It might seem crazy, but I knew too well That nothing else had worked, so when I heard The Jewish prophet was on Gentile soil, I cornered him. I fell down on the ground. “A devil has my daughter in his grip— Please help,” I begged. He pierced me with a look: “Children eat first. Don’t give their food to dogs.” How can I say it? From that word I took Fresh hope and flung his words back like a bolt To rest my case, for even dogs are fed At last. I stepped into the scene that he Had painted and I asked for crumbs, not bread. He praised my faith and told me she was healed. I found her sleeping. (As she slept, she smiled.)
This is another one from the archives, which I wrote after hearing a sermon on this passage in Mark (and consequently I can’t take credit for all of the ideas or imagery in this poem). It seems so harsh, the way Jesus spoke to this desperate woman. So cold and xenophobic. The sermon I listened to offered a way of seeing it as an invitation rather than as a rebuff. It’s so easy (at least for me) to be rebuffed by the hard, the puzzling things Jesus sometimes said or which are found elsewhere in the Bible. But staying with him, even sparring with him as this woman does, is what I need to learn to do. Like Jacob, she wrestled with a stranger in the dark and left with a blessing.
I really love this one! Beautiful and thoughtful as always!