"Humble Access" | The Rev. Heidi Thorsen | August 16, 2026

Sermon Preached: Sunday, August 16, 2026 at Trinity on the Green

Proper 13a: Isaiah 56:1,6-8 | Psalm 67 | Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32 | Matthew 15: (10-20), 21-28 

May I speak in the name of God, who is to us Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today’s Gospel reading is the source material for one of the most well-known prayers in the Anglican tradition, the Prayer of Humble Access. We pray these words at Trinity at every 7:45am service, right after the bread is broken, and before everyone is invited to come forward to receive the bread and wine. We pray these same words at our 10:30am Choral Eucharist, a service that will resume in September once a month, as we settle into the rhythms of fall. The words of this prayer may be familiar to you, and they are as follows:

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen. 

I know people who love this prayer: the honest familiarity of the words. And I know people who are challenged by this prayer– people who aren’t sure whether they can pray the words “We are not worthy,” because they are still in recovery from the judgment and harm of certain Christian communities that have labeled them unworthy or less than. Ultimately this prayer lives somewhere in between: in between the belief that human beings are caught up in sin, and on the other side the belief that we are beloved children who are always welcome at the table of God. The Prayer for Humble Access lives somewhere in between the belief that we are hopelessly broken, and the belief that we are endlessly blessed. 

Depending on your own faith journey, you might hear one side or the other more clearly: blessed, or broken. Either way, I hope you hear in these words the echoes of the Canaanite woman, who comes to Jesus for the healing of her daughter. When we pray these words we stand alongside her– an outsider according to society, and a woman who sought the refuge and healing of Jesus nevertheless. When we pray these words we also stand alongside other Episcopalians and Anglicans who have prayed these words for almost 500 years, as part of our liturgy and the ways that we connect with God through worship. This prayer dates back to the very first Book of Common Prayer, published in 1549. Amidst the political controversies of King Henry VIII, there were Christians who felt an authentic call to a different kind of piety. One of the most important shifts of the English Reformation was saying prayers in their own language– not simply hearing the Latin words passed down through the Roman Catholic Tradition. The Archbishop of Canterbury at the time, Thomas Cranmer, borrowed and translated prayers from many sources; but these words of the Prayer of Humble Access were one of his own contributions. It is a vulnerable prayer. A prayer that has prepared Christians to receive communion for centuries. It is also a theological commentary– a key of sorts– that can inform how we understand the story of the Canaanite woman. Because this prayer tells us, in a way, what this story is all about. It claims that the story of the Canaanite woman is about humility.

When you encounter the Canaanite woman, is the word humble the first thing that comes to mind? Humble, according to the first definition in Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary, means “not proud or haughty; not arrogant or assertive.” While I don’t think the Canaanite woman is proud, haughty, or arrogant–  she certainly is assertive. “Lord help me,” she asks, even after Jesus has turned her away for not being of Israelite ancestry, saying “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Jesus is navigating the line between the community of his birth and those outside of it. But the Canaanite woman does not simply accept that boundary. Instead she says, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the masters’ table.” This woman’s assertiveness turns the tide of their interaction, and Jesus praises her faith, and heals her daughter. Is this assertiveness, humility?

Well, let’s move on to the second definition of humble. According to Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, humble might also mean: “reflecting, expressing, or offered in a spirit of deference or submission.” Perhaps this definition comes closer to the Canaanite woman. She certainly performs some kind of submission. She acknowledges that she may be seen as “less than” by a descendant of Israel, aligning herself with the dogs. But then she subverts this submission by claiming that she still has a place at the table. She may relate to the dogs, but she acts fully human– and she demands that Jesus treat her as fully human too. This is not clear-cut deference or submission. Once again, this definition of humility doesn’t quite fit the Canaanite woman.

There is a third and final definition of humble, provided by Merriam-Webster’s dictionary. According to this final definition, humility means “ranking low in hierarchy or scale. Insignificant. Unpretentious. Not costly or luxurious.” This definition seems to refer more to things than to people. Yet how sad it is that people are sometimes treated in this way: like things. Insignificant. Ranking low in hierarchy. Less than. And in a strange way this definition comes closest to describing the Canaanite woman. Not because she is insignificant. But because others have treated her as if she is insignificant. She has clearly become accustomed to being treated this way.

Ultimately, none of these three definitions are a good match. How can we think of the Canaanite woman as humble when she is assertive, subversive, and upends the hierarchy of social expectations that Jesus himself relies on? These are the definitions of humble that we get from a standard, western dictionary. But these definitions don’t quite describe the Canaanite woman; and they don’t quite describe the kind of humility that we are called to practice as Christians. Perhaps this is why the word humility doesn’t appear in this story, in the original Greek. But in this case, I think Thomas Cranmer was right. I think the story of the Canaanite woman is about humility– specifically the kind of humility that is a Christian practice and virtue. This definition of humility can’t be referenced in a dictionary, not even if you shift from English to Greek. Rather, this definition of humility is to be found in the story, and in the woman herself.

According to the pattern of the Canaanite woman, humility means standing with your feet firmly on the ground. Humility isn’t deferential, or submissive, or self-deprecating. Humility is knowing who you are and what you are worth, no more and no less. For the Canaanite woman, humility meant putting others' needs before her own; putting the needs of her daughter above her own need for respect and ease in a world that treated her harshly. For the Canaanite woman, humility didn’t mean diminishing herself. Instead it involved being brave and bold and fully, unapologetically human.

This is the humility that we are called to practice. A humility that right-sizes us in the eyes of God and the world. As humans we know that we are dust, and to dust we shall return– as Adam is told in the creation story in Genesis. But as humans we also believe that we are the apple of God’s eye, beloved children who matter enough that God became human to be our guide and our Savior. 

To practice humility is to stay close to the heart of Christianity; close to the heart of Jesus himself– who was always drawn with a force almost like gravity toward the outsiders, the children, the least of these. Practicing humility means staying close to the earth, the dust of which we are made– not because dust is dirty, but because the ground is sacred. To walk on this earth is to walk on holy ground. I think the Canaanite woman understood that. I think she understood the value of life: her life, and her daughter’s life, and the lives of those neighbors who shut her out. I think she understood that crossing boundaries was essential– not merely as a survival tactic for her and her family, but as a vital way of recognizing that we are all human.

 What would it look like for you to be more humble today? Do you need to think less about yourself, and more about others? Or do you need to stop diminishing yourself, and claim your own self-worth in word and action? Humility is the Goldilocks practice of faith. When we make ourselves too big, we suffer from pride. When we make ourselves too small, we suffer from shame. But in the middle we find humility. In the middle we find our humanity. In the middle we find Christ. 

Let’s meet in the middle today– not brash or shy, but honest as we bring the longings of our hearts before God. May that honesty bring the healing that we seek: for ourselves, our loved ones, and the world. Let us pray:

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.