Persistent Faith and the Mercy of God

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer. Lord, give us eyes to see and ears to hear, that we may learn Your Word together as a family. We give You all praise and honor and glory, in Jesus’ holy Name. Amen.

Good morning again, Encouragers.

Our Collect this morning gives us one of the clearest statements of the Christian life found anywhere in the Book of Common Prayer. We prayed, “Almighty God, who seest that we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves.”

That is where Lent begins. It begins with truth. “We have no power of ourselves to help ourselves.”

This single line expresses the very heart of Lent. Lent teaches us to see ourselves honestly. It teaches us that we cannot save ourselves, cannot heal our own souls, cannot overcome sin by our own strength. And when we see this clearly, we begin to see our need for Christ.

Our Lord says in St. John’s Gospel, “Without me ye can do nothing.” Lent restores us to that truth. It removes illusion and brings us back to reality.

This runs against everything the world teaches. The world tells us to look within, to trust ourselves, to fix ourselves. Scripture teaches us to depend not on ourselves, but on Christ.

We are not self-sufficient creatures. We are dependent creatures. We live by grace. We stand by grace. We are sustained by grace.

This truth is not meant to discourage us. It is meant to bring us to Christ. When we see our weakness clearly, we begin to see the greatness of His mercy. When we see our need, we begin to see His provision. When we stop trusting ourselves, we learn to trust Him.

And that is where hope begins.

Today’s Gospel shows us exactly what that looks like.

In St. Matthew 15, we read of a woman who came to Jesus crying out, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.”

She was a Canaanite woman. A Gentile. An outsider. She had no covenant claim, no religious standing, no earthly reason to expect help.

Yet she came.

She came because she knew her need. She came because she believed Christ could help her. She came because He was her only hope.

This is always where true faith begins. Faith begins when we stop trusting ourselves and begin trusting Christ. It begins when we recognize that He alone has what we need.

Yet something unexpected happens. St. Matthew tells us, “He answered her not a word.”

Silence.

She cried out, and heaven seemed silent.

Has that ever happened to you? It certainly has to me.

This is one of the hardest experiences in the Christian life. We pray. We plead. We ask for help. Yet nothing seems to happen.

We just read Psalm 142. It is a cry for God to hear and answer. The Psalms speak this way often. Listen again to Psalm 13. “How long wilt thou forget me, O LORD? for ever?”

These are not the words of unbelief. These are the words of faith in the midst of suffering.

Every faithful Christian, sooner or later, walks through this valley. We pray, and we wait. We trust, even when we cannot yet see.

God’s silence does not mean He is absent or that He has abandoned us. Often, His silence deepens faith. It teaches us to trust Him rather than our feelings. It teaches us to walk by faith, and not by sight.

The Canaanite woman did not turn away. She did not lose heart. She came and worshipped Him, saying, “Lord, help me.”

Three simple words. “Lord, help me.”

This is one of the shortest prayers in all of Scripture, yet it is among the greatest. It is the prayer of humility. It is the prayer of dependence. It is the prayer of faith. It is the prayer of one who knows she cannot help herself.

Our Lord answered her with words that seem difficult. “It is not meet to take the children’s bread, and to cast it to dogs.”

Yet listen carefully to her response. She says, “Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.”

Those words should sound familiar to Anglican ears. Every time we come to Holy Communion, we pray in the Prayer of Humble Access, “We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table.”

This is how every Christian must come to Christ. Not trusting in our own righteousness, but trusting in His great and manifold mercies.

Our Lord’s words also remind us that salvation came first to Israel. As St. Paul writes, “To the Jew first, and also to the Greek.” God’s promises were given through Israel, and through Israel came the Savior of the world.

Yet this woman, though a Gentile, responded with extraordinary faith. She did not argue. She did not demand. She did not claim worthiness. She asked for mercy.

This is the posture of true faith. This is how every Christian must come to God.

This is why, week by week, we pray, “Lord, have mercy upon us.” This is why we confess our sins. And this is why we kneel.

Some among us are no longer able to kneel, and the Lord knows their hearts just the same. God sees the humility of the soul, not merely the posture of the body

But for those who are able, kneeling is a gift. It teaches our hearts what our lips confess. It reminds us, even with our bodies, that we come before a holy God in humility and reverence.

Our Prayer Book itself gently teaches us this. The Invitation to Confession calls us to “make your humble confession to Almighty God, devoutly kneeling.”

The Church places those words on our lips because kneeling helps form humility within us. It teaches us to come before God not casually, but reverently, trusting not in ourselves, but in His mercy.

We kneel because we know who God is, and we know who we are.

God is holy. We are sinners. Yet God is merciful. And Christ is our Savior.

Our Lord then spoke words of great comfort. “O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt.”

Her daughter was healed.

This miracle reveals something greater than physical healing. It reveals the nature of saving faith.

Saving faith is humble. It clings to Christ. It trusts Him even when the path is dark. It rests not in human certainty, but in divine mercy.

This faith is not something we create for ourselves. It is the work of God’s grace within us. As St. Paul writes, “By grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.”

And this same grace does not leave us unchanged. It transforms us.

In our Epistle, St. Paul writes, “This is the will of God, even your sanctification.”

God does not merely forgive us. He renews us. He reshapes our hearts. He draws us closer to Himself.

This is why Lent calls us to repentance.

Repentance is turning toward God. It is returning to the One who alone can save us.

The Ash Wednesday Collect expresses this beautifully. “Create and make in us new and contrite hearts.”

We cannot create new hearts. God must create them in us.

Through Christ, God does what we cannot do. He forgives our sins. He renews our souls. He strengthens our faith. He draws us into His life.

And He continues this work through the means of grace He has given His Church.

Through prayer, we speak with God. Through Scripture, God speaks to us. Through the Sacraments, He strengthens and sustains us.

In Holy Baptism, we are joined to Christ. In Holy Communion, we are fed with His Body and Blood.

Through these means, Christ Himself ministers to His people. He strengthens weak faith. He comforts troubled hearts. He sustains us along the way.

This is why the Christian life cannot be lived apart from Him.

The Canaanite woman came to Christ because she knew she needed Him. We come for the same reason.

We come because we are weak and sinful. We come because Christ alone has the words of eternal life.

Lent teaches us to come again.

It teaches us to pray more earnestly. It teaches us to examine our lives honestly. It teaches us to rely upon Christ fully.

We all carry burdens. We carry grief. We carry fear. We carry sin. We carry weakness.

Christ invites us to bring all of it to Him. He says, “Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.” This refreshing, this rest, is found in trusting Him.

The Canaanite woman trusted Christ completely. She did not turn away. She remained. She trusted His mercy.

This is the faith Christ honors. This is the faith Christ strengthens. This is the faith Christ gives.

We do not walk this Lenten journey alone. Christ walks with us. He leads us to the Cross.

At the Cross, we see the fullness of God’s mercy. There Christ bore our sins. There Christ secured our redemption. There Christ opened the way to eternal life.

Because of Christ, mercy is available, forgiveness is real, and hope is certain.

This is why we can pray with confidence, “Lord, help me.”

The Psalmist gives us that same assurance. “In the time of my trouble I will call upon thee; for thou hearest me.” He does not say God might hear. He says God hears. This is the confidence of faith.

He hears. He answers. He saves.

And so we come to Him, as the Canaanite woman did. Not trusting in ourselves, but trusting in His mercy. Not depending on our strength, but resting in His grace.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.