Womanhood During our Lord’s Galilean Ministry.
CHRIST AND WOMANHOOD--NOONTIDE AT JACOB’S WELL--THE LORD’S WONDERFUL
TACT--FIELDS WHITE TO THE HARVEST--AN UNINVITED GUEST AT SIMON’S
FEAST--COLD HOSPITALITY--A CONCISE PARABLE--FORGIVING SIN--A STREET
SCENE--HUMBLE CONFESSION--MOST GRACIOUS WORDS--COAST OF TYRE AND
SIDON--SYRO-PHŒNICIAN WOMAN--STRANGELY TESTED--HER HUMILITY--WENT
AWAY BLESSED.
We now come to the beautiful ministries of womanhood during our Lord’s
earthly mission. No teacher had ever lived who sought to elevate women
as did the Saviour. The most casual reader of our Lord’s acts of mercy
as He moved among the people, must have noticed how often He wrought
some of His most wondrous works among women. He talked with a woman
of questionable character by the wayside, He stretched out his hands
over one whose very touch was considered unclean, and tenderly said,
“Thy sins are forgiven!” He called another, whose shrinking fear, after
she was healed, caused her to sob out her confession, “Daughter, be of
good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole.” What a sweet picture
that is of the mothers who bring their little children to Him that “He
should touch them,” and their faith was rewarded not by a mere “touch,”
but He took the mothers’ darlings in His arms and blessed them. With
a yearning of divine pity He brings back to life three persons that
motherhood and sisterhood might be comforted. Surely womanhood must
have been precious in His sight, and there is a peculiar force in the
word _precious_ as of God’s own choosing. When He speaks of precious
things, or permits in His inspired servants such ardent language, we
may be assured there is a deep meaning in the expression, and that
whatever is spoken of, is of great value, costly and rare. “I know the
thoughts that I think toward you,” says the dear Lord, “thoughts of
peace and not of evil.” And they are so continuous! “How great is the
sum of them? If I should count them they are more in number than the
sand!” We have walked the wide beach, as it stretches on for miles and
miles in one unbroken line of white sand. Could we count a single rod
of it? Yet these thoughts of our Lord outnumber the sand on the shore
of the sea. And how precious they are, because begotten of pure love;
and royal with kindness; and tender with compassion; and fragrant with
blessings; exquisite with sweetness; infinite, incessant, immeasurable.
In our love, we mainly dwell upon the thought of what God is to us,
and so are apt to forget what we are to Him. “He has chosen Israel for
His peculiar treasure.” “The Lord’s portion is His people.” Does He so
esteem us? Does He hold us close to His heart, and say, I love thee
“since thou wast precious in My sight!” The mother thinks of her child,
the wife of her husband, the lover of his beloved. And how sweet are
these thoughts of our dear ones. Unbidden they crowd upon the soul;
comforting, tenderly cherished and precious are the thoughts of the
absent for one another! Memories of form and feature, look and smile,
word and deed, affection and purpose, are ever present. Does God, the
Infinite, thus think of us! Oh, wondrous alchemy of grace that can turn
such poor unworthy souls into gems so beautiful, so priceless, so dear
to the Infinite heart of God; so highly esteemed that if even the least
were lost, it would be a loss to Him. Then, also, the trial of our
faith is “much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be
tried with fire.” If we bear this in mind, we shall better understand
the Saviour’s acts as we read the story of His love for womanhood. Oh,
ye tired, troubled ones, put into God’s crucible, did you ever feel
that you were forgotten, overlooked, too long or too severely tested?
God is watching with an eye that never slumbers. The trial going on is
precious to Him. He tempers the heat when too strong, and adds fuel
when too light. He creates the smith to blow the coals; and here, be
sure, He makes no mistake. You would not have chosen as He has; and
yet the process must go on, for it is a precious one; so much so that
our Beloved can not trust it to other hands than His own. He will not
let you be harmed. “Many shall be purified and made white and tried.”
Are you not glad He has chosen you among these? The trial is painful to
you, but precious to Him, and “will be found unto praise and honor, and
glory,” walking with Him in White Raiment, as those who “are worthy.”
Through human personality is God best made known. There is a revelation
in nature; the movements of planets, the return of seasons, the
regularity and uniformity of natural laws, reveal a fixed order in
the universe; the balanced relationship, the correspondences and
adaptations in nature reveal mind as the centre of activities; wisdom
speaks out in the organizations, kingdoms and beneficent purposes of
nature, while beauty shines from the splendor of the world. All this
is very good, but it is not conclusive. It is written of the Son of
God, that He endured the cross for the joy that was set before Him. He
recognized the sore need of humanity, and the Father’s plan to meet
that need, and gave Himself a willing offering. Christ is the living
manifestation of God’s love. To be “able to save to the uttermost all
who come unto God by Him,” was the joy set before Him for which He
endured the cross and now ever liveth to make intercession for us.
Surely His thoughts of us must have been most precious, and, in view
of the great price He paid for our redemption, let us never minify our
lives however humble our lot:
“A commonplace life,” we say and we sigh,
But why should we sigh as we say?
The commonplace sun in the commonplace sky
Makes up the commonplace day.
The moon and the stars are commonplace things,
And the flower that blooms, and the bird that sings.
But dark were the world, and sad our lot,
If the flowers should fail and the sun shine not--
And God, who studies each separate soul,
Out of the commonplace lives makes His beautiful whole.
If we partake of the Divine nature, we will want to share in His work
of saving, and thus enter into the joy of our Lord. To be able to touch
life hopefully, and to see it expand and grow day by day into the
similitude of the All-perfect, is to experience a joy not of earth.
Womanhood has come into her kingdom in the sense of having reached a
place of large opportunity, in the use of her God-given power. Our
Saviour has honored woman by giving her a place in his heart and work,
and most loyally does she “lay her hands to the distaff and with her
hands hold the spindle” in the making of the great fabric of human
destiny.
[Illustration: CHRIST AND WOMANHOOD.]
How womanhood, in the days of the Saviour’s incarnation, manifested
her appreciation, will be amplified in this and the next chapter, and
her loving ministry does credit to her head and heart, for we read, as
He journeyed with his disciples from place to place, “Certain women,
which had been healed of infirmities, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Susanna,
and many others, ministered unto Him of their substance.” How beautiful
is all this. Women actually following Jesus, as disciples, and out of
their means ministering to His physical necessities. Heathenism has no
place, socially for women, as we have shown in our introductory. Christ
sought to bless and elevate womanhood.
The skill of our Lord’s wayside teaching is beautifully brought out in
the scene at Jacob’s well. In one of His tours through Samaria our Lord
reached Jacob’s well, in the neighborhood of Sychar, about noon, and
being weary, sat down upon the stone seat in the little alcove erected
over the well. It offered a shelter from the glare of the noontide
sun. John, in his gospel, tells us that Jesus, “being wearied with His
journey, sat thus on the well.” The words in the original imply that
He was quite tired out with His journey, and doubtless overcome with
the extreme heat. In His exhaustion, He seems to be quite anxious, if
possible, to obtain a little rest, while the disciples had left Him, to
procure in the nearby city, the necessary bread.
The disciples had scarcely departed, when a lone woman, with face
veiled, and on her head a great stone waterpot, came to the well to
draw water. It was an unseasonable hour, for morning and evening only
would the well be thronged by women, whose duty it is to carry the
water for household use. For some reason, possibly because she was
in no good repute, this woman avoided the throng at the well in the
morning or evening hours, and availed herself of this unseasonable time
to come for water.
The scene before us is pathetically picturesque. The Son of God resting
in the refreshing shade of the little alcove, and a woman of doubtful
character coming in out of the noontide glare and heat of the sun to
draw water. We almost wonder if our Lord, in His exhausted and fevered
condition, had not been casting around in His mind how He might obtain
a cup of refreshing water from the depth of the well. And now is His
opportunity. With the nicest tact and politeness He asks, “Give me
to drink!” To ask for a drink of water in the East is a proffer of
good-will. Under no circumstances would an Oriental ask or receive
water or bread of one with whom he was unwilling to be on good terms.
So when Jesus said to the woman, “Give me to drink,” it was as if He
had said, “I wish you well; I feel kindly towards you and yours.”
We are somewhat surprised at the conduct of the woman after such kindly
salutation. Instead of quickly offering Him a drink, she proceeds to
ask, “How is it that thou being a Jew askest drink of me, which am a
woman of Samaria?” She would recognize the nationality of Jesus by
His dress. The color of the fringes on the Jewish garments was white,
while those of the Samaritans were blue. Possibly His appearance and
accent in His speech would also identify Him. However, in explanation
of her conduct, she goes on to say, “the Jews have no dealings with
Samaritans.” So that while this non-intercourse between the two
people was not absolute, a request of such a nature might surprise
a Samaritan. And yet we must confess she is more ready to conduct a
religious discussion with the Son of God Himself than to offer cups of
cold water.
But with what wonderful tact Jesus drew the mind of this woman away
from the religious differences between Jews and Samaritans. He was not
to be drawn off from the main point at issue. He had asked for water,
for He was really thirsty. She had come to the well for water, for it
supplied a need. When she came to the well her aspirations reached
no farther than a pitcher of water. So, with water for a text, Jesus
proceeds to tell this Samaritan that good as the well was, and great as
Jacob was, all who drank of that water would thirst again. The best the
world had to offer could never satisfy her thirst. She could not help
but see the truth of these words. They were but the echo of her daily
experience.
Now the divine Teacher proceeds to uncover another well to this woman.
“Whosoever,” Jesus proceeded to say, and the whosoever included all
Samaritans and the world as well, “drinketh of the water that I shall
give him, shall never thirst; for the Holy Spirit that I shall put in
him shall be a well of water springing up into everlasting life--it
shall satisfy his thirst and he shall be continually refreshed.”
How deftly Jesus turned this conversation into a spiritual channel! It
was done so easily that the woman was not conscious of the change. She
thought he was talking about literal water, though the seriousness in
his tones had awakened her utmost attention. She knew what it was to
thirst, and the labor of coming to the well to carry away pitchers full
on her head, only to repeat the labor with each returning day. He had
awakened in her a desire, though that desire was no higher than water,
and she said, “Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come
hither to draw.” Though the woman did not understand His words, she was
really, in her mind, struggling with the great problem of not thirsting
any more, and of doing away with the necessity of daily coming to
Jacob’s well. How the Lord delights to lead inquiring minds to the
higher things of life! He saw, doubtless, by supernatural intuition,
the sinful blemishes in her life, as well as the deeper aspirations
of her soul which His words had awakened. How shall He get at the
plague-spot which corrupted the fountain of her life?
In a tender, pathetic tone he said to the woman, “Go, call thy
husband!” It was a painful request to make of this poor woman, but He
could not trifle. He must be faithful. The request had its desired
effect. It drew off the woman’s attention from her desire for fountains
of water, to see the wretched condition of her life.
Yet, with a frankness that showed an honest soul, she replied, “I have
no husband!”
Ah! that was the point this wisest of Teachers was bringing her to. He
did not want to see her husband, but He wanted her to see herself. His
words probed to the plague-spot in her soul. She admitted her guilt,
but could not quite bring her will to give up her manner of life.
When Jesus told her that she was living with the fifth man, and he not
her husband, she perceived that He was a prophet, and was ready with
another batch of theological questions. “I know I am not what I ought
to be,” she said in effect, “but then there are some things I don’t
understand, and now, since you are a prophet, perhaps you can inform
me. We Samaritans claim that our way is right, and you Jews claim that
your way is right. Both can’t be right; tell us what we are to do?”
Referring to her Samaritan ancestors, she continued, “Our fathers
worshipped in this mountain,” pointing to Mt. Gerizim, under the shadow
of which they almost stood, and which had a special sacredness as the
mount of blessing. It was also claimed by the Samaritans that their
worship was earlier, and, therefore, older than that at Jerusalem.
However, it is not clear that she meant to urge this as one of the
reasons in favor of Mt. Gerizim, on the summit of which the Samaritan
Temple stood. In the Scriptures which the Samaritans possessed (the
Pentateuch) the name of Gerizim had been inserted in the place of
the holy city of the Jews. On the other hand, the claim of the Jews
was exclusive. Men must worship in Jerusalem. If the woman regarded
the supremacy of Gerizim or Jerusalem an open question, it showed
her candor and a willingness to accept the revelation of the truth,
whatever it might be.
But see how our Lord sweeps the idol of locality from this inquirer’s
mind, “Believe me,” he said, “the hour cometh when ye shall neither
in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father.” Men have
ever looked upon their places of worship as sacred. Islamism has its
Mecca, the heathenism of India its Baneras and Ganges, the idolaters of
China their sacred mountains, the apostates of modern times their holy
shrines. Jesus abolishes local limitations, and announces that what one
worships is of more importance than where; that God is a Spirit, and
that true worship is unlimited by time, place or form.
[Illustration: THE NOONTIDE HOUR AT JACOB’S WELL.]
Such wonderful words had never fallen upon the ears or entered the
heart of this woman. No priest or scribe had ever uttered such sublime
conceptions of our relations to God. She had thought him a “prophet,”
but such utterances are almost divine. She thinks of the Messiah, and
answers, “I know that when Messias cometh, which is called Christ; when
He is come, He will tell us all things.” This was in accordance with
the Samaritan view of Christ. While showing a desire for a fuller
knowledge she thinks of a higher authority of the expected Messiah. In
this He did not rebuke her. He lets her question, yet is never turned
from His purpose. Step by step His love lifted this inquiring mind,
until at last she was ready for such an avowal of His nature and office
as He had never given to Scribe or Pharisee or disciple, “I that speak
unto thee am He!”
Wonderful news! Filled with surprise and joy, she “left her waterpot”
on the well, and ran into the city, forgetting all about her own need,
as well as the request of the Saviour for a drink of water. Her haste
shows how absorbed she had become in the wonderful words from the lips
of Him who declared Himself the long-expected Son of God. And He, the
blessed Lord, was so intent on saving a soul that He had forgotten all
about His thirst and His weariness.
Just as she had left the well, the disciples came, having made the
necessary purchase of food, and “marveled that He talked with the
woman,” yet were mysteriously restrained from asking Him why He did
so. Presently they spread their noonday meal, but observing that Jesus
did not share with them their meal, they urged Him, saying, “Master,
eat.” But great was their surprise when He answered, “I have meat to
eat that ye know not of.” They could not understand that the chance to
help an inquiring soul was more to Him than food or drink, and said to
one another, “Hath any man brought Him ought to eat?” He astonished His
inquiring disciples yet more, when knowing the thoughts uppermost in
their minds, said, “My meat is to do the will of Him that sent Me,” and
to carry out the mission for which I am in the world.
In the meantime the flying feet of the woman had reached the city, and
she hastened from street to street delivering her message, “Come, see a
Man who told me all that ever I did. Is not this the Christ?”
The theological questions over which Jews and Samaritans contended,
whether Jerusalem or Gerizim was the place where “men ought to
worship,” had dropped entirely out of her mind. But she proved an
excellent evangelist, for presently the people came flocking out of the
city in the direction of Jacob’s well, pouring out of every gate, and
led over the fruitful plain by the woman.
It must have been a grand sight, and showed that Jesus was not mistaken
when, looking into the face of the woman, He saw a pearl of great
beauty and worth beneath the rough exterior of this semi-heathenish,
yet quick-witted, sprightly and susceptible Samaritan.
As the Saviour lifted up His eyes over the plain and saw the
approaching multitude, He was evidently well satisfied in withgoing His
weariness and thirst while talking to this Samaritan Magdalene as she
came with her water-pitcher to the well, and not only was He satisfied
with the results of His labors, but He seems also to have been pleased,
for, as the host filled the plain, He called the attention of his
disciples to the beautiful sight, and exclaimed, “Say not ye, there
are yet four months, and then cometh harvest!” Doubtless this was true
in the physical world, but spiritual conditions do not have to depend
upon the slow processes of the natural world, and the well-sown seed
amid the glare of the noontide, was already ripening unto the harvest.
Behold the thronging people! said our Lord. “Lift up your eyes, and
look on the fields; for they are white already to the harvest.”
“Laborers wanted!” The ripened grain
Waits to welcome the reaper’s cry;
The Lord of the harvest calls again;
Who among us shall first reply,
“Who is wanted, Lord? Is it I?”
The Master calls, but the servants wait;
Fields gleam white ’neath a cloudless sky.
Will none seize the sickle before too late,
Ere the winter’s winds come sweeping by?
Who is delaying? Is it I?
As the people thronged the well to hear and see the Man who had
revealed the hidden life of the woman, He must have taught this people
with wise, loving words, for they forgot all about their prejudices
and hate and begged Him, though of a race with whom the Samaritans had
no dealings, to stay among them. And He graciously complied with their
request, and it took Him two whole days to harvest that whitened field.
And the record is, “Many of the Samaritans of that city believed on Him
for the saying of the woman.”
But what a testimony is all this to that Samaritan woman. What, if her
previous life had not been of good repute? What though she was a social
outcast? One thing she discovered that noonday, as she came out to draw
water from Jacob’s ancient well, that the Man who laid open her inner
life in such modest words and patient forbearance, was none other than
the long-expected Messiah, and she was altogether too generous-minded
to lock up the glad tidings in her heart, but at once, without
commission or priestly authority, witnessed for Christ, published the
glad tidings of salvation through the streets of Sychar, and brought
her whole city to a knowledge of her Saviour. And so this woman became
the first gospel preacher in Samaria. That was before church councils
had decided women may not speak for Jesus.
Jacob’s well is no longer used, and the grain fields, which “Stood
dressed in living green” before the Saviour’s eyes, have long been
trodden under foot of Islam’s hordes, yet the living spring of water
which our Lord opened there to the poor, sinful, yet penitent woman,
is as deep and fresh as ever, and has flowed on and out over the earth
to remotest nations, and will quench the thirst of souls to the end of
time.
We see also in this beautiful scene at Jacob’s well that Christ’s
intercourse with women was marked by freedom from Oriental contempt of
womanhood, and a marvelous union of purity and frankness, dignity and
tenderness. He approached this woman as a friend who wished her well,
and yet as her Lord and Saviour. And, to the good sense of womanhood
be it said, when the light of truth broke over her inquiring mind, she
believed! And behold how she loved Him! Forgetting her errand to the
well, yea, even leaving her pitcher, she hastened to publish the glad
news. Surely the Saviour “must needs go through Samaria,” on His way
from Judea to Galilee, and His resting in the little alcove of Jacob’s
well, for the moment sheltered from the glare of an Oriental midday
sun, was more than a geographical “_must_.” It was the necessity of
love laid upon His heart to meet and to help that woman who came with
an empty stone pitcher to the well at the same hour of the day, but
went away with a heart filled with “living water ... springing up into
everlasting life.”
Some time after this, on one of those days while Jesus was teaching in
lower Galilee, a Pharisee, by the very common name of Simon, invited
our Lord to a feast. Why he invited Him is not stated. Possibly he
may have been impressed with the character and teaching of Christ,
and disposed, in a social way, and at his own table, to give Him a
further hearing, thinking, perhaps, by coming in personal contact with
our Lord, aside from the throngs which attended upon His ministry, he
could the better satisfy himself as to the merits of this new Teacher
in Israel, and so invited Jesus to dine with him. Our Lord had not
yet broken with the Pharisees, and was still anxious, if possible, to
conciliate them, if by any means He might win them, and withal, willing
to show his good-will, accepted the invitation.
However gracious the invitation may have been given, it is quite clear
that the hospitality was meant to be qualified. These Pharisees who
loved the uppermost seats at feasts, knew how to entertain. But in
this feast, all the ordinary attentions which were usually paid to
honored guests were strangely omitted. There was no servant with basin
of water and towel for the weary and dust-covered feet, no anointing
of the head, no kiss of welcome upon the cheek, nothing but a somewhat
ungracious admission to a vacant place at the table, and the most
distant courtesies of ordinary intercourse, so managed that this Guest
from among the common people might feel that he was receiving honors
in the house of a rich and influential Pharisee. Many a poor man’s head
has been turned by such feigned and mock courtesies. It would have been
a thousand times better to the head and heart of Simon if he had never
invited the Lord, than to assume in His presence what he was not at
heart.
Our Lord must have keenly felt these omissions. But, since he had been
invited, He made the best of this empty show at hospitality, only we
may be quite sure He was clothed in His usual gentleness and modest
dignity. We may well believe our Lord showed no signs of being piqued
at the slights put upon Him, nor embarrassed in the presence of His
host and the distinguished guests present. While Jesus cared little for
show or etiquette, yet it was but natural that He should have keenly
felt these omissions so gracefully shown to the others at this feast.
But before us rises another scene. “Behold, a woman in the city, which
was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee’s
house, brought an alabaster box of ointment.” How thoughtful these
women are! This one was not satisfied with merely following the throng,
but she takes with her the most costly gift at her command. What a
contrast between her and Simon, who haughtily thought within himself
that anything was good enough for this lowly Prophet of Nazareth.
When this woman, whose character seemed to have been well known, too
well indeed for her own comfort, reached Simon’s house, she found the
door thronged by a crowd of people who had doubtless followed Jesus,
and now stood, and looked, and listened--for privacy seems a thing
impossible in the free and easy life of Orientals. For a moment she
lingered amidst the throng. While there, men, as they passed in to the
feast, gathered their robes as they passed her, lest by a passing touch
she should defile them. As she sees the scanty preparations, the cold
reception, her woman’s heart is made indignant. “Would that I were
worthy to ask Him beneath my roof, or would that I could bid Him come
and sit at meat with me; all that I have were His to minister in any
way to His comfort. But I, alas, am so far down and He so holy--there
is no chance for me.” So she thinks.
Then lo, that face is lifted, the eyes meet hers. He, all pitiful,
reading her heart looks an invitation that she can not resist. And then
in the presence of the Pharisees, as they start with horror, every man
shrinking from this infamous intruder, every face filled with scorn,
she hurries across to the side of the Lord Jesus and falls at His feet.
She pours forth her penitence in a flood of tears; then, startled that
she should thus have bathed His feet, she loosens her hair and wipes
them with reverent hands, and tenderly kissing His feet, she draws from
the folds of her dress a pot of unguent, and pours its fragrance upon
them.
Who she was or how she had come to know Jesus, or when she had been
moved by his preaching and converted by the grace of His words we do
not know. It is quite likely, having been attracted like others to be
one of His auditors somewhere, she had heard His gracious words of love
and pity, and had gladly on her part accepted their healing influences.
But when the Pharisee saw the marked attention of this woman of the
street to his Guest, he commenced talking to himself in his heart,
“This man, if He were a prophet,” he muttered to himself, “would know
who and what manner of woman this is that is thus lavishing her love
upon His feet, for she is a sinner, whose very touch is pollution.”
No doubt Simon was shocked beyond measure, especially when he saw
Jesus allowed it, and was glad at that moment that his cold caution
at the commencement of the feast had prevented him from giving Jesus
too cordial a welcome. “I am glad now I did not compromise my honor or
forfeit the good opinion of those of my set; that I wasted none of my
perfume upon His head; that I gave Him no kiss of welcome; yea, even
that I did not bid a servant wash His feet. Such acts of hospitality
would, in a measure at least, have committed me, in the eyes of the
people, to Him as a friend, and would have exposed me to the criticisms
of my brethren. I fear I have already gone too far, but will get out of
it as quickly as possible, and when I extend another invitation He’ll
know it. In my opinion, He is not only no prophet, but is altogether
too free with the common people to make Him desirable among my fellow
Pharisees.”
To be sure, Simon did not utter these thoughts aloud, but his frigid
demeanor, and the contemptuous expression of countenance, which he
did not take the trouble to disguise, showed all that was passing in
his heart. He little realized that Jesus had read his thoughts as
unerringly as if he had written them upon the walls of his dining-room,
and at once proceeded to lay open the heart of His host to himself
in a manner he had never thought it possible, and He did it by first
relating a little parable, and thus addressed the Pharisee:
“Simon, I have somewhat to say to thee!”
“Master, say on,” was the somewhat constrained reply.
“There was a certain creditor who had two debtors. The one owed five
hundred pence, and the other fifty; and when they had nothing to pay he
freely forgave both. Tell me, then, which of them will love him most?”
The construction of this parable is marvelous for its conciseness,
naturalness and simplicity. In its application Jesus makes Simon
condemn himself for his uncharitable judgment. He is compelled to admit
the whole force of the great scheme of salvation by pardoning grace.
It doubtless never entered Simon’s poor, proud, but sinful heart that
he, too, was a debtor and needed to be as freely forgiven as the woman
whose touch he considered pollution, and yet this is one of the lessons
taught by the comparison here drawn between the abandoned woman and
the proud Pharisee. It is pitiable to see the bitterness of the world
towards a lost woman. And yet why should not her companion in sin
suffer as much as she? But he never does. Let us be fair. Cast her out,
if you feel called on to be her judge, but at least do the same by him.
The fact remains that this poor woman knew she was an outcast. No
one would forgive her. Never could she regain her social standing.
But Simon? Ah! Simon was really quite a model man. As the world
judges worth, she stood at one extreme and he at the other. Simon was
eminently respectable. As a Pharisee he belonged to one of the first
families; he was recognized in Church and State; he had social position
which introduced him to the refined and educated. If he met a public
speaker of eminence, or a man of reputation, he honored him by inviting
him to dinner. Let us not too severely pass upon the conduct of Simon.
He was undoubtedly a worthy man. Christ’s reference to him in the
parable implies that his outward life was not that of a hypocrite or a
mere formalist. But this parable makes him a bankrupt debtor. He can
no more pay his fifty pence than the woman her five hundred pence. So
both were sinners, and both needed to be forgiven. Here there was no
difference. Both had broken the law of God, and both were in need of a
Saviour.
We see again that penitence breaks down the wall that separated from
God. This poor woman saw her dreadful sin and turned from it in an
agony of repentance. She sought the Lord. He was the only friend to
whom she could turn in her need. She was sure of His sympathy and help.
She desired forgiveness and found it. She had been alienated from God,
but through her penitence had reached a comprehension of Christ’s
character impossible to the self-satisfied Pharisee. She was far more
at one with God, as He was revealed in Christ, than was the dignified
gentleman, indignant at her presence in his house.
This woman felt a great need. She was sin-burdened, and needed a divine
deliverer, and the Saviour proved to be an all-sufficient helper.
How was it with Simon? Why, he relied on himself. He felt no need
of Christ’s help. He was self-satisfied--a very good man in his own
opinion. The woman had expressed her gratitude in many touching ways,
but Simon had no sense of gratitude. He had given no kiss of welcome,
had provided no water for the feet, had failed to anoint the Saviour’s
head.
Beyond a doubt there are a great many excellent people to-day of
Simon’s stamp. They are quite courteous, if their social position is
not compromised thereby. They will spread a feast, and invite the
Lord to dinner. And yet, they feel no need of Christ. The whole show
of hospitality is a cold, heartless formality, with no tenderness
of emotion towards Him. They feel no longing to make sacrifices for
His sake as expressive of their love. And so, while treating Christ
respectfully, they do not treat Him lovingly. They think too well of
themselves. They need to recognize more fully their position of danger
and their dependence upon Christ.
There is also a wonderful picture in this narrative of Christ’s
love for us. How considerate His treatment of this penitent and
broken-hearted woman! He was not supercilious. He had no feeling of
pride that resented her touch. It was not necessary that He avoid her
in order to vindicate His own purity.
Hitherto Jesus had said nothing to the woman, though it must have
thrilled her soul when she heard what had been said to Simon in the
application of the parable. She was first indirectly assured of the
grace of God in respect to herself, and of the principle on which her
forgiveness was vouchsafed. She knew that He was not ashamed of her,
and, finally, she heard Him say in so many words, “Her sins which are
many are forgiven her.”
Having said so much to Simon concerning her, Jesus now turned to the
woman herself, laid His hand tenderly upon the bowed head, for He would
not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax, He would not
by bitterness drive her from Him, but as her Defence and Deliverer,
personally addressed her, and said, “Thy sins are forgiven!” There now
remained not a doubt in her mind. She had His word personally addressed
to her, and this was the ground of her assurance.
[Illustration: THE UNINVITED GUEST.]
Now see what followed. “They that sat at meat with Him began to say,
within themselves, Who is this that forgiveth sins also?” Simon and his
friends were offended because there was no sympathy in their hearts
for Christ and His works of mercy. They did not desire the salvation
of this woman who had come in to their feast. It did not once occur
to them that Christ could know the character of the woman and yet be
willing to let her approach Him that He might forgive her sin. They saw
only a man, and said, “Who is this that forgiveth sins also?” Only God
could do that. But she saw a Saviour before her, and our Lord fearing
the cavil of the Pharisees might distress the woman, He said to her,
“Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace!” He would get her away from
the doubting Pharisees as quickly as possible.
It is worthy of observation that, notwithstanding the beautiful
exhibition this woman gave of her love and affection, it was her
“faith,” not her love, that saved her.
Tradition identifies this woman as Mary Magdalene, a native, it is
thought of Magdol, the modern _Mejdel_, a town on the west shore of
the Sea of Galilee, and south of the plain of Gennesaret. The present
village lies close to the water’s edge, and, Tiberias excepted, is the
only place on the western coast of Galilee which survives the wreck of
time.
Much is said by the Talmudists of her wealth, her extreme beauty, her
braided hair, but all we know of her from Scriptures is her enthusiasm
of devotion and gratitude which, henceforth, attached her, heart and
soul, to her Saviour’s service. For we read, “And it came to pass
afterward,” after this feast in the house of Simon the Pharisee, that
Jesus “went through” the cities and villages of Galilee “preaching and
showing the glad tidings of the kingdom of God,” and “certain women,
which had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities, Mary Magdalene,
out of whom went seven devils, and Joanna the wife of Chuza, Herod’s
steward, and Susanna, and many others,” “ministered unto Him of their
substance.” Thus we find this woman, with others, ministering to the
temporal necessities of our Lord.
In the last journey of Christ to Jerusalem, Mary Magdalene accompanied
the women who were in the company. She was also among the women on the
day of crucifixion who “stood afar off, beholding these things” during
the closing hours of the agony on the cross, and remained till all was
over, waited till the body was taken down, and wrapped in the linen
cloth and placed in the sepulchre of Joseph of Arimathea. Thus, this
loving, faithful woman, true to her nature, clung to her Lord to the
very last.
On the morning of the resurrection, Mary Magdalene was among the women
who found the tomb of our Lord empty. Instantly she hastened to inform
the disciples. While she was gone, the remaining women saw the angels,
who asked, “Why seek ye the living among the dead?” And instructed
them to tell his disciples. So when Mary returned to the sepulchre,
she was alone. She was also ignorant of what the angels had said to
the other women, and the poor woman’s heart could no longer retain her
pent-up grief, and stood at the open sepulchre weeping. Presently she
saw a man, and supposing him to be the gardener, said, “Sir, if thou
hast borne Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him, and I will take
Him away.”
While she is speaking to the supposed gardener, Jesus addressed her
by her given name, “Mary!” Behold, it was her Lord, and she exclaims,
“_Rabboni!_” It was the strongest word of reverence which a woman of
Israel could use, and, in her joy, would have fallen on His neck, had
He not restrained her. But what honor the Lord conferred upon her. She
was the first human messenger to the world of a risen Saviour!
Such was the beautiful pearl our Lord saw in the woman who poured out
her penitence in a flood of tears at His feet in the house of Simon
the Pharisee. While it was her faith that saved her, surely it can
truthfully be said of her, “She loved much.”
It was after Jesus had begun His new method of teaching by parables,
the keynote of which was, “Take heed how ye hear,” and had, at the
close of a hard day’s labor, sailed over the Sea of Galilee, and spent
the night in the region of Decapolis, in the hope of getting away from
the multitudes to obtain a little rest, that, on the following morning
as he returned to Capernaum, the people, from the hillsides were
watching for His return, and as soon as they recognized the sail of the
little vessel, and long before he reached land, great throngs had lined
the shore to welcome His return.
Notwithstanding the prejudices of the Scribes and Pharisees had already
been aroused against Christ, there was, on the shore, nervously moving
among the people, a very prominent citizen of Capernaum, by the name
of Jairus, a ruler of the synagogue. From the deep lines of anxiety
visible on his face, he was evidently in great mental distress. And
well he might be, for his beautiful twelve year old daughter had been
given up by the physicians and was dying. As a last resort, he hastened
to find Jesus, who already had performed many cures in his city, and
so when he learned that our Lord had passed over the Sea of Galilee,
he could do no better than wait His coming. No sooner had the little
vessel touched the landing than Jairus pushed his way through the
crowd, and when he got near enough fell at Jesus’ feet, and in great
agony of heart besought Him, saying, “My little daughter lieth at the
point of death; I pray Thee come and lay Thy hands on her, that she may
be healed.” There was no calmness in this appeal. On the other hand,
it was full of agitation and fear, mingled with fancies that the Lord
must first lay His hands upon his dying child. There is a striking
similarity between this appeal of Jairus, and that of the nobleman who
came to Jesus in the early part of His ministry, and cried out, “Come
down ere my child die.” Then the Lord told the nobleman to go his way,
his child should live, but here His divine compassion went out to the
distressed father. Doubtless Jesus saw the weakness of his faith, but
He also saw his sincerity, and so He “went with him.”
But the daughter of Jairus was not the only sufferer in that city. We
read, there was “a certain woman which had an issue of blood twelve
years, and had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent
all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse.”
Surely she was in a sorrowful condition, had suffered many things,
besides the disease which was wasting her life away, for medicine
in that age was but imperfectly understood, and diseases were often
exorcised by charms, and, doubtless her “many physicians” practiced all
sorts of charms and resorted to every kind of omen, until her money
was gone, and she was not only poverty-stricken, but daily growing
worse under her affliction. One almost wonders, since Jesus had now
been for a year and a half a resident of Capernaum, that she had not
sooner appealed to Him for help. Perhaps his work had been in another
part of the city, or she may have been deterred from asking His help
because of the nature of her malady, or she may have thought within
herself that she could do in the throng what she had not the courage to
do openly, for she said, “If I may but touch His garment, I shall be
whole.” And now was her opportunity, for “much people followed Him, and
thronged Him.” Besides, on this occasion, Jesus may have passed through
the street on which she lived, since He has such a way of passing by
the door of helpless, suffering humanity, for He is “touched with the
feeling of our infirmities.”
This woman at first does not impress us as having a very exalted idea
of the Saviour or faith in His ability to heal. Doubtless she shared
the superstition of her people, and imagined that Christ healed by a
sort of magic or magnetism, for, as she mingled in the throng, she said
to herself, if I come “in the press,” if I can only get near enough to
“touch the hem of His garment,” I will be healed. These seem to be the
thoughts passing through her mind as she ventured out on her errand of
being healed. It is important, however, though difficult, to realize
her situation, for she had become impoverished, diseased, and almost
helpless. Once she was possessed of health, and some means at least,
and, no doubt moved in respectable society. Her changed relations
to her former surroundings made it all the harder to be publicly
recognized, and so she timidly permits herself to be absorbed by the
multitude as they pressed their way through the crowded street that
morning. There may be another reason of which she was fully conscious,
namely, according to the Mosaic law, such a sufferer was unclean, and
was required, after the cure was wrought, to bring an offering for
purification. Orientals had a perfect abhorrence of such a person, for
her very touch would render them unclean. Perhaps could we know all the
circumstances which shaped her actions, the wonder would be, that she
came at all, and that her courage was greater than her faith.
At length, and as unobtrusively as possible, she came up, in the press
of the people, behind Jesus, and stretched out her trembling hand, and
in such a modest way touched the hem of His garment that no one saw
it, not even His disciples, who were nearest the Saviour. Since no one
saw her act, she thought no one needed to know it. Perhaps she was so
careful that she even thought Jesus was not conscious of it. But to our
Lord there was a difference between the touch of faith and the touch of
the crowd. She was all too deeply conscious of her great need. She was
carried along with the multitude, because she believed if she could get
near enough to Jesus to touch Him, she would receive that which all her
physicians were unable to bestow, namely, restoration to health. She
was there for a blessing. The crowd was there through idle curiosity.
They wanted nothing, only to see. They pushed through the thronged
highway together, and as they did so talked about the simplicity of the
great Man in their midst, were interested in Him because of His fame,
discussed His origin, wondered at the growing opposition of the Scribes
and Pharisees, but hoped some good would come of Him to the nation. The
woman believed she would personally receive new life from Him. In this
she was not disappointed, for “straightway the fountain of her blood
was dried up; and she felt in her body that she was healed of that
plague.” To her there was an inward consciousness, which could not be
mistaken, of the staunching of a wound through which her life, for long
years, had been slowly and yet surely ebbing, and she felt the rising
tide of new existence and a return to wholeness.
But now the scene changes. The great throng came to a halt. What has
happened? one inquired of another. See! Jesus has turned around “in the
press” and is sharply looking into the faces of those nearest Him, and
demanding, “Who touched my clothes?”
To the disciples this seemed a strange inquiry, and they could not
understand its meaning, and replied, “Thou seest the multitude
thronging thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me?” To appreciate
the astonishment of the disciples one must see an Oriental throng
pushing its way through a narrow street of an Eastern city. There is
no resisting its onward rush. Like some mighty river which, fed by a
thousand spring freshets, irresistibly bears everything before it, so
is an Eastern crowd, and the wonder is that Jesus could stay at all.
But He immediately knew in “Himself that virtue had gone out of Him.”
He was conscious that He had put forth power for the woman’s healing.
He would there and at once correct any superstition that there was any
healing virtue in His clothes. Not in the touch of the garment, for the
people pressed Him on all sides, and experienced nothing of His healing
power, even though one or another might have had a concealed disease,
simply because this conscious need of help was lacking in them, and so
it was her own faith had saved her, even though in the beginning it was
not wholly free from superstition.
But what a trial this stop must have been to the woman, especially
when there was such urgent haste, and this seeming leisurely way of
calling out all the circumstances of the case, even after all disavowed
touching Him, and His looking “round about to see her that had done
this thing.” She must have thought to herself, “I will surely be
discovered.” And timidly shrank back in the crowd, her face burning
with confusion, for doubtless she was not only alarmed at the delay,
but also mortified and afraid on account of the nature of her malady,
disturbed by the consciousness of impropriety, as having, while
Levitically unclean, dared to mingle with the people, and even touch
the great Teacher Himself. We wonder, in the sweep of the Saviour’s eye
over the multitude “to see her,” as she caught sight of His beneficent
face, possibly for the first time, she did not see something in it
that calmed her fears and inspired hope? It would seem so, for even
while yet “fearing and trembling” she came promptly out from among the
throng, “fell down before Him,” and, hard as it must have been for
her to tell her shame in the ears of the multitude, woman-like, she
bravely “told Him all the truth!” Confessed the whole sad story of her
life, and twelve long years of suffering. Oh, the touch of loyalty to
truth and honor in this woman, prostrate at the feet of Jesus, pleading
for mercy and forgiveness! How His own heart must have been touched by
it. He would not break the bruised reed, even in this necessity for
the good of her faith, to have her openly confess the great blessing
she had received. Doubtless the Lord constrained her to make this
confession, partly to seal her faith and to strengthen her recovery,
and partly to present her to the world as healed and cleansed.
But while she is sobbing out her confession at the Saviour’s feet, He
graciously addresses her, “Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath
made thee whole; go in peace!” Had ever such endearing words fallen
upon human ears! To the woman in the house of Simon the Pharisee, He
had said, “Thy faith hath saved thee!” To this one He says, “Daughter,
be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole!” That endearing
appellation, “daughter,” must have sounded as a lost note out of heaven
in the ear of this woman. Could it be possible that she, who, under
the Levitical law, had been held by her people as unclean, is called
“daughter” by the pure, sinless Son of God? Did ever heaven come down
to earth in such graciousness, and rescue from the mire of uncleanness
and elevate womanhood to be a princess of the sky? Surely these were
days of heaven upon earth, and we may well believe that “daughter”
arose from her prostrate attitude at the feet of the Lord of life and
glory, “a new creature” in Christ.
Early ecclesiastical legends have garlanded this woman with many
beautiful fancies. Her birthplace, according to tradition, was Paneas
(the modern Banias), located at the sources of the Jordan. Here, in
the front of her residence, she caused a monument to be erected to her
Deliverer. She must also have been in the company of women who followed
Jesus to Jerusalem at the last Passover, for, at the several trials of
our Lord she is made to appear under the name of Veronica, and is said,
in the presence of Pilate, to have proclaimed, in a clear, loud voice,
the innocence of our Lord, and after he was condemned to be crucified,
on the way to Calvary, wiped His face with her own handkerchief.
Whatever value or genuineness there may be attached to these
traditions, they certainly show in what reverence she was held in
Christian antiquity, and how highly the faith and the hope of this
sufferer were esteemed.
But, above all these traditionary legends, we behold the glory and
majesty of our Lord in that, in the midst of the multitude, He
displayed no traces of excitement, but that in calm consciousness He
was ready to receive any impression from without. Of this there is
the clearest evidence, when, in the midst of the excited crowd, He
perceived that one timid, shrinking woman, in the agony of her faith
touched the fringe of His garment; and when He stopped to comfort and
confirm the trembling believer, whom His power and grace had restored,
He had recognized, even in a throng, that faith which was unperceived
by men, and only found expression in the inmost desires of the one who
was not even known to the crowd. He alone could develop and strengthen
this unobtrusive and shrinking “daughter” until she breaks forth in
open and public profession.
There are also reasons why Christ ascribes to faith the deliverance
which He alone works: 1. Faith alone can receive the needed
deliverance. 2. Shrinking modesty, and even a feeling of unworthiness,
need no longer be kept back by any sense of uncleanness, from the full
exercise of that faith. 3. God’s gifts are not alone for the rich and
those high in the ranks of social life, for even this ruler of the
synagogue had to give place to this timid woman, therefore faith may
be exercised by those in the humblest walks of life. 4. Jesus would
convert the act of faith into a life of faith. This woman was not hid
from the searching glance of Christ, but His gracious act of healing
was concealed from the world until He brought her before Him in her
public confession.
If there is anything that can grieve the heart of Christ it must be
the person who absorbs like a sponge all the gifts of grace, but never
gives any of them out to others. If every one acted thus, Christianity
would be blotted from the face of the earth in a single generation.
Hence the wisdom and justice in requiring believers to be witnesses and
confessors. If you have received any good, tell it out, that others may
be blessed and God glorified.
It was now becoming manifest that the opposition of the Pharisees was
deepening, and, because they were bitterly offended at the Saviour’s
work, shortly after the healing of the woman with a bloody issue,
Jesus withdrew from Capernaum to the “borders of Tyre and Sidon.” Only
a little before this so many were coming and going that our Lord and
His disciples “had no leisure so much as to eat,” and because of these
throngs upon His public ministry, He had said to the apostles, “Come
ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest awhile.” So they
sailed for the farther shore, to find a safe retreat in the sheltered
uplands in the dominion of Herod Philip. But the people, who seemed to
be always on the watch, when they saw the little vessel sailing out
from Capernaum, and knew, by the direction it was taking, they quickly
spread the news of His departure, and thronged out of Capernaum,
Bethsaida, Chorazin and other cities, and hastened on foot around the
shores of the sea, and outran the vessel and reached His contemplated
place of retirement in advance of the little craft, and there was no
rest, but a great multitude to be instructed, and healed, and fed,
for it was on this occasion that He spread a table in the desert, and
five thousand, besides women and children, sat down to eat. And so
there was nothing but a hard day’s work, and a night on the desolate
mountain in prayer. So obviously His journey to the “borders of Tyre
and Sidon,” was to find seclusion and rest, which He had sought, but in
vain, in the “desert place.” But even here, down by the coast of the
Mediterranean, “He could not be hid,” although, when He had reached the
“borders” of the land, He “entered into a house and would have no man
know it.”
To our mind this is one of the most remarkable incidents in our Lord’s
ministry. In the house of some sheltering friend, on the remote
frontier of Galilee, He hoped to escape popular attention and to be
relieved from the demands of the crowds, who had even deprived Him
of the needed time to eat, but “He could not be hid.” A woman, a
Syro-Phœnician, that is to say, one of the mixed race, in whom the
blood of the Syrians and Phœnicians mingled, and for that reason doubly
despised by the Jews, this woman had observed His presence, and was
soon “at His feet.” From the fact that she was a Gentile, and of a
mixed race at that, made her coming to Jesus an act of heroic faith.
She came not only without invitation, or a single promise to warrant
her coming, but in the face of heart-breaking discouragements. We
have been trained to believe, from the clear teaching of Scripture,
that when we come to Christ with our burdens of sorrow, be they ever
so heavy, and ask for help, our prayers must always be subject to His
will. And indeed He set us a beautiful object-lesson in His own great
agony in Gethsemane. But here it would seem as if the process had been
reversed, and as if this poor Syro-Phœnician woman had succeeded in
imposing her will on the Son of God. Did He not say, “Be it unto thee
even as thou wilt?” And is there not in this the appearance, at least,
of the monarch abdicating in favor of the subject? Strange, indeed,
that any one should get their own way and will with the Sovereign
of all, for the sin that is in us so dyes the color of our will and
deflects it, that we can seldom think of it as being other than a
crooked piece of bent or twisted iron. It is very wonderful that this
woman’s faith was able to get deliverance for her daughter possessed
of an “unclean spirit.” Somehow she believed beforehand in His love
to her, a poor Gentile mother, and this was great faith indeed. All
the miracles of Christ were wrought in response to faith, either in
the sufferers who besought His aid, or in their friends. There must
be faith by which, as over a bridge, the divine help might pass into
the nature of man. Faith is the unfurled petal, the opened door, the
unshuttered lattice. And so, in this case, it was through the mother’s
faith that God’s delivering help passed to the child.
Upon a careful study of the secret of this woman’s faith, we shall
discover that her faith was severely tested. Christ gave her four
tests, each of which was necessary to complete her education; and by
each, with agile foot, she climbed the difficult stairway, which some
would say was of upward ascent, but which in point of fact was one of
downward climbing, until she got low enough to catch the waters which
issue from the threshold of the door of heaven’s mercy.
The first test was that of silence. “She cried unto Him, saying, Have
mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed
with a devil.” The effects of these unclean spirits are described in
the instance where the distressed father brought his demoniac boy to be
healed. And while the father is bringing him, the poor child is seized
with paroxysms of his malady, having fallen to the ground at the feet
of Jesus, foaming at the lips under the violent convulsions. When the
father was asked how long the boy had thus been possessed, he answered,
“Of a child, and ofttimes it hath cast him into the fire, and into the
water to destroy him;” and whenever the spirit “taketh him, he teareth
him, and he foameth, and gnasheth with his teeth and pineth away.”
Such was the demon this poor mother’s daughter was possessed with,
and grievously tormented. But to her appeal for help, Jesus “answered
her not a word.” He alone had the power to help, but the agonizing
mother awakened no response. And yet, His very silence is a testing of
her faith. Often it has happened that God’s answer which has best met
our need was the silence which has not been a refusal, but has given
time for us to reach a condition of lowliness and helplessness before
God. He always lets the fruit upon His trees ripen before He plucks
it. Through the silence of the winter the sap is touching again its
mother earth, and becoming reinforced by her energy for its work in
the blossoms of May and the fruit of September. The mind reaches its
clearest, strongest conclusion by processes carried on in its depths
during hours of silence and repose. It is in the long, silent hours,
when the heart waits at the door, listening for the footstep down the
corridor in vain, that processes are at work that shall make it more
able to hold the blessedness which shall be poured out from the chalice
of a Father’s pity.
Again. She was sorely tested in the conduct of the disciples. They
were eager to rid themselves of the worry of this woman’s crying, and,
as the quickest solution--a solution which we are all ready enough
to imitate--advised Christ to give her what she wanted and send her
off. They thought a miracle to Christ was not more than a penny to a
millionaire. They did not see that Christ’s hands were tied until the
conditions of blessing were fulfilled in the suppliant. He loves us too
well to give His choicest boons to those who have not complied with the
lofty spiritual conditions which are part of the standing orders of the
kingdom of heaven. Much of our charity is sheer selfishness. We would
rather grant the request any day than have an unsightly beggar intrude
into our bowers of selfish repose. “She crieth after us,” the disciples
said; “her misery is unpleasant; heal it.”
But Christ was tied by the terms of His commission. She had appealed
to Him as Son of David, and He said that He had been sent to the
lost sheep of the house of Israel. She belonged to one of the alien
races. She was not even a “sheep” of the house of Israel, much less a
“lost” one. The question was, “Could He, even for once, transcend His
commission, and grant the request of this weary soul which had traveled
so far to find the Christ?” As Messiah, she had no claim on Him, for,
in that capacity, He had been commissioned to the house of Israel only.
Once again. Her faith was tested in His farther refusal to her
pleadings, when He said, “It is not meet to take the children’s bread,
and cast it to the dogs.” Somehow her quick woman’s instinct perceived
a way up what had seemed to be the unscalable path of Christ’s refusal.
If she had no claim on Him as Messiah, was He not something more? Was
He not Lord and Master? Did not deity blend with humanity in that
nature, which, whilst His voice repelled her, yet fascinated and
attracted her? It would almost seem as if the Holy Spirit whispered,
“Accost Him as Lord;” “Touch Him on the side of His universal power;”
“Speak to Him as Son of Man.” So she acted upon His suggestion, and,
throwing herself at His feet, said, “Lord, help me.” To this appeal
Christ gave answer that seemed churlish enough. But the bitter rind
encased luscious fruit. The nut had only to be cracked to disclose
the milk, sweeter than that of the cocoanut in the desert waste. He
compared the Jews to children, Himself to bread, and this woman to a
dog. But for the word “dog” he used the tender diminutive, which was
not applicable to the wolfish, starving animals that prowl and snarl
through the streets of Eastern towns, but was used for the little dogs
brought up with the children in the home. Now, hope once again sprang
up in her heart. Jesus had talked about dogs, and little house dogs,
the playthings of the children. He said it was not proper to cast the
children’s bread to dogs. If by children he meant the “sheep of the
house of Israel,” then she must belong to the household after all.
She was quick to see her opportunity. “Truth, Lord!” she exclaimed,
“Yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table!”
When she said that, her lesson was learnt. In her former reply she
had given the Lord His right place; in this she took her own as a
little dog. You are not a child of Abraham’s stock! Truth, Lord. You
are a Syro-Phœnician, and, for that reason, doubly unfit to be called
a child! Truth, Lord. All I do for you must be of grace, and not of
merit! Truth, Lord. She admitted all and accepted His most discouraging
statements concerning herself. But, after the worst that can be said
about dogs, they “eat of the crumbs.” All these seeming objections are
in favor of her request. She only wants a little crumb of His mercy,
which will take nothing from others.
Jesus could stand such pleadings no longer, and he answered and said,
“O, woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt.”
She had come for crumbs, but the Lord handed to her the key of the
storehouse, and said, “Have your way, go in and help yourself to all
its stores.” She would have been content with the crumbs that fell
beneath the table on the floor, but she finds herself seated at the
table itself, and feasting like a daughter of the king on its rich and
bountiful provision. No longer a dog, she proves herself to be one of
those other sheep which shamed the lost sheep of the house of Israel by
docility and purity and grace.
This woman had many graces. She had wisdom, humility, meekness,
patience, perseverance in prayer; but all these were the fruits
of her faith; therefore, of all graces, Christ honors faith most.
The perseverance of this woman may well be considered as every way
calculated to teach us the power and efficacy of faith, and the
greatness of her faith consisted in this, that in spite of all
discouragements she continued her plea. Many a blessing has been lost
out of our lives just because we lacked these graces of the soul.