Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Nervously twisting her fingers together, she loitered outside the house. No one was supposed to know He was here. No one was encouraged to approach. No one was intended to come looking for a miracle. Yet here she was. Half hidden behind a shrub near the corner of his residence. Furtively glancing around. Watching. Waiting. Hoping to catch Jesus before others realized He was there. Hoping to present her case. Hoping He would listen. Because Jesus really was her only hope. Her last resort. The only possible resolution to their problem. Her daughter needed a miracle. Right then. That very day. 

Every day the woman felt another piece of her heart shatter as she watched her daughter endure the brutal torment possession by an evil spirit caused. Fear for her child’s safety haunted her. Tears were her constant companion. Sad helplessness enveloped her life. Relentlessly, she searched for answers, a reprieve, a hope to pierce their current darkness. Her daughter was wasting away. The light in her eyes had dimmed. The desire to live was gone. She was a shadow of her former self. Every day that passed was just another hopeless period in the bleak existence stretching out before them. Without a miracle, without hope, her daughter would surely die. 

Desperation had brought her to this place. Hiding around corners. Looking over her shoulder. Rehearsing her words for when Jesus appeared. She shouldn’t even be here. She knew that. She shouldn’t be lying in wait to ambush Him when He clearly wanted privacy. She shouldn’t be lurking outside a man’s dwelling. It wasn’t appropriate. She knew that. She also knew there was no alternative. Jesus was her only hope. Being Gentile hadn’t stopped her from hearing things about Him. He healed the sick. Restored sight to the blind. Cast out demons. That report immediately caught her attention. It was exactly what she needed. Search as she had, no one had ever been able to disentangle her daughter from the evil spirit. No prophet. No priest. No religious teacher. Jesus was her only option. Her final hope. It was still a long shot.  

Quietly exiting His temporary abode, Jesus was immediately met by the lurking Gentile woman. He was not surprised. He knew she was there. He knew why. He still didn’t even look her way. Not when she ran up to Him sobbing, begging, pleading. Not when she threw herself at His feet and poured out her heart. Not as her words toppled over one another, describing her daughter’s tragic situation, her own pain at being impotent to help, and her desperate hope that Jesus would do something, anything, to end their suffering. He didn’t say anything. Not one word. 

The woman probably should have been put off. Embarrassed. Ashamed of her outburst. Humiliated by the lack of response. But she wasn’t. She refused to be. There was nothing else. Nowhere else to go. No one else to consult. She had exhausted every other possibility. All her hope was in Jesus. Every ounce of it. She chose to place it there. And leave it there. Even when He didn’t seem to notice. Even when He didn’t bother to answer. Even when He gave no indication He had even heard. She didn’t move from that place. She didn’t stop asking. Didn’t stop seeking. Whether or not Jesus appeared to be listening, whether or not He chose to immediately act. She was going nowhere. Hope in His storied mercy and compassion had her rooted to that spot, crying out to Jesus for help. 

If Jesus could ignore the ruckus, the disciples absolutely could not. They were crazy annoyed. That woman needed to go. Now. She was obnoxious. Her caterwauling was interrupting their comfortable relaxation and pleasant conversation. While they weren’t about to lift a finger to help dispatch her, they definitely believed Jesus should. He needed to either fix her daughter or simply tell her to leave. They didn’t really care which one He chose. Either was fine with them. So long as the woman left. She was bugging them. Disturbing their peace. Interrupting their quiet. Driving them to distraction. The disciples said as much to Jesus, “Tell her to get out of here. Her constant whining is getting on our nerves.” (Matthew 15:23)

Responding to the disciples’ irritated urging, Jesus finally addressed the distraught woman. It wasn’t going to happen. As dire as her need was, as much sorrow as He felt for her plight, as much as His heart of compassion was moved for all people in desperate circumstances, He couldn’t help her. He wasn’t here for that. He wasn’t here to be everyone’s beck-and-call boy. He was sent to help God’s people. Jewish people. The house of Israel. He wasn’t sent to help the Gentiles. Although the words appear to be said gently, the slamming door of a “no” answer echoes from His lips in an air of sad finality. It looks like it is over. Finished. Ended. But only for a moment. The tenacious woman isn’t done. 

Hearing His initial answer, the woman remains undeterred. In fact, she pleads more intentionally. She pours more pain and grief into her request. She allows the sorrow of her soul to erupt from the depths of her being. Watching the last viable option for help slipping from her grasp, she vulnerably places her now fragile hope before Jesus and asks Him to do what she knows He can do. Deliver her daughter from evil. Please. Lord, help us. Heal my daughter if you will, but if you won’t, help me to carry on under the enormous burden of this situation. Give me wisdom and strength and courage to do the best I can by the child I have. 

I think that is what she was really saying when she fell on her knees and said, “Lord, help me.” She was acknowledging that Jesus might choose not to fulfill her request. But she wasn’t afraid to make a second request. Not specifically for healing, but for help. She knew her own strength was gone. She didn’t have the energy for this situation. If Jesus wasn’t going to change it, she hoped He would grant her the ability to continue under circumstances that were decidedly negative. And Jesus reiterated His “no.”

In verbiage everyone would consider insulting, Jesus informed the discouraged and disappointed woman that the bread He had to share was for the family table, not for the dogs at their feet. For the Jews, not the Gentiles. Not for her. She wasn’t worthy. But she already knew that. She knew this would be a long shot from the moment the idea entered her brain. And she wasn’t prepared to give up without a fight. 

When most of us would have tucked tail and run, given up entirely, gone home to mourn our losses and lick our wounds, this woman straightened her spine, dried her tears, and looked Jesus right in the eye. She had something to say. A comeback. A final salvo to fire before she accepted defeat. Jesus was right. The food on the table was for the family members. The dogs shouldn’t be allowed to rob the family of their daily bread. But. No family eats everything. Invariably, someone drops something on the ground. Crumbs. Crusts. Cruciferous vegetables. And the dogs can have all of that they want. That’s what she wanted. That’s what she was asking for. She wasn’t asking for the full meal. She was asking for the crumbs. She was asking just for what they needed to survive. She was asking that her hope be fulfilled, her faith be made sight. She was asking Jesus to miraculously prove that choosing to place her hope in Him hadn’t been a mistake. 

Something in her comeback flipped the script. You can almost see the laugh lines crinkle at the sides of Jesus’ eyes. He smiles. He capitulates. He gives her the miracle. Not because her argument is strong. Because her faith is. In the face of daunting obstacles, the Gentile mother staunchly chooses to place her hope in the power of God and her faith in His heart of compassion and refuses to budge. She doesn’t falter. She doesn’t bend. She doesn’t get discouraged and walk away. No. She stays there. Begging. Pleading. Arguing. Hoping. Praying for help in one form or another. Healing if Jesus chooses. Strength if He doesn’t. And she is rewarded with the proof of what the Apostle Paul writes to the Romans so many years later. Hope in God doesn’t disappoint. Even when it doesn’t give you exactly what you want. Even if the answer is “no.” (Matthew 15:21-28; Mark 7:24-30; Romans 5:5)

Admittedly, hope in God doesn’t always turn out exactly the way we imagine. When things go sideways, when life hands us situations we don’t know how to handle, when we straight up need a miracle, we come to God with options. We tell Him what He needs to do, when He needs to do it, and how it should be done. Instead of bringing our situations to Him and putting our hope in His infinite wisdom, unending goodness, and unfailing compassion, we bring our situations and a list of tightly micromanaged options for Him to choose from. We ask for exactly what we want, what seems best from our limited future view, and believe He hasn’t answered if we don’t get what we want. A “no” is not an answer for us. We refuse to hear anything but a “yes.” It is often to our detriment. (Isaiah 55:8-9; Ecclesiastes 11:5; Proverbs 16:9; Jeremiah 10:23; Philippians 2:13)

Before you were born, God knew you. He formed you. Body. Mind. Soul. He planned your life. Every breath of it. He knows your future. Every second of it. He comprehends exactly how what happens in your today will shape your tomorrows. And He is working out a plan. His plan. For you. Sometimes you will ask God for something, and He will say “no.” Not that person. Not that school. Not that house. Not that job. Sometimes the “no” will be about something else. Something bigger. Something harder. Something more painful. It will be the most difficult thing you ever hear from God. Crushed and broken, angry and unable to see a remote possibility for future happiness, you will be tempted to place your hope in someone or something else. Work. Money. Doctors. Success. You will be tempted to reject God and go it alone. Please don’t do it. Instead, with the distraught Gentile woman, resolve to place your hope in God’s heart of infinite wisdom and ultimate love. Stay at His feet, begging, seeking, asking for His help. Whatever that looks like for your situation. Don’t leave that place. Stay there and keep entreating. Keep asking for His help, His wisdom, His strength. When you think He isn’t listening, when you believe He isn’t hearing, when it feels like He isn’t working. Trust His heart. Even when God says “no”. (Psalm 18:30, 19:7, 139; Matthew 7:7-8; James 1:5; Luke 18:1-8; Romans 8:28)