He Knows My Determination
Scripture Reading: Mark 7:24-30
Meditation
On the northwest border of Galilee, in the region of Phoenicia, are the cities of Tyre and Sidon—ancient homes to the pagan fertility cults of Baal and Ashtoreth. According to the oral law, Jews were not to have any association with these Gentiles. Anyone who broke with the law and had contact with the filthy dogs from the north would be declared ritually unclean.
Jesus breaks with the tradition of the elders and makes a break for Tyre. He leaves Galilee, disregards the ceremonial injunction, and deliberately heads for the “polluted regions” of the north. He is bone tired, ministry weary, and still grieving the execution of his friend and forerunner, John the Baptist. As he nears the city, he looks for a hideaway, a secret place where he can rest and pray.
He entered a house there where he didn’t think he would be found, but he couldn’t escape notice.1
Tyre was supposed to be a place of anonymity for Jesus: a place where nobody knew his name and therefore, no one would want anything from him. But no matter where Jesus goes, people follow. The needy search him out. The desperate get creative and find ways to get to him. Those who are hurt are determined to find help and they don’t stop until they’re heard.
Pain gives them perseverance.
He was barely inside when a woman who had a disturbed daughter heard where he was. She came and knelt at his feet, begging for help. The woman was Greek, Syro-Phoenician by birth. She asked him to cure her daughter.2
The woman is a Gentile. Born a Syro-Phoenician, she’s a daughter of Israel’s ancient enemies. But today she waves no nationalistic flag. She marches under no banner. She carries no sign touting her political or cultural agenda. The only badge that she wears is that of “mother” and her only cause is the release of her demon-possessed daughter.
Living with her daughter is like living with a rabid dog. When the demon grabs hold of her baby girl, her daughter foams at the mouth, bares her teeth, and growls. Day after day, the tormenter assaults her child. There is no rest for her daughter or respite for her.
When the demon first came, the mother was overcome by fear but now maternal instincts drive her. She’s angry—attack the child and you attack the mother. She will not let her daughter suffer any longer. Somewhere there has to be someone who can do something for her daughter.
One of her friends had told her about Jesus. Rumor had it that he was a miracle worker from Galilee and that he was making his way into the neighborhood. That’s all that this mother needed to hear.
Like a bloodhound fresh on the scent, she tracked Jesus down and cornered him just inside the door of his hideaway. But now, gentle as a lapdog, she lays at his feet and whimpers for grace. She’s not beyond getting down on all fours and pleading for mercy. Her daughter is more important than her pride.
Her begging is met with a gruff response from Jesus,
“Stand in line and take your turn. The children get fed first. If there’s any left over, the dogs get it.”3
Jesus tells her to get to the back of the line. There seems to be a pecking order in the Messianic ministry of Jesus. The privileged children of Israel get to eat from the gospel table first and then, if there’s anything left, the Gentile dogs under the table are welcome to the scraps. But while the children are eating, the dogs have to wait. There are no cuts in line.
The mother doesn’t challenge Jesus’ answer. She doesn’t argue for an exception to the rule of precedence or howl on about her rights. She doesn’t bark out any complaint. She admits her ‘under the table’ status but refuses to believe that she is to be excluded from any of the benefits of the kingdom of God, even if they are the leftovers.
She simply agrees with Jesus and once more whimpers for help.
“Of course, Master. But don’t dogs under the table get scraps dropped by the children?”4
Her reply is a crumb of truth that contains a loaf of wisdom. Jesus is impressed.
“You’re right! On your way! Your daughter is no longer disturbed. The demonic affliction is gone.” She went home and found her daughter relaxed on the bed, the torment gone for good.5
Jesus throws this mother more than a bone; he pulls up a chair, invites her to sit at the table, and throws her a feast. No more torment. No more terror. The black dog of despair is gone for good.
With this miracle, the bounty of the Messianic kingdom is no longer limited to the privileged children of Israel. There is no longer any preferred seating. The table is open to all who are hungry for a scrap of mercy and hope for a morsel of grace.
Reflection
What torment are you experiencing? What scrap of mercy are you begging for?
When you pray, what or who do you fight for?
Who do you feel like when you pray …
The privileged child who is sitting at the banquet table?
Or one of the dogs that is waiting for the scraps?
Prayer
Father,
Many times I feel like a dog begging under the table of your bounty. Others seem to get preferred seating while I have to settle for the crumbs. There are many hunger pains in my life: tormenting illness, slanted circumstances, fractured relationships, stillborn dreams, frustrated desires. But the pain brings with it persistence—a dogged determination to crawl to your feet and beg for a morsel of mercy.
During this day, remind me that, in Christ, there is no preferred seating at the table of grace. All are welcome. There are no leftovers. Like the mother with the tormented daughter, may I come to your Son with tenacity and no regard for pride, determined to whimper my request before the feet of my Savior. In grace, may he encourage me to go on my way. No more torment. No more terror. If it is your will, let the thing that dogs me be gone for good.
It’s in Jesus’ name that I pray. Amen.
1Mark 7:24 2Mark 7:25-26 3Mark 7:27 4Mark 7:28 5Mark 7:29-30
All Scripture references in the meditation are marked by italics and are taken from the Gospel reading for the day. Those verses quoted outside of the chosen reading for the day are noted. All Scripture quoted in this post is taken from THE MESSAGE: Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 2000, 2001 & 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group. All rights reserved.