Crumbs Aplenty

He said 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.”

But she answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs” [Mark 7:27-28].

In last week’s Gospel, Jesus confronted “the Pharisees and some of the teachers of the law” [Mark 7:1] regarding their holier-than-thou attitude, reminding them—without criticizing the Jewish law itself—that nothing outside a person could defile; it was what came from within a person that defiled [Mark 7:15]. As if to illustrate that very point, in this Sunday’s Gospel lesson, Mark 7:24-37 [the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL, Year B], Jesus trods off to a spot near Tyre (i.e., well within impure Gentile territory). Jesus enters a house, where He hopes to remain incognito. Fat chance of that.

Somehow, Jesus’ cover is blown. He’s approached by a woman— “a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin” (Mark 7:26)—who charges through every traditional cultural and religious barrier. In Matthew’s version of the story, he adds a racial slur, calling her “a Canaanite” [Matthew 15:22]. Canaanites are ancient enemies of the children of Israel.

She isn’t just a Gentile; she’s also a woman, unaccompanied by a husband or male relative. It is highly improper for such a woman to initiate a conversation with a strange man—indeed, a strange Jewish man. Yet, she’s desperate. Her daughter is possessed by a demon. According to the Pharisees and teachers of the law with whom Jesus had verbally jousted last in last week’s lesson, the mother’s contact with her own afflicted daughter would have rendered the woman doubly unclean.

She approaches Jesus, falls at his feet, and begs Him to exorcise her daughter’s demon. Nowhere in Mark’s Gospel has Jesus withheld such assistance. Powerfully symbolic, exorcisms signal the overthrow of Satan’s kingdom by God’s Son [see Mark 1:21-28; 3:11-12, 23-27; 5:1-20; 9:14-29]. Jesus’ disciples also drove out many spirits from the afflicted [Mark 6:13]. We are primed to see this sort of thing as being at the core of Jesus’ ministry. And yet, His response seems to be very “un-Jesus-like.” Because Jesus has stressed that there is no distinction between clean (Jews) and unclean (Gentiles), we’re unprepared for His response to the woman’s plea.

He doesn’t ignore her. Nor does he tell her that He will offer her no help, but He does proffer that there will be a delay in responding to her petition since, based upon ethnic priority:

First let the children eat all they want …, for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs [Mark 7:27].

Surely, He didn’t say “dogs!” We think, “There must be a translation issue.” Only, there isn’t [see similar wording in 1 Samuel 17:43 and Revelation 22:15]. Some commentators have tried to soften the blow of Jesus’ words by saying—without a textual basis—that he must have meant “little puppies,” perhaps a less offensive term. St. Luke was apparently so troubled by Jesus’ words that he left this story out of the third Gospel altogether. Others suggest that Jesus was merely testing the woman’s faith. Perhaps, but I think that argument is less than compelling.

Again, Jesus hasn’t so much refused the woman as he has prioritized her need. Important as it is to her, the “children” (apparently, Israel) are the first to be served/saved. Jesus’ words are an affront even here, for children had no role of prominence in the first century. Yet even they would come before this woman and her daughter.

It is at this juncture, of course, that the story gets truly interesting, for she has a quick and splendid comeback. Continuing to run with the word play that Jesus has initiated, she corrects Him, saying, “Lord (Kyrie), but “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs” [7:28].

Her response is not only deft and surprising, it is theologically profound. She has acknowledged Jesus’ superior status. She has accepted His apparent insult. She has lowered herself to a position beneath His table. And, as pointed out by some who “do Greek” (as I’ve mentioned numerous times, I do not) she has substituted the term Jesus used for “children” with another (paidia) that combines immaturity and servanthood. She will happily accept the children’s crumbs.

The woman’s answer anticipates Jesus’ own definition of discipleship. Later, the Savior will lower Himself to servant status. He will wash the feet of His disciples. He will turn his cheek when struck. He will offer up first His clothing, then His hands and feet, and finally His life for others.

Jesus, knowing all this, looks at the woman’s tenacity, her drive, her unwavering advocacy for her daughter and, I think, says to Himself, “Now that is Trust.” He will not disappoint her.

Much has been written over the years about how this clever, resourceful, desperate woman won out in a verbal joust with Jesus. She is woman; “hear her roar!” And yet, her words to Jesus contain more theological depth than mere wit and eloquence. The woman looks at Jesus and sees something that Jesus’ disciples are only beginning to see themselves. She sees abundance. She was not at the wedding in Cana, where he turned large jugs of water into fine wine. She wasn’t on the grassy hill, where with a meager five loaves and two fish, he fed more than 5,000 persons. In a way, she sensed that even within the abundance of feeding so many with so little, there was an abundance left over for others.

The woman looks at Jesus and surmises that wherever He is, there is so much abundance that surely, in some form or fashion, some of it is going to spill out, over the edge of the table, and onto the floor where she has supplicated herself and her need. And with this Jesus, it isn’t just about the amount of abundance. It’s also the quality of it. This isn’t merely bread; it’s somehow “bread come down from heaven.”

Modern folks like us would demand a seat at the table. We’d speak truth to power. In our individualistic society, we often struggle with the humility displayed by the Syrophoenician woman. Yet, her approach reveals a profound understanding of grace and abundance that many of us miss in our current assertions of equality. She doesn’t require that Jesus treat her as one of “the children.” But she does remind Him that she has a child of her own. A few of His crumbs will be plenty, but her child needs them now. Like Jacob [Genesis 32:26], she won’t let go of Jesus until she gets His blessing. And Jesus, admiring her spirit and tenacity, freely gives that blessing to her. Her daughter is healed before she can even get home.

The spirit of this Syrophoenician woman—this outsider—her humility, her persistence, and her recognition of abundance even in unlikely places, is not confined to ancient times. I've witnessed it directly. It has stayed with me for decades.

Thirty-five years ago, while serving part-time at nearby Asbury UMC, a predominantly white United Methodist congregation, I encountered a parishioner who embodied the spirit of the Syrophoenician woman in our Gospel story.

This man—let’s call him Bobby—stood out in our church. Bobby was Black in an all-white congregation, and Bobby was gay. His attendance wasn't due to a specific calling to our church; rather, Asbury was simply the closest to his home. Most every Sunday, Bobby would take a seat in the back row, often slipping out as the final hymn began.

Given my full-time commitments at Duke Law School and the senior pastor’s varied duties at a declining church, it took some time for us to get to know Bobby. When the senior pastor finally had a chance to speak with him about his expectations and needs, Bobby’s response was both surprising and moving. Referencing this very Gospel story, he said simply, “I’m just here to catch some crumbs.”

Like the Syrophoenician woman, Bobby recognized the abundance present in our church community, even a church community like Asbury, that was slowing dying. Despite feeling like an outsider, Bobby persisted in coming, content to receive whatever spiritual nourishment he could find, even if it was just the “crumbs” that fell from the table.

Bobby’s humility and tenacity in seeking spiritual sustenance, even in a place where he might not have felt fully welcomed, serves as a powerful parallel to the woman in Mark's Gospel.

Do you know any “back pew” folks? Are you one of them? Rejoice! There are crumbs aplenty.