Dcn Susan Erickson

“…and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin.” Mark 7:25-26

Dear Sibling in Christ,

I find today’s reading for the Daily Office from Mark one of the hardest stories to hear in the Gospels. The Syrophoenician woman who bows down at Jesus’ feet has a “little” daughter possessed by demons. She has just heard that Jesus is in town and immediately goes to find him in hopes that he will heal her child. But Jesus responds gruffly — insultingly, in fact: “‘Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.’” (Mark 7:27) Basically, Jesus is calling the woman and her daughter dogs, which — hard as this is for us dog-lovers to believe — were reviled animals in ancient Palestine.

This passage is sometimes interpreted to mean that Jesus perceived his mission at least initially as one to his own people. That might be an intellectually satisfying answer, but it doesn’t do much to address the way Jesus’ response clashes with our image of him.

The Syrophoenician woman, though, isn’t deterred. “‘Sir [or Lord], even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.’ Then he said to her, ‘For saying that, you may go — the demon has left your daughter.’ So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.” (Mark 7:28-30)

I decided to try to see things from the Syrophoenician woman’s viewpoint. Jesus is someone whose reputation has preceded him — despite the fact that he always commands people not to publicize the healings he is performing. He must already seem like a larger-than-life figure. And he’s even more out of reach for the Syrophoenician woman because he is a Jew, someone who does not associate with Gentiles like her. Can — will — he heal her daughter anyway? The Syrophoenician woman literally throws herself across the cultural divide that separates her from Jesus by bowing down right at his feet. She dares to call him “Lord” (as other texts translate “Sir”). She isn’t put off by his seemingly dismissive response. As we might say today, she “owns” her lowly designation as “dog.” And Jesus acknowledges her faith and heals her little daughter, who is at home, waiting for her mother.

Sometimes I feel like the Syrophoenician woman. In the days between our weekly celebrations of the Eucharist, Jesus can seem far off, unreachable by someone like me. But I think He is just waiting for me — no, He is calling me — to throw my heart at His feet, to have the Syrophoenician woman’s ounce of courage and faith. Perhaps in this last part of Lent we can take the Syrophoenician woman as a model, throwing ourselves at the feet of the One who was Himself so faithful that he died on the cross for us.

Dcn Susan