The woman’s daughter was sick.  Demon-sick. That’s sick.

She, like any mother in that situation, was willing to consider anything and anyone.  Even if it meant a foreigner.

Jesus was heading out of town, taking some time to get away from the constant Pharisaical scrutiny. He headed to the Mediterranean coast, north of Israel.

And so we see the intersection of the vacationing celebrity preacher and the desperate mother. She approaches and, using the right title (“Lord, Son of David”) asked for help.

Silence.

Exactly what many people find when they ask God for help. They have a need, they hear nothing. And so they give up on God.But she didn’t give up. Apparently she kept asking.

The disciples try to protect their vacation from this annoyance. It would be nice to think they were protecting Jesus, but the text suggested that her requests were bothering them.

Jesus finally speaks. His answer speaks of the target audience of his message (Israel). The woman persists: “Lord, help me.”

She is respectfully persistent. She isn’t rude (she kneels down, calls him “Lord), knows that she has no standing as a non-Jew, but she has nothing to lose.

And then Jesus engages her in conversation. They exchange a brilliant play of metaphor, which she handles lightly and quickly.

And Jesus heals her daughter.

Think of his responses: silence, principle, veiled insult (dogs). And she persists through it all.

Why?

Because she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jesus was the only one able to heal her daughter. Because her daughter needed healing. Because this wasn’t about a show or a miracle, this was life/death. Because she knew Jesus was a person, and people can be addressed.

I seldom have that kind of persistent, conversational, desperately confident faith.

I’m like a disciple.