Gov. Ron DeSantis of Florida recently pledged to end "birthright citizenship," the automatic citizenship granted to every child born in the United States. Whatever his political rationale, his position might spur us to ask: What makes a person a genuine U.S. citizen? Is it luck? An accident of birth? Participation in democracy? Is it earned? Given? Chosen? 

Although contemporary conflicts over citizenship find little echo in Jesus' time and place, they do highlight some of the same underlying issues. In Jesus' day, the citizenship that counted was Roman, and it came in degrees. Citizenship depended, among other things, on class and gender. St. Paul's Roman citizenship gave him distinct advantages he did not hesitate to use when it would promote the Gospel. But more than questions of citizenship, Paul, the Apostle to the Gentiles, wanted his people to understand the implications of being Christian: bona fide members of the body of Christ (Romans 12). 

Concerns about who is in and who is out are as old as nature. Wolves move in packs and geese in flocks; we humans organize ourselves in families, tribes, nations, religions and all sorts of groups that give us identity and reciprocal responsibilities. Groups have boundaries. In Isaiah's time, Israelites identified themselves as the people of the Covenant, God's chosen people. Isaiah wanted them to realize that their privilege was not for themselves, but for the sake of the world (Isaiah 42:5, 66:20). But, as Isaiah, Jesus and Paul knew well, it's hard to free people from their ethnocentrism — the pride being part of an exclusive pack.

In today's Gospel (Matthew 15:21-28), even Jesus seems surprisingly ethnocentric. Note how Matthew set the stage for this incident. In Matthew 15:1-20, Jesus had taught that strict observance of the law was less important than the attitude of one's heart. Immediately after that, he slipped off to the borderlands, seeking some quiet time (Mark 7:24). Instead of rest, Jesus found himself besieged by a relentless, foreign woman — a person with two major cultural/religious strikes against her.  

Although preachers and teachers often try to wriggle around it, the first part of this incident paints Jesus in less than sterling colors. First, the disciples say, "Send her away!" That's exactly what they said about the hungry thousands who had previously interrupted Jesus' solitude. In that instance, Jesus challenged the disciples to give their all to the people —  almost certainly a Jewish group (Matthew 14:13-21). Now, instead of being swayed by this foreign woman's need, Jesus contends that only Israelites figure among the sheep he shepherds. It was as if the woman's plea was a temptation, an attempt to divert him from his mission to the people of the Covenant.  

While that may have satisfied the disciples, the woman's unyielding love for her daughter impelled her to kneel before him and beg again for help. He dismissed her with what was probably a common cultural insult: "Dogs don't get to eat at our table!" That did nothing to dissuade this intrepid woman. With a mischievous reminder that dogs are far cleverer than sheep, she turned the slight inside out and said that she could content herself with scraps if he could find the generosity to share them.

That got through to him. With the same desperate insistence as the woman who snatched a healing by touching his cloak (Matthew 9:20-22) and the unrelenting widow of Luke 18, this nameless woman demonstrated prophetic faith. As someone Isaiah might call a "foreigner who joined herself to the Lord," she pushed Jesus and companions to accept that distinctions of gender and nationality are ultimately meaningless. She called them to remember that God's creation has no borders; humanity knows no nationality. In effect, she was asking Jesus to act like the good Samaritan of Luke 10.  

The challenges these readings give us today are almost too obvious to mention. They have to do with how we identify ourselves in relation to others. They pose questions that include the following: Do we see the world in terms of clear divisions or in a process of growing unity?  Where are the boundaries of our sense of solidarity? How does our membership in the body of Christ condition our relationships? Whose burden is also our own? Who is calling us to enlarge our perception and participation in the body of Christ today? 

Beyond that, we might ask, "If Jesus himself needed a persistent stranger to call him beyond a limited viewpoint, to whom should we be listening today?" A hint: We might look to people with two or more strikes against them. They, more than others, can remind us that as human beings we share one and the same birthright and vocation: to love and be loved as God's chosen.

Difficult and dangerous times. Intolerant religious leaders disdain the "deviants." Prophetic voices are silenced as a threat to others. Hungry people holding what little they have. This describes the environment of today's Gospel — and ours?  

The disciples knew Jesus as the prophet rejected by his own. They saw him lead thousands of hungry people to share a little bread and be satisfied. All of this happened just after the preacher closest to Jesus was senselessly martyred by a deranged ruler. Then Jesus slipped away to pray (Matthew 13:54-14:33).

No wonder the disciples feared they were about to die on turbulent waters! Matthew, Mark and John each narrate a version of the storm and Jesus calming the disciples, but Matthew is the only one to tell on Peter.  

Peter is named 24 times in Matthew's Gospel. He was among the first disciples called (4:18). Jesus visited his home and healed his mother-in-law (8:14). Peter assumed the role of speaker for the group (17:24). Beyond that, Peter stars in three stories that have the same plot: today's stormy sea account, his proclamation of faith in Jesus (16:13-28) and his response to Jesus' passion (26:31-75).   

The scene of today's incident has the disciples boarding their boat just after Jesus had preached all day to a multitude. In that scene, when the disciples suggested that Jesus send people home to eat, he told them to offer their own meager provisions to feed the five thousand. Even more preposterous than that proposal was the crowd's sharing of bread and fish until they were satisfied. That's what the disciples had experienced before embarking.  

Once on the water, they got caught in a storm. While the waves had their way with the boat and the disciples fought for their lives, Jesus walked toward them on the water. Because his appearance was the last thing they expected, they figured they were seeing a ghost — a sure sign that they were about to die! Then, as all God's messengers do, Jesus said, "Do not be afraid." 

Peter, a sterling example of the dictum that anything worth doing is worth overdoing, decided to test the waters: "If it's really you, call me to join you out there!" Jesus replied, "Come." 

What a test! "If it is you, let me walk on water!" Did Peter even consider what would happen if it had not been Jesus out there? Peter jumped overboard (in every sense) and started to do what Jesus did. For a quick minute it worked; then Peter let himself get overwhelmed. That sank him. But for Jesus, it would have been the end.  

As he pulled Peter's head above the water, Jesus said, "O you of little faith!" How was that fair?  Peter had risked his life to take a chance on Jesus! Wouldn't it have been nicer to say something like "Great try!"? He could have asked Peter what had happened. But no, Jesus just said, "O you of little faith."

There's a subtle and costly dynamic in all of this. On the mountain Jesus had told his disciples to give everything for others; it worked and everyone ate. Then, when they were in mortal danger, only Peter took a crazy risk. Although he sank into doubt, his daring brought him into a new relationship with Jesus. Jesus had now truly saved him. At least this once, Peter had risked it all. He bet his life on Jesus — and in the midst of not getting it right, Jesus did more for him than anyone ever had before.

Matthew leads us to ask who understood Jesus better, the ones who did solemn homage (like the Magi who returned home) or the wild one Jesus rescued when his behavior looked like pure folly. Isn't Peter's risky expression of faith much greater than that of the boat-bound spectators who simply worshiped? Risk, failure and redemption seem to be Peter's pattern. He repeated it when he proclaimed Jesus as Messiah and then told him how to do it. He did it again when, after swearing he would die for Jesus, he denied him and went off weeping.  

Peter offers us a saintly example of extravagance. Fear of failure didn't stop him, he kept growing closer to Jesus who appreciated his passion rather than worrying about his weaknesses. Jesus didn't criticize the group who stayed in the boat. They gave him proper homage. But Peter loved Jesus with a wild heart, mind and soul, plus a drenched body. Peter's very doubts allowed him to go deeper. Maybe we should hear "you of little faith" as an invitation. 

Peter shows us how to risk the depths. His example dares us, too, to do what Jesus did. Today's word of God is, "Come." It's the only remedy for our little faith.