So I grew up reading the Bible but the story of the Syro-Phoenician woman did not make much sense to me until much later in life. Beyond the details of the theology, I hold on to a simple lesson from that story that informs my behavior and choices today.
I will stay humble. I will not give in to the temptation of feeling entitled. I will not walk around with chip on my shoulder. The world owes me nothing. God owes me nothing. If He never did one more thing for me, I’ll still be thankful to him and continue to put my faith in him.
Please read this woman’s story in Mathew 15:21-28.
Below is a re-telling of her story I wrote in my book, From the Sidelines. I imagined what her life must have been like in the light of the burden she carried and the cultural nuances of her day.
Be blessed!
Remi Roy
“Thank you, Doctor,” Hilda said, closing the door behind the tired physician.
The poor man had tried all he could but it seemed Matilda was doing poorly. These days nobody could tell exactly what was wrong with her. At certain times she would convulse violently, thrashing about restlessly, upsetting everything in her path. At other times her fever would rise and she would lose the ability to string a coherent sentence.
The good doctor had given up; Hilda saw it in his eyes. She leaned against the door and sighed. Tears threatened to spill unhindered but she swallowed past the lump in her throat and pushed off from the door. She had to be strong.
She tiptoed to Matilda’s room and sat by the bed, not wanting to wake the little girl. She stroked Matilda’s dry, brown locks and closed her own tired eyes, willing for the strength to save her daughter. She hadn’t been able to groom her properly for weeks now. Water upset her, so did olive oil or any other ointment.
She sighed in frustration. She would give anything to be Eunice right now. That woman had something special. Eunice, her Jewish neighbor, had found a deep joy and excitement that was so real Hilda could almost touch it. She would go to these meetings and come back excited and ready to teach her some new thing the Rabbi had taught. Last night she had talked to her again and Eunice had convinced her to look for the Rabbi.
“He can solve your problem Hil, I know he can,” she had said tenderly, taking Hilda’s trembling hands in hers.
She was grateful for Eunice’s friendship.
Right now, it wasn’t for lack of faith that she held back. It wasn’t even for fear of rejection at the hands of a Jewish Rabbi; she being Greek and all that. No. She had heard lots of amazing things the Rabbi had done. Hadn’t Jarius’s daughter been miraculously healed, across the lake in the region of the Gerasenes? These news travel fast. But she knew Attila would never hear of it. She shook her head sadly. Attila and his Grecian pride, she could hear him now, snoring away his sorrows, drugged senseless by cheap wine.
“Jews! The lying bunch, stay away from them, woman. I warn you!” he would say and point his finger at her in drunken stupor. His pride prevented him from seeking the only alternative they had left.
Matilda stirred and mumbled something in her sleep, forcing Hilda out of her jumbled thoughts. She prayed that the night would pass without a crisis. Rising slowly, she looked out into the still dark night. Tomorrow she would take the matter into her hands, Attila’s stubborn pride or not. Armed with her new found resolve, she turned in for the night.
A few days later, Eunice gave her very good news; the Rabbi would be in the Tyre region by night fall. He would be at Gaius’s residence keeping a low profile. Hilda knew what to do.
♠♠
The journey had been tiresome but John still worked to make sure the Master was comfortable. Gaius had spared no expense to treat them well.
“Gaius,” he heard the Master say to their host, in his calm and unhurried manner. “Your sacrifice is much appreciated.”
The kind man bowed in reverence. It was his privilege to serve the Master.
They had prepared to turn in for the night when there came a sharp knock at the door.
Gaius looked up in mild surprise, he wasn’t expecting anyone. “Please ignore it. Be comfortable.” The bald man got up and walked slowly to the door. “Who’s there?” he called, careful not to raise his voice.
“Gaius, it’s Hilda,” came the soft reply.
He gasped and looked back at his guests.
“She’s…huh…a neighbor, Syrophoenician. Lives three streets away.”
“Let her in, perhaps she requires something from you,” John replied, looking at the others and feeling sorry for the woman already.
Gaius promptly unlatched the door.
♠♠
A gust of wind blew past Hilda as she rushed in, only to stop in mild surprise as she saw the room full of men. She rallied quickly. Turning to Gaius, she spoke in a low tone.
“I’d like to see the Rabbi, please. It’s urgent.”
She looked around the room again and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Which one of these men was he?
Gaius shook his head slightly. “How did you know he was here? It’s late, Hilda. You should go home.” He tried to guide her back to the door, but she would have none of it.
“You don’t understand, my daughter is very sick. There’s no hope. I have to see him!” Her voice had gone up a notch.
Without waiting for the house owner’s consent, she walked further into the room and searched the faces of the men, and, just like that, she knew who it was she had come to see. His eyes were cool but piercing, his demeanour calm, sure, and full of authority. She fell at his feet and cried in anguish blurting out all the pain. She told of her woes, her efforts and how she’d come up with nothing.
He seemed unperturbed, His gaze fixed on some spot on the wall.
Her face fell as she looked around her, unsure. Had she been wrong? Had Eunice been wrong about the Rabbi? No, she had to beg him. He was the Rabbi, she had heard of the things he had done. He would do the same for her, for her daughter’s sake. She kept on crying, begging him to have mercy.
After a long while, he looked at her, her persistence obviously getting to him.
“The children have to be fed first,” he said calmly. “It is not right to toss the children’s bread to the dogs.”
The light of understanding shone in her eyes. Attila would have left in anger if he were here. These words would have upset him terribly. But she knew better. She had come seeking, praying, and hoping. She wasn’t going back empty handed.
“Yes, my Lord,” she cried, her voice filled with emotion. “But even the dogs feed on the crumbs under the children’s table.”
It was the Rabbi’s turn to be amazed. He got up from the reclining couch and looked straight at her as if seeing down into her soul. Such faith, such absolute trust. He was impressed.
“Go!” he said, his eyes fixed on her. “Your daughter is fine now.”
That night there was celebration in Hilda’s home. Her daughter was well, playing around like her old self. Her husband was drunk, as always, but she was too happy to be upset. She would wait till morning; hopefully he’d be sober by then. Someone was about to lose his pride…
Excerpt from From the Sidelines; A Collection of Historical Fiction.
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