The Syrophonecian Woman II

She breaks through the rows of security guards and comes right to Jesus, telling him the story of her demon-possessed daughter. Jesus' eyes must be rolling in his head. 'Yep, just as I thought,' he thinks. 'This is how things unraveled for me previously. I went from teaching people (4:1-9), to clarifying things for dumb people (4:10-41; do you realize how much energy it takes to try to explain things to obtuse people?) and then I met this demon-possessed guy (5:1-13) that took away all my energy.' 'Now I am repeating myself.' Is this Groundhog Day or what?

Jesus was therefore in a very self-protective mode as the woman told her story. There were plenty of demon-possessed people, but he had to take care of himself. So, he has a choice of how he would respond to her. Assuming he doesn't want to help (he has to protect himself), he has two choices: (1) gently refuse her; or (2) rudely try to get rid of her. He probably realizes from her intensity and need that she won't take a gentle "no" from him. She is as insistent as a tele-marketer. Try talking "reason" to one of them. It is as if you never have even opened your mouth. Thus, he doesn't have many choices; he simply has to try to get rid of her.

He does so in a statement which actually is a bit unclear. Two contrary notions seem to run through it. First, he suggests that she will just have to wait her turn:"Let the children first be fed" (v. 27). He isn't turning her down; he is just telling her to wait. But then, the second half of his sentence seems to suggest a kind of finality: "it is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs." While the first half of the sentence suggested that the woman's timing was off, the second half indicates the woman's request was ill-placed. To what can we attribute this? Perhaps pangs of conscience. Jesus, after all, is not in the habit of turning down people in need. Does he feel a little guilty? Often when we feel guilty in responding to someone's need, we actually overreact, and thus, as it were, give away our power. Sometimes we get angry, and we end up giving away our power. We can also do so by being too definitive, too sure, too demanding, too positive about ourself. That, in my judgment, is what Jesus does. His conscience pangs him, but he can't really honor that conscience because his fear is speaking to him. Thus, he overreacts, and thereby opens himself for the woman to enter and "best" him in the conversation. He ups the ante, first by telling her to wait her turn, but then by shutting the door on her. He has gone too far; he knows it. So does the woman.

Her Response

When someone insults you, you have several choices on how to respond. You can respond in kind ("Well, you think I'm ugly? You ought to look in the mirror!"), you can walk away or you can, as it were, accept the insult and play with it. The last is what the woman does. She decides to accept the insult as if it is true, and then renew her request. He has called her a dog, which I cannot see as an affectionate term. It is an insult, a term of derogation, an affront, an outrage. She responds with the ambiguous "Lord," which may be a confession of faith or simply a respectful response. If Jesus can be ambiguous in his words, why can't the woman? Whose ambiguity will triumph?

But she goes one step further than simply accepting the insult. She speaks of herself as a dog--under the table. She is just waiting for whatever drops from the children's meal. She accepts as true her second-class status, but stays firm with her request. We might have looked at her as a bold woman in the first part of the passage, breaking through societal stereotypes in order to approach Jesus. But here she carefully accepts society's stereotypes to get her way. She isn't a uni-dimensional woman, but she is totally committed to her interests. She will beg if begging will get her what she wants. Again, is she supposed to be a role model of faith for us?

What Jesus Learns

Her accepting Jesus' insult functions similarly to a black belt karate expert skillfully turning his opponent's attack back on himself. She leans backward, so to speak, for him to vent the full fury of his attack. She, then, when he has reached too far, just "helps" him, with a quick pull, go face down in the dirt. She has won the encounter, and Jesus has to "pay up"--by healing the daughter.

What did Jesus learn from all of this? The fact that I am even posing the question in this way means that I think that Jesus' discipleship was like ours--a time of learning and discipline. He learned, like all of us, that we need to protect ourselves from the insistent cries of needy people, but he also learned that you can "overprotect" yourself, but that you might have to back down from that. But he is wrestling with an issue that is central to our discipleship: what is the balance between helping others and caring for ourselves? He thought he had "solved" the issue by retreating. But God was gracious to Jesus--by giving him another try to show him that he hadn't really learned the lesson. So, the pendulum swings too far this time, too, but sooner or later Jesus learns a rhythm that works well for him. Just in time, for by the time we get to chapter 8, he is on his way to death...

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