The Canaanite Woman

My mother was the middle of three sisters. There was one brother, also, but he’s not part of this story.

The eldest sister was named Trela; the youngest was Betty Lou. My mother’s name was Della Mae, and she was the source of sparkle and light for the entire family.  

Betty Lou was mildly cognitively delayed, and Trela was emotionally crippled. Their parents considered neither of them capable of living on their own, or even having normal life experiences such as going out to the movies, or even a walk in the park. Or a boyfriend.

Timid in ways her kids knew her to be, for her sisters Della Mae was always bold, funny, and loving. Della Mae worked hard to become a registered nurse, though for six months of that schooling time she was flat on her back in a TB sanitarium.

In other words, Della Mae had her share of setbacks, but somehow her sisters saw only her wins. 

Years ago, when my family visited them, I was singing old hymns for entertainment. I was 10-ish and, in a rare moment of extroversion, I asked Betty Lou what was her favorite hymn. “I’ll sing it for you,” I said.

I didn’t sing it because I didn’t know it. But I promised to learn it. I have to say that Pass Me Not became and remains one of my favorites, too.

They lived with their father Elmer until the day he died, napping in his rocker after a satisfying supper. They were well into their fifties by then, having never lived one moment on their own.

With the help of some social agencies, they carved out pretty good lives for themselves. And they finally found boyfriends.

When I now recall Betty Lou naming Pass Me Not as her favorite hymn, I understand why so much better than I did at ten.

Its words speak for so many who are cut off from a robust life through no fault of their own.

***

The Gospel this past Sunday was Matthew’s version of the Canaanite woman (Syrophoenician woman elsewhere). Her daughter has a demon, and the mother asks Jesus for healing. He declines, presumably because the woman and her daughter are Gentile, and Jesus lets her know that he was sent only to benefit the Jewish peoples.

She is not timid and continues to badger Jesus, who eventually heals her daughter because, he said, of the mother’s faith.

***

Hers was a first century version of Pass Me Not, and it takes me all the way back to my aunt, deprived of so many opportunities because she was differently abled.

It was written in 1868 by prolific lyricist Fanny Crosby, who was blind. The tune is attributed to William Howard Doane, and the hymn appears today in 1,078 hymnals.

Here’s a recording. See what you think: