beneath her. This is because repentance is not an argument with an accuser who desires our destruction. It is an encounter with the Physician Who desires our healing.

We need not convince Him that we are better than we are. We need not hide the wound from the One Who came to heal it. We need not bargain over how much uncleanness may safely remain in the temple when the One Who desires to dwell there offers to cleanse it. The words “Yea, Lord” therefore do not mean that the Christian despises himself. They mean that he has finally ceased trusting in the necessity of proving himself right. And then he can pray as the woman prayed: “Lord, help me.” There may be times when that is nearly all the prayer we possess.

There are times when God seems silent, as Christ at first was silent before this woman. There are times when our prayer seems unanswered, when circumstances seem almost to contradict the mercy for which we are asking. There are times when all our eloquent prayers collapse beneath the weight of necessity and only a few words remain. “Lord, help me.” That prayer is enough.

The woman in the Gospel teaches us not to mistake silence for rejection, nor humility for hopelessness. She remains before Christ through silence, through apparent refusal, and even through the word which places her at the lowest seat. And from there she refuses to leave Him. Perhaps this is why her faith is great. She believes more in His mercy than in her own worthiness. She believes more in His goodness than in the discouragement of the moment. She believes that even a crumb from His table is sufficient to accomplish what she cannot accomplish for herself. And she is right.

We spend much of our lives asking God for the whole loaf while overlooking the crumbs of grace scattered everywhere around us: a remembered verse of Scripture; a moment in which we find strength not to answer an insult; a sudden awareness of something within ourselves which must change; the ability, after long resistance, finally to forgive; one sincere “Lord, have mercy;” one opportunity to begin again. We may call these little things. But nothing is little which falls from the Master’s table.

And perhaps the beginning of sanctification is not some great spiritual achievement, but the moment when we stop telling God why we cannot become holy and begin consenting to what He is already showing us. Yea, Lord, Thou knowest me better than I know myself. Yea, Lord, that which Thou hast revealed in me must be cleansed. Yea, Lord, I have no claim upon Thy mercy except that Thou art merciful. And therefore I will not go away. I will remain at Thy feet. I will ask for the crumb. I will continue to cry after Thee when Thou seemest silent. I will trust that even the least gift which cometh from Thy hand is more than sufficient for my need.

For the woman who said, “Yea, Lord,” did not leave ashamed. She heard instead the word for which every Christian soul should long: “Great is thy faith: be it done to thee as thou wilt.”

27 September 2026