Desperate Parents Stories

Mark 7:24-30 (NKJV) Also see Matthew 15:21-28.

24 From there He arose and went to the region of Tyre and Sidon. And He entered a house and wanted no one to know it, but He could not be hidden. 25 For a woman whose young daughter had an unclean spirit heard about Him, and she came and fell at His feet. 26 The woman was a Greek, a Syro-Phoenician by birth, and she kept asking Him to cast the demon out of her daughter. 27 But Jesus said to her, ​“Let the children be filled first, for it is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the little dogs.”

28 And she answered and said to Him, “Yes, Lord, yet even the little dogs under the table eat from the children’s crumbs.”

29 Then He said to her, ​“For this saying go your way; the demon has gone out of your daughter.”

30 And when she had come to her house, she found the demon gone out, and her daughter lying on the bed.

The Syrophenician Woman’s Story Imagined

From the corner of the one-room house she inventoried the damage. A small round hole in the wall allowed her to glimpse a bit of sky outside. The size of the hole was a clear match to the boom handle on the floor below the puncture. Splinters protruded from the broken shaft, which was now the right height for a three-year-old child to use. She counted two unstuffed cushions, a broken pitcher, and a shattered cup–their last one.

The eastern window cast a rectangle of light in the center of the room. Its bright boundaries framed a nightgown crumpled on the floor. Crescents of red patterned the otherwise colorless cloth–the unmistakable shape of a human bite.

A tingling sensation drew her attention to her forearm. Two crescents formed an oval in her flesh. At first she couldn’t make sense of the shape, but as the meaning penetrated the fog of her mind the tingle began to throb. She ignored it, hoping to recapture the cloudiness of disbelief. But it was too late. Reality prevailed.

Her gaze shifted to the now peaceful face of her young daughter. She lifted a hand to stroke the hair fanned out over her lap, then thought better of any movement that might wake her. Love and terror pulled at either side of her chest. She wondered which was stronger and if she would survive the war.

How was it possible? This child, only as tall as her waist, had ravaged their house like a keleb–a wild and savage dog. She cringed at the comparison, but conceded it was appropriate. The word itself was a curse, an insult. In the throes of an episode, her daughter’s strength was inhuman, her fury demonic. And there it was, the diagnosis sentenced upon them by doctors and priests; Possessed by a demon. She could not refute it. What else could explain the hell they lived in?

It must be her fault, her sin, that brought this on them. That was what her husband said when he threw them out and barred the doors. She had to agree. Her little girl could not have invited this. She honored and sacrificed to as many gods as she could, begging for the removal of the curse. But there were so many gods. Apparently she had offended one of them irreparably.

Her brother conditionally agreed to take her and her daughter in. As a trade merchant with a fleet of ships, his estate was on the coast near the bustling port of Tyre. They were put in a small sea shack where the crash of waves and wail of winds masked the shrieks of a raving girl. From there she lived as a sort of servant, mending, cleaning, and whatever else was asked of her.

Which reminded her, she had work to do. She eased out from under her daughter’s head as gently as she could. Ignoring the chaos in the room, she walked to the door, opened it and stepped into the light. Even before her eyes adjusted enough to see the flattened ears and raised spine, she heard a warning growl from the dog crouched in front of her.

“Kynarion!” She said with more authority than she felt. She had acquired the dog as a puppy from local shepherds, raising him to protect their house. She still called him kynarion, the word for puppy, though he now weighed as much as she did. He could kill her if he had a mind to. Fortunately he preferred the rats and reptiles around their house. He usually slept right outside their door. He never came inside unless she invited him to clean up scraps off the floor around their table. But when the demons came the dog wouldn’t come near the house. He growled and barked from a safe radius.

Relaxing his attack stance the dog sniffed the air and ventured near his master. She rewarded him with a scratch behind one ear, then turned to her work. Releasing the dried laundry from its lines she carefully folded and bundled it into a large sheet which she cinched at the top and slung on her back. With a “stay” command to Kynarion, she trudged toward the main house.

The cook was the first to share the rumor along with a shopping list for her to fill. By the time she had retrieved half of the list she’d heard four different versions of the same story. This last telling was from the baker. Owing to the fact that he had provided a large delivery of baked goods to the house in question, she gave the gossip her full attention

According to the rumor a rabbi named Jesus from Israel was staying in their town. Right here. Right now! This man’s fame as a healer preceded him. She had even considered trying to bring her daughter to him. But traveling with her daughter was both unwise and unaffordable. She never expected him to show up here. Her mind started racing. A spark of hope ignited in her soul. She dropped her bag, mumbled that she’d be back to get it later, and turned to leave.

“Wait,” the baker said. “The Israelites are trying to keep their presence quiet. You won’t be welcomed there.” She shrugged and kept going. Welcomed? She wasn’t welcome anywhere. Even a tiny chance of healing for her daughter was worth any risk.

At the intersection of two roads she hesitated. Go back the miles to her house to get her daughter or go the short distance to the house where Jesus was staying? Stay close, her instinct told her. And yet she stood there, paralyzed by doubt. How could she possibly approach him? She was a woman. She was an outcast. And most significantly, she was a gentile. He was a Jew. She didn’t even know how to worship his God.

A figure passed briskly in front of her with a young girl trailing by several paces. The child picked a roadside wildflower, then ran to catch up with her mother. Another bloom caught the girl’s eye. She stopped to add it to her growing bouquet, then darted ahead to grasp her mother’s robe. She watched the little routine replay until the pair turned into their house.

Something clarified in her heart and resolution released her from doubt. She would find Jesus and ask for his help. And she would not take no for an answer. Turning right, she walked purposefully up the road. Before going more than a dozen steps she saw a crowd filling the road and coming toward her. She moved to the side.

Already anticipating that this could be the Israelites she sought, she examined them as they approached. The group of men talked amongst themselves as they walked. They did not acknowledge her, or even seem to see her, but somehow their mass reformed to avoid coming close to her. They were a single-minded, impenetrable bubble–all but one man toward the front. He was unremarkable in any way except one. He looked at her.

His eyes stayed with her until the group was nearly passed. Then she found her voice and yelled out, ​“Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is demon-possessed and suffering terribly.”​ Even to her own ears, her voice sounded shrill and annoying.

They utterly ignored her–in an intentional way. She followed, repeating her cry with growing volume. The one she assumed was Jesus appeared oblivious. But his followers darted scowling glances at her and then at the passers-by who were starting to notice.

She heard one of the men say to the man who, indeed, must be their leader, ​“Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.”​ What did that mean? Was he suggesting Jesus grant her request just to quiet her? She ran to the front of the group and stood in their path and raised her request again.

Jesus stopped before her. He did not speak to her, but replied to the disciple who had spoken, ​“I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”​ Then he moved to one side and resumed his pace. The rest of the group followed, leaving a wide area around her.

Undeterred, she raced ahead of them again. She threw herself on the ground, humbling herself for the sake of her daughter. Again, he stopped in front of her. She dared to look up, and in hardly more than a whisper she said, ​“Lord, help me.”​ This time he spoke to her, ​“Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

She winced at the insult but held his gaze. Was that a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth? Was he laughing at her or was it something more? She played back his words in her mind. Two things stood out. He used the word kynarion for dog, rather than the more insulting keleb. And he had said first. The children of Israel would be fed first. That meant there would be a second course for the Gentiles!

Jesus’ smile grew, encouraging her to speak. She said, ​“Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” He laughed loudly and looked at his disciples to make sure they got the joke. Turning back to her, he said, ​“Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.”

She knew. Even before she thanked him, scrambled to her feet and ran away, she
knew what she would find at home. She could see it in her mind as clearly as truth. Her daughter would be sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket. The child’s eyes would be clear and peaceful with arms outstretched to welcome her mother’s love. And Kynarian would be resting in front of their house, ready to protect them from the outside, never again on guard against the demons within.