He said to her, “Let the children be fed first.
For it is not right to take the food of the children
and throw it to the dogs.”
If it were us who came to Jesus in our time of need and heard this in reply we might have made a variety of different responses, from despair to anger. But would any of us respond with in the persistent, humble, and hopeful way that the Syrophoenician woman did? We sometimes feel a sense of entitlement that makes us imagine ourselves to be deserving of divine blessings. When God makes us reckon with the fact that it is his election that is the basis of blessings we tend to react by closing down, walling off, and walking away. Or else, we take it personally, as a condemnation of us as individuals. We internalize the reality of ourselves as "dogs" and wallow in the fact that we are apparently unwanted. Either anger or a sense of self-pity can equally keep us from receiving blessings of which God has by no means denied us. Are we too proud to receive that which is unearned and undeserved? Or are we too saddened by our own insignificance to even ask? Somehow, miraculously, this Greek woman did not succumb to either extreme.
She replied and said to him,
“Lord, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s scraps.”
Did Jesus say no? There were dozens of permutations of what he may have intended to say that implied a negative answer. It would have been easy to give up and go home. She was a foreigner, a woman, and a stranger. Jesus did not exactly give her such a welcome as to imply he was ready to help. He seemed to emphasize the difference between them, seemed to imply it was a barrier to her request. It would have been easy for a fallen human mind to assume the worst, as we often do.
In some sense, the most miraculous thing in this account is that this woman didn't give up. She persisted, perhaps because she recognized that Jesus was more than a mere teacher and healer. She called him "Lord", and seemed to believe that his goodness could not leave even dogs without sufficient scraps to satisfy them. She might not have fully understood what it really meant to call Jesus Lord. But she did seem to regard him with an appropriate sort of reverence. This was not only demonstrated by the way she fell at his feet and begged him. It was demonstrated by the way she expressed faith in the superabundance Jesus possessed, from which he could give her what she asked without anyone else needing to have less because of it. It was not a zero sum game with God. He didn't have to balance blessings, because he always had more than enough, infinite sufficiency in himself. This fact that he could feed the dogs and the children with no one left in hunger or want was a nascent, implicit belief in his divinity.
Then he said to her, “For saying this, you may go.
The demon has gone out of your daughter.”
Her faith made possible one of the two times in the Gospels in which Jesus healed from a distance. Her healing not only fulfill her wishes and save her daughter. It implicitly demonstrated that the Gospel was meant to be bread for all peoples, both Gentile and Jew. It was among the first indications of the feast that would be fully revealed in the Eucharist.
When Solomon was old his wives had turned his heart to strange gods,
and his heart was not entirely with the LORD, his God,
as the heart of his father David had been.
Solomon seemed to turn to other sources to meet his desires. He turned to strange gods when his own God no longer satisfied him. We are often more like Solomon in this regard than the Syrophoenician woman, more ready to try alternatives than to persist in prayer. But this woman, among other lessons, demonstrates that the lack of an immediate is by no means a denial. Sometimes it really is meant to lead us to greater faith, and even to unlock blessings for those around us.
John Michael Talbot - I Am The Bread Of Life





