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THE CHRISTIAN TREASURY.

601

THE HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER OF THE SYROPHENICIAN

WOMAN.

MATT. XV. 21-28; MARK vii. 24-30.

BY THE REV. RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH, M.A.*

Ir is not probable that our blessed Lord actually overpassed the limits of the Jewish land, now or at any other moment of his earthly ministry; though, when it is said that he "departed into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon," this may seem at first to favour such a supposition. St Mark, however, tells us that he only "went into the borders of Tyre and Sidon," and the true meaning, which even St Matthew's words will abundantly bear, is, that he came into the confines of that heathen land. The general fitness of things, and more especially his own words on this very occasion, “I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel," would make it extremely unlikely that he had now brought his healing presence into an heathen land; and, moreover, when St Matthew speaks of the "woman of Canaan as coming out of that district, " of the same coasts," he clearly shows that he has no other intention than to describe the Lord as having drawn close to the skirts of that profane land.

Being there, he "entered into a house, and would have no man know it:" but as the ointment bewrayeth itself, so he whose name is like ointment poured out, "could not be hid;"| and among those attracted by its sweetness, was a woman of that country-" a woman of Canaan," as St Matthew terms her, "a Greek, a Syrophenician," as St Mark, meaning by the first term to describe her religion, that it was not Jewish but heathen; by the second, the stock of which she came, which was even that accursed stock which God had once doomed to a total excision, but of which some branches had been spared by those first generations of Israel that should have extirpated them root and branch. Every thing, therefore, was against her; yet she was not hindered by that every thing from coming and craving the boon that her soul longed after. She had heard of the mighty works which the Saviour of Israel had done; for already his fame had gone through all Syria, so that they brought unto him, besides other sick, "those which were possessed with devils, and those which were lunatic, and he healed them."-(Matt. iv. 24.)

* In his admirable work on the "Miracles" of Christ.

And she has a boon to ask for her daughter,
or rather indeed for herself, for so entirely has
she made her daughter's misery her own, that
she comes saying,
"Have mercy on me, O
Lord, thou Son of David; my daughter is
grievously vexed with a devil;" as on a later
occasion the father of the lunatic child, "Have
compassion on us, and help us.”—(Mark ix. 22.)

But very different she finds him from that which report had described him to her; for that spoke of him as the merciful Son of man, who would not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax, who encouraged every weary and afflicted soul to come and find rest with him. He who of himself came to meet the needs of others, withdrew himself from hers: "He answered her not a word." In the language of Chrysostom, "The Word has no word; the fountain is sealed; the physician withholds his remedies;" until at last the disciples, wearied out with her long entreaties, and seemingly more merciful than their Lord, themselves come to him, making intercession for her that he would grant to her her petition and send her away. Yet was there in truth the worm of selfishness at the root of this seemingly greater compassion of theirs, and it shows itself when they give their reason why he should dismiss her with the boon she asks: "For she crieth after us;" she is making a scene; she is drawing on us unwelcome observation. Theirs is one of those heartless grantings of a request, whereof we all are conscious; when it is granted out of no love to the suppliant, but to leave undisturbed the peace and selfish ease of him from whom at length it is extorted—such as his who said, "Lest by her continual coming she weary me." Here, as so often, under a seeming severity lurks the real love, while selfishness hides itself under the mask of bounty. But these intercessors meet with no better fortune than the suppliant herself; and Christ stops their mouth with words unpromising enough for her suit: "I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”—(Cf. Matt. x. 5, 6.)

But in what sense was this true? All prophecy which went before declared that in Him,

the promised Seed, not one nation only, but all nations of the earth, should be blest: he Himself declared, "Other sheep I have, which are not of this fold; them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice."-(John x. 16.) It has happened indeed with others, as with the founders of false religions, that as success increased, the circle of their vision has widened; and they who meant at first but to give a faith to their nation, have aspired at last to give one to the world. But here all must have been known; the world-embracing reach of his faith was contemplated by Christ from the first. In what sense, then, and under what limitations, could it be said with truth that he was not sent but unto Israel only? Clearly in his own personal ministry. That, for wise purposes in the counsels of God, was to be confined to his own nation; and every departure from this was, and was clearly marked as, an exception. Here and there, indeed, he gave preludes of the coming mercy; yet before the Gentiles should glorify God for his mercy, Christ was first to a minister of the circumcision for the truth of God, to confirm the promises made unto the fathers."-(Rom. xv. 8, 9.) It was only as it were by a rebound from them that the grace was to light upon the heathen world; while yet that issue, which seemed thus accidental, was laid deep in the deepest counsels of God.— (Acts xiii. 44-49; Rom. xi.) In the form of Christ's reply, as St Mark gives it, "Let the children first be filled," the refusal does not appear so absolute and final, and a glimpse ap. pears of the manner in which the blessing will pass on to others, when as many of these, of "the children," as will, have accepted it. But there, too, the present repulse is absolute: the time is not yet; others intermeddle not with the meal, till the children have had enough.

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any contradiction in this; for here he is speaking of the position which God has given them in his kingdom; there, of the manner in which they have realized that position. On the other hand, extreme contempt was involved in the title of dog given to any one, it being remarkable that the nobler characteristics of the animal, which yet were not unknown to antiquity, are never brought out in Scripture. (See Deut. xxxii. 18; Job xxx. 1; 1 Sam. xvii. 43, xxiv. 15; 2 Sam. iii. 8, ix. 8, xvi. 9; 2 Kings viii. 13; Matt. vii. 6; Phil. iii. 2; Rev. xxii. 15.)

This at length would have been enough for many; and, even if they had persevered thus far, now at least they would have gone away in anger or despair. But not so this woman; she, like the centurion, and under still more unfavourable circumstances than his, was mighty in faith; and from the very word which seemed to make most against her, with the ready wit of faith, she drew an argument in her own favour. She entangled the Lord, himself most willing thus to be so entangled, in his own speech; she takes the sword out of his own hand, with that sword to overcome him: “Truth, Lord; yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their master's table." Upon these words Luther, who has dwelt on all the circumstances of this little history with a peculiar love, and seems never weary of extolling the mighty faith of this woman, exclaims, “Was not that a master-stroke? she snares Christ in his own words." And oftentimes he sets this Canaanitish woman before each troubled and fainting heart, that it may learn from her how to wring a Yea from God's Nay; or rather, how to hear the deep-hidden Yea, which many times lies in his seeming Nay. "Like her, thou must give God right in all he says against thee, and yet must not stand off from praying, till thou overcomest as she overcame, till thou hast turned the very charges made against thee into arguments and proofs of thy need-till thou hast taken Christ in his own words."

Our translation of the woman's answer is

The woman hears the repulse, which the disciples who had ventured to plead for her receive; but she is not daunted or disheartened thereby. Hitherto she had been crying after the Lord, and at a distance; but now, instead of being put further still," came she and wor-not, however, altogether satisfactory. For inshipped him, saying, Lord, help me." And now he breaks the silence which hitherto he has maintained toward her; but it is with an answer more discomfortable than was the silence itself: "He answered and said, It is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to dogs." "The children" are, of course, the Jews, "the children of the kingdom."-(Matt. viii. 12.) He who spoke so sharply to them, speaks thus honourably of them; nor is there

deed she consents to Christ's declaration, not immediately to make exception against the conclusion which he draws from it, but to show how in that very declaration is involved the granting of her petition. "Saidest thou dogs? it is well; I accept the title and the place: for the dogs have a portion of the meal-not the first, not the children's portion, but a portion still-the crumbs which fall from the table. In this very statement of the case thou

THE DAUGHTER OF THE SYROPHENICIAN WOMAN.

bringest us heathen, thou bringest me, within the circle of the blessings which God, the great householder, is ever dispensing to his family. We also belong to his household, though we occupy but the lowest place in it. According to thine own showing, I am not wholly an alien, and therefore I will abide by this name, and will claim from thee all its consequences." By the "masters" she does not mean the Jews, which is Chrysostom's mistake; for thus the whole image would be disturbed; they are "the children;" but by the "masters," she would signify God, using the plural on account of the plural "dogs," which Christ had used before; in the same way as Christ himself says, "Then the sons are free," (Matt. xvii. 29), having spoken plurally before of "the kings of the earth," while yet it is only the one Son, the only-begotten of the Father, whom he has in his eye. He, the great Master and Lord, spreads a table, and all that depend on him, in their place and order are satisfied from it-the children at the table, the dogs beneath the table. There is in her statement something like the Prodigal's petition, "Make me as one of thy hired servants"-a recognition of diverse relations, some closer, some more distant, in which divers persons stand to God -yet all blest, who, whether in a nearer or remoter station, are satisfied from his hands.

And now she has conquered. She who before heard only those words of a seeming contempt, now hears words of a most gracious commendation-words of which the like are recorded as spoken but to one other in all the gospel history; "O woman, great is thy faith!" He who at first seemed as though he would have denied her the smallest boon, now opens to her the full treasure-house of his grace, and bids her to help herself, to carry away what she will: "Be it unto thee even as thou wilt." He had shown to her for a while, like Joseph to his brethren, the aspect of severity; but, like Joseph, he could not maintain it long-or rather, he would not maintain it an instant longer than it was needful, and after that word of hers, that mighty word of an daunted faith, it was needful no more: in the words of St Mark, "For this saying go thy way; the devil is gone out of thy daughter."

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Like the centurion at Capernaum, like the nobleman at Cana, she made proof that his word was potent, whether spoken far off or near. Her child, indeed, was at a distance; but she offered in her faith a channel of communication between it and Christ. With one

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hand of that faith she had held on to that Lord in whom all healing grace was stored, with the other to her suffering child-thus herself a living conductor by which the power of Christ might run like an electric flash from him to her beloved. "And when she was come to her house, she found the devil gone | out, and her daughter laid upon the bed,” weak and exhausted as it would appear from the paroxysms of the spirit's going out; or, the circumstance which last is mentioned may indicate only that she was now taking that quiet rest, which hitherto the evil spirit had not allowed. It will answer so to the "clothed and in his right mind" (Luke viii. 30) of another who had been tormented in the same way.

But the interesting question remains, Why this bitterness was not spared her, why the Lord should have presented himself under so different an aspect to her, and to most other suppliants? Sometimes he anticipated their needs, "Wilt thou be made whole?" (John v. 6), or if not so, he who was waiting to be gracious required not to be twice asked for his blessings. Why was it that in this case, to use the words of an old divine, Christ "stayed long, wrestling with her faith, and shaking, and trying whether it were fast rooted" or no? Doubtless, because he knew that it was a faith which would stand the proof, and that she would come out victorious from this sore trial; and not only so, but with a stronger, higher, purer faith than if she had borne away her blessing at once. Now she has learned, as then she never could have learned, that men ought always to pray and not to faint; that, with God, to delay a boon is not therefore to deny it. She had learned the lesson which Moses must have learned, when "the Lord met him, and sought to kill him" (Exod. vi. 24); she won the strength which Jacob had won before, from his night-long struggle with the angel. There is, indeed, a remarkable analogy between this history and that last.— (Gen. xxxii. 24-32.) There as here, there is the same persevering struggle on the one side, the same persevering refusal on the other; there as here, the stronger is at last overcome by the weaker. God himself yields to the might of faith and prayer; for a later prophet, interpreting that mysterious struggle, tells us the weapons which the patriarch wielded : "He wept and made supplication unto him," connecting with this the fact that "he had power over the angel and prevailed."-(Hos. xii. 3, 4.) The two histories, indeed, only

stand out in their full resemblance, when we

keep in mind that the angel there, the Angel of the covenant, was no other than that Word, who, now incarnate, "blest" this woman at last, as he had blest at length Jacob at Peniel -in each case rewarding thus a faith which had said, "I will not let thee go, except thou bless me."

Yet, when we thus speak of man overcoming God, we must never, of course, for an instant lose sight of this, that the power whereby he overcomes the resistance of God, is itself a power supplied by God. All that is man's is the faith or the emptiness of self, which enables him to appropriate and make so largely his own the fulness and power of God; so that here also that word comes true, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." Thus when St Paul (Col. i. 29), speaks of himself under an image, which rested originally on Jacob's struggle, if there was not a direct allusion to it in the apostle's mind, as striving for the Colossians, striving, that is, with God in prayer (see iv. 12), he immediately adds, "according to his working which worketh in me mightily."

We may observe, in conclusion, that we have three ascending degrees of faith, as it manifests itself in the breaking through of hindrances which would keep from Christ, in the paralytic (Mark ii. 4); the blind man at Jericho (Mark x. 48); and this woman of Canaan. The paralytic broke through the outward hindrances, the obstacles of things merely external; blind Bartimæus through the hindrances opposed by his fellow-men; but this woman, more heroically than all, through apparent hindrances even from Christ himself. These, in their seeming weakness, were the three mighty ones, not of David, but of David's Son, that broke through opposing hosts, until they could draw living water from wells of salvation.-(2 Sam. xxiii. 16.)

THE MERCHANT'S FORTUNE. "CONGRATULATE me, George," exclaimed a friend, as we met near the great Exchange of the greatest city in the world; "I am just informed of a legacy that will set me going in business, and now I will make a fortune for myself."

"But," said I, "what will your uncle say to it ? " "I do not intend to ask him. He has kept me at his desk at a paltry salary, without a prospect of doing any thing better, until my patience is exhausted, and though he must be as rich as Croesus, he will not spare a farthing to help me on. But this unexpected legacy is my starting-point; I will be a merchant in earnest now, and no longer a clerk at a merchant's

desk."

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"Well; but remember that it is, perhaps, by being the clerk at the desk first, that you may become a

merchant in earnest at last."

"Ah yes! but my uncle would never let me out of leading-strings if I waited his time. It is astonishing how miserly he gets. The more he has, the more he seems to want. Now I am determined upon this, that as soon as I have realized a moderate competence, I will retire from business, and leave my place in the mercantile world to be filled by some deserving young fellow who wishes to do the same. I will not continue to slave like my uncle, until I can neither see nor hear, nor enjoy any thing but the enterprising men, who only want a fair opportunity chink of gold; blocking up the way from young and to do well in the world."

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comes to the point, that your generous theory is "I like your notion," said I, "but take care, when

not forgotten. You know it is said that Enough is a little more than one has,' which seems to be your uncle's opinion."

"Oh, never fear! I shall be tempted no further than independence; that attained, I shall be satisfied. But now, what are you going to do?" England, I shall look after you, some years hence, among the country gentlemen, and not among the busy bees of this great hive."

"I am off to India;" said I, "and if I return to

He smiled assent, and with mutual good wishes we parted. "He will certainly get on," thought I, "and I hope success will not spoil him."

He was a fine, high-spirited young man, combining with attractions and qualities which made him a general favourite, the solid advantages of perseverance and industry. Had I then known any thing of the wisdom that "cometh from above," I should have warned him, in the midst of all his fair prospects and generous resolves, to "seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness," and first to secure an inheritance in a better world, before his temporary career in this; but I was as heedless as himself, and as anxious to seize any opportunity of what we called "getting on;" the end of our exertions, and the height of our wishes, being self-indulgence at last.

Many years passed away, and on visiting England on leave of absence, I did not forget my friend. We had not maintained much correspondence, and I knew not where he might now be found; but my search was not long or difficult. He was well known as a merchant, and in the heart of the city I found him at his desk in a small inner office, while several clerks were busily engaged in the outer one. But my friend was too busy to welcome me. A cold salutation and a hasty invitation to meet him at home' in the evening, when he might have a few minutes leisure for company, was a sufficient hint that I was an intruder there; and, hurt and disappointed, I withdrew. Resolved, however, that this unexpected chill should not extinguish early friendship, I kept my evening appointment, and in a suit of rooms high above the offices, I visited the home and family of the merchant, and had now opportunity to observe the change which years had wrought. He had reached middle age, and his hair was plentifully sprinkled with grey; his form was shrunk, and his eye was still clear, but not with the sunny brightness of former days; it was with a sharp, keen, searching light, as if ever on the watch to secure advantage, or detect a cheat. His step was quiet, and his voice had acquired a tone of mingled servility and self-sufficiency, which was in strong, unpleasant contrast with the musical remembrances of youthful days. "Well," thought I, "he may have got on, but it has been at the expense of much that was lovely and loveable in himself."

THE MERCHANT'S FORTUNE.

My reception was somewhat more friendly than it had been in the morning, and I willingly accepted the apology conveyed by the assurance, that he was always strict during hours of business," for," said he, "if I waste time, my clerks will do the same."

I inquired for his uncle. "Oh! he died long ago, loving nothing but his money, which he left to a spendthrift nephew, whom he adopted when I resolved to begin business for myself."

"And prosperity has attended you I find, on which I offer the hearty congratulations of an old friend. But I thought you intended to retire after realizing a certain portion of fortune's favours."

"Why yes, I used to say so, but I was young and romantic then, which is, in other words, ignorant and foolish. I soon realized a moderate competence, for every thing has succeeded that I have undertaken; but I have a family to provide for now, and when I have done that handsomely, I do intend to retire. Besides, business is so completely my habit of life, that I could not be idle while its profits lie before me, as it were, ready for gathering up."

"But do you not think it better for your sons to do as you have done before them, than to leave them independent of their own exertions?

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"Oh, never fear! I shall teach them to work; and I really mean to enjoy myself by and by. A few thousands more in the funds will do no harm; and, let me tell you, it is no despicable thing to look over one's accounts and see the reward of patience, and perseverance, and industry, and know that one need not die in the workhouse."

"But," I replied, "are you not afraid of becoming like your uncle?"

It was a home thrust, and I was sorry to have caused the vexed expression which for a moment I changed the self-satisfaction of his countenance. "Excuse me, my dear friend," I added, "but my mind will leap back into the period when we both began the world, and I cannot help remembering your opinions and intentions."

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Very likely; but I told you I was ignorant and foolish then, and have forgotten such nonsense; but, however, do not suppose me a miser. My family have all the comforts of life, and my children are receiving an education suited to the station I intend them to fill. We are in the chrysalis state at present; but when my ledger gives the right figure, you will see us spread our wings for a flight that no one suspects who finds us pent up in this narrow street."

Dissatisfied and disappointed with this moneygetting, thorough-going man of business, I departed, pitying the pale complexions and slender forms of his delicate-looking family. I could not presume to find fault with his steady perseverance, his systematic industry, his desire to provide for his family. What then was wrong? I did not know; but I was about to learn a new lesson, and in the prime of manhood to become "as a little child" again.

My pathway in life lay once more across wide waters to the Indian shore, and thither, though I then heeded it not, followed the earnest and unceasing prayers of a fond mother and dear sisters, no longer to seem offered in vain. In a desolate district of that far off land, where no spires point towards heaven, and no pleasant chimes hail the Sabbath day, I learned to worship Him who dwelleth not in temples made with hands, whose throne is heaven, and his footstool earth, whether amidst the rich cities and fair valleys of a British isle, or desert plains and Indian jungles. There came the voice of the hero missionary, and there came with it the irresistible touch of Omnipotent love. The ear heard words it had often heard before, but the inmost heart felt

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a power it had never felt before; and while the un-i lettered heathen flung his idols to the moles and the bats, the worldly Briton, kneeling amidst the dark children of the soil, cast himself, the supreme idol of the human heart, as a helpless sinner at the foot of the cross of Christ. The heathen wondered to hear of such a God, and the professing Christian wondered more, that after years of cold neglect he was suffered to hear of him unto salvation at last. I had heard of him by the hearing of the ear, but now I saw him by faith; wherefore I abhorred myself, and repented in dust and ashes.

Twenty years passed away, and I then returned to settle for the evening of my life in my native land, and the richest treasure that I bore from the farfamed east, was the knowledge of God and his priceless blessing. I now knew the secret which distinguishes between things of enduring value, and things that perish in the using; and hoping that twenty years had not left my old friend the merchant in ignorance of the same key to true enjoyment, I once more sought and found him.

With some apprehension I entered the old office, and there he sat at the same desk, in the same absorbed attitude; and, after a look of surprise and doubt, yielded me the same hasty salutation as on my former visit. And there he had sat for those twenty years, until threescore had passed over him, bleaching every dark lock, and quenching every spark of light in his eyes, except the one sharp twinkle about gain. Sons now sat where hired clerks had sat before, and fair daughters had grown to womanhood in the close atmosphere of those city chambers.

In the evening I sat with my friend at his own fireside, and soon made the painful discovery, that the unchanged external occupation was a true type of the unchanged heart within. The god of this world had blinded his eyes.

"I quite expected to find that you had done with business long ago," said I, "and that your sons, or some other aspirant after mercantile honours, had made another fortune in your place."

"You do not forget that unlucky speech of mine, George; but the fact is, that I am really thinking of giving up business this year. I have many times intended it before, but such remarkable success has attended my labours, that it was folly to do so. However, I am looking out for a handsome residence some miles from town. I mean to keep a carriage, and live henceforth to enjoy myself. I have toiled long enough now."

"But my dear friend," said I, "have you, in your| search after goodly pearls, like the merchantman in the parable, found the one pearl of great price? Have you dealt in that merchandise which is better than silver, and the gain thereof than fine gold?"

"I have done my duty in the station of life in which I was placed," he replied, "and that is, in my opinion, the best religion."

"It is a lofty boast, indeed," I replied, "and of course you have no occasion to unite with those who publicly confess that they have done many things which they ought not to have done, and left undone many things which they ought to have done!"

"Come, come, you are not serious," said my friend; "I do not pretend to be better than others, though I am not disposed to think myself worse. I have had no time to be as strict as some people in going to church, and so on; but when I have retired I shall of course attend to that."

"Ah, sir!" said one of the young ladies, "papa admits that he is rich, very rich, and yet he only talks of giving up business; he will not really do it."

"We shall see," said her father smiling; "but

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