Matthew’s Gospel contains many stories in which Jesus encounters people with disabilities or illnesses. Too often, these healing stories are portrayed as clear-cut, unquestioned solutions: justified, complete, and lasting. In reality, they are more like fantasy cures. This way of interpreting things leaves little space for the experiences of disabled and chronically ill individuals whose situations do not change. The healing scenes become spectacle rather than a reflection of theology.
As we anticipate the readings in Matthew for the upcoming lectionary cycle, it is notable that only two healing stories are mentioned, and both involve women.
This limited selection invites us to consider how the other Matthean lectionary readings shape a theological portrait of Jesus that extends beyond being a wonderworker and a spectacle. How might our interpretations of these two healing narratives change if we resist viewing them as isolated miracles or unquestioned good deeds? How does Matthew’s portrayal of Jesus’ identity and authority relate to lived experiences of vulnerability, oppression, and marginalization?
Kingship characterized by vulnerability and resistance
From its opening genealogy, Matthew frames Jesus as the heir to the Davidic throne. Throughout the Gospel of Matthew, the author elaborates on this by using titles like “Son of David” and “Messiah.” The hope of a Davidic royal messiah who would restore national independence was widespread, and people yearned for a day when they could throw off the oppressive shackles of Roman occupation.
The arrival of Jesus complicates these expectations. While the nativity story highlights Jesus’ kingship, it is a kingship established under the shadow of a violent and paranoid emperor. The infant Jesus, worshiped as King of the Jews by wise men from the Parthian Empire, quickly became a refugee, fleeing Herod the Great’s deadly wrath. From the outset of the Gospel, Matthew holds together divine calling with radical vulnerability, royal identity and exposure to imperial violence.
This tension is at the core of Jesus’ identity. His rule is not expressed through laws, taxes, or military force; it is demonstrated in radical inclusion. It does not go to the centers of power; it goes to the margins. It seeks out the vulnerable because it, too, is vulnerable. Rome will eventually execute the King of the Jews, but in doing so, it exposes itself as antithetical to God’s purposes. Through the resurrection, Jesus reveals that God’s reign isn’t secured or maintained by imperial violence; it triumphs over it.
This vision of kingship, characterized by vulnerability and resistance to imperial violence, is how Matthew’s healing stories should be understood.
Broadening the boundaries of inclusion
Rather than approaching these stories as demonstrations of Jesus’ power to “fix” disabled bodies, we might ask what they reveal about how God’s reign differs from Rome’s. The two healing stories in this cycle (Matthew 9:18–26; 15:21–28) both show encounters that change relationships and broaden the boundaries of inclusion. Jesus speaks directly to these women and recognizes their faith. Both demand something of him: The bleeding woman takes what she needs and is publicly named “daughter,” while the Canaanite woman pushes Jesus to extend mercy beyond expected limits.
Through this lens, the healings are not about bodily normalization but about visibility, agency, and belonging. These women continued to live under Roman rule, and there is no reason to believe their lives were easy or free of pain, despite their encounter with Jesus—a reality many in our congregations understand well.
Many people in our churches live with chronic pain, illness, or disability that cannot be cured. When healing stories are preached as unadulterated goods that demonstrate Jesus’ power, we ignore the fact that we are fragile bodies living in a broken world. Instead, Matthew’s Jesus recognizes, dignifies, and participates in our vulnerability.
Readings that make “cure” the measure of God’s faithfulness or bodily normalcy the condition of belonging verge on perpetuating imperial violence rather than promoting true freedom. A disability-attentive reading helps us resist interpretive marginalization.
Framing disability in these narratives as an embodied context for faith and resistance expands our understanding of Jesus’ kingship without turning disabled people into literary props or theological problems to be solved. These stories do not promise a cure. They promise recognition, dignity, and belonging. And they invite us to practice the same radical inclusion of the vulnerable that Jesus exemplifies.
