Homily for the Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)
Isaiah 56:1, 6–7 | Psalm 67 | Romans 11:13–15, 29–32 | Matthew 15:21–28
A few years ago, a bishop in Missouri looked at one of the most popular hymns in American Catholicism and decided it had to go.
The hymn was “All Are Welcome.” Actually, the hymn is titled “Let Us Build a House,” written by Marty Haugen in 1994.
The bishop removed it from the approved list.
About six weeks later, it quietly returned.
Banning a song titled “All Are Welcome” turns out to be a public-relations problem.
“We’re taking this hymn out.”
“Why?”
“It says everyone is welcome.”
“So everyone isn’t?”
“No, everyone is.”
“Then why…?”
“It’s complicated.”
And it is complicated because three different arguments hide inside one hymn.
Some object to the theology.
In 2020, the bishops’ own Committee on Divine Worship pointed out a legitimate concern. The song begins, “Let us build a house,” but we don’t build the Church. Christ builds the Church. We are built into it.
Others object to the music.
If you were raised on Gregorian chant, four chords and a folk guitar can sound less like the heavenly liturgy and more like the playlist in the lobby of a Marriott.
But the third argument is the most emotional.
The real fight isn’t always about theology or music.
It’s about politics.
“All are welcome” no longer functions as a simple statement about Christian hospitality.
The phrase has been adopted by groups advocating positions that frequently conflict with Catholic teaching, particularly regarding sexuality, marriage, gender, and ecclesial authority.
As a result, many Catholics hear those four words and think, This isn’t a hymn anymore. It’s a political statement.
At the same time, many other Catholics hear those same four words and think, Finally, someone is opening the doors of the Church to people who have spent years feeling unwanted.
Which is why today’s Gospel is so perfectly timed.
The same argument is underway, and Jesus is standing in the middle of it.
If you think our arguments are awkward, wait until you hear how He handles His.
A woman comes out of the pagan region of Tyre and Sidon.
Canaanite is an ancient, loaded word. It identifies the historic enemy of God’s people.
She has a daughter who is suffering terribly.
She has one request:
“Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.”
And Jesus says absolutely nothing.
Silence.
No answer.
No acknowledgment.
Nothing.
The disciples become uncomfortable and ask Jesus to send her away.
Interestingly, the Greek verb Matthew uses is the same one used elsewhere for divorce.
When Jesus finally speaks, things do not improve.
“I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”
She keeps pleading.
Then comes the line that makes every preacher in America begin frantically flipping through the commentaries:
“It is not right to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”
And yes, the Greek does soften it slightly.
The word refers to a household pet rather than a wild scavenger.
But let’s be honest.
If someone compares you to a puppy, your first thought probably isn’t, Thank goodness for the linguistic nuance.
St. John Chrysostom, preaching on this text sixteen centuries ago, argued that Christ wasn’t revealing prejudice.
He was revealing faith.
He deliberately allowed this exchange to unfold in public so everyone could see what authentic faith looks like when it encounters obstacles.
Because this woman refuses to quit.
She does not argue.
She does not accuse.
She does not demand her rights.
She does not threaten a one-star review.
She doesn’t ask Jesus to abolish Israel’s place in salvation history.
She doesn’t demand a different set of rules.
She simply recognizes something the disciples haven’t yet understood.
The table is bigger than they think.
Jesus responds with the highest praise He gives anyone in Matthew’s Gospel.
“Woman, great is your faith.”
Only one other person receives that compliment:
A Roman centurion.
Which brings us back to those four famous words.
“All are welcome.”
Theologically?
Yes.
Biblically?
Absolutely.
Isaiah says yes.
The psalm says yes.
Paul says yes.
Jesus says yes.
But here is the part we keep forgetting.
Welcome to what?
The Gospel never presents welcome as a vague slogan.
Isaiah says foreigners must join themselves to the Lord, love His name, serve Him, and hold fast to the covenant.
The Canaanite woman is not simply told the doors are unlocked.
She encounters Christ.
She kneels.
She persists.
She wrestles.
She leaves transformed.
The welcome of Jesus is never merely, “Come as you are.”
It is, “Come as you are—and prepare to become someone new.”
Christ never turns people away because they are broken.
He loves them too much to leave them broken.
The challenge for us is this:
When we meet someone who thinks the door is closed—maybe they’ve drifted, maybe they carry an old wound, maybe they’ve decided they are too far gone—
Do not hand them a slogan.
Hand them the Gospel.
The Joy of the Gospel 