And he rose up and went away thence into the borders of Tyre and Sidon; and having entered into a house he would not have any one know [it], and he could not be hid.
Mark has just recorded the Lord exposing what comes out of the human heart. Now He walks north to the edge of Israel's land, into a region of non-Jewish people, and hides in a house — yet He cannot stay hidden.
after_note: DELETE
The journey follows straight on from His words about what defiles a person. It opens a contrast.
We have seen what comes out of man, and how defiling it all is. We are now to learn what comes from God, and how full of mercy and goodness this is, delivering those oppressed by the devil. But I am convinced that His going away from that scene was itself a meaningful act. There He had rebuked the traditions of earthly religion, and exposed the whole sink of corruption in the heart and all that flows out of it — which those traditions only cover up. The only real remedy is the deliverance of sovereign grace in Christ.
The place He chooses sits on a border in more than one sense.
The Lord had left the Pharisees and the places they gathered. He came into the region of Tyre and Sidon. This land had been allotted to Israel, but Gentiles held it — Israel's enemies among the nations. It was Israel's by title, yet Gentile in fact, so He had left what in practice made up Israel at that time. There He would have been alone, not out of the territory of Israel but away from Israel.
Yet the Lord said something surprising about these cities.
Their wickedness was so great that our Lord classed them with Sodom, as monuments of the world's evil and its departure from God (Matt. 11:22-23). And yet the Lord also said that if the mighty works He did in Chorazin and Bethsaida had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented in sackcloth and ashes, just as Nineveh did when Jonah preached.
His wish for privacy was not a retreat from duty. It shows how He took rejection.
This voluntary seclusion shows us the amazing perfection of this Servant of God. He accepted the rebuffs to His service with such meekness. Though the rebuffs came directly from the men of Israel, He saw the hand of His God above it all. So He bowed to them, as to the will of Him that sent Him. Jerusalem and Galilee had joined against Him. So He sought a secret place away from His enemies. There He could spread out the disappointment of His loving heart before His Father.
Why could secrecy not work? Solomon's question at the temple points to the answer.
At the dedication of the magnificent temple on Mount Zion, Solomon compared what it meant with the infinite and essential glories of Jehovah. He cried out, "But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Behold, heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you; how much less this house that I have built!" The house on the borders of Tyre and Sidon could not contain or confine the glory of Jehovah's Servant either. "He could not be hidden."
The reason lies in who He is.
If God humbles Himself, He is still God; it is always He who does it. "He could not be hidden." This absolute obedience gave perfect grace and fragrance to all He did. He always appeared as one sent. He sought the glory of the Father who sent Him.
This happens again and again in Mark. The withdrawal itself becomes the moment of blessing — here, for a foreign woman.
Mark's Gospel seems to make a special point of recording times when our Lord withdrew from men because they opposed and persecuted Him. And the very act of retreating before the power of His enemies brought further witness to His glory. Needy people followed Him into His solitude... So it was here. Jesus retired to a house after meeting the stubborn will and blindness of the guides of Israel, and the ignorance of His own disciples. There the Syrophoenician stranger sought Him out.
Why should grace go out here at all?
Here it is "He could not be hid." This was not a burdened heart flowing out to sorrow and need. It was what God, so to speak, must be where faith is — Himself. He cannot deny Himself. Grace still rises above all promise and curse, and God is revealed... goodness overflows from God. It does not answer a promise. It goes out in free grace to need, where there was no promise and no claim. There it finds its comfort.
- Rejected — Jerusalem and Galilee joined against Him. He took it as the will of the One who sent Him, and looked for a quiet place to open His heart to His Father.
- Hidden — He entered a house and wanted no one to know. The hiding was real, not for show.
- Unhidden — a house could no more hold His glory than Solomon's temple could hold God. Humbled, He is still God.
- Reaching — the spot He chose was Israel's by title but Gentile in fact. It lay near cities He had ranked with Sodom, yet said would have repented.
- Sought — in Mark, His retreats keep drawing needy people to Him. Grace goes out where there was no promise and no claim, because God cannot deny Himself.
But immediately a woman, whose little daughter had an unclean spirit, having heard of him, came and fell at his feet
The Lord had gone to the region of Tyre and Sidon, hoping for quiet. The first person to find Him there is a foreign mother with no claim on Him, whose little daughter is held by an unclean spirit.
He wanted to be left alone. Two things made that impossible.
The Lord goes into the borders of Tyre and Sidon. He wishes to be quiet, but goodness joined with power is too rare in the world to go unnoticed. And need, when it is felt, wakes the soul up and makes it clear-sighted. A poor woman had a daughter under the power of an unclean spirit. Feeling her own wretchedness and believing in Jesus' power, she goes to seek Him. The weight of misery that pressed on her made her hope in His goodness.
Those with every outward right to the promises missed Him.
God had shown His goodness and His power too plainly for Him to stay hidden whenever there was need. The report of what He was had gone out, and the quick eye of faith found the one thing that could meet its need. This is what finds Jesus, while all who outwardly had a right to the promises are deceived by that very claim and by their privileges. It is faith that knows its need, knows only that, and knows that Jesus alone can meet it.
Mark does not use the ordinary word for "daughter" here. He uses a smaller, warmer form of it.
Mark tells us that her 'thugatrion' — a small, affectionate form of the word 'daughter' — had an unclean spirit. Jairus had come to the Lord not so long before, using the same form for his daughter (Mark 5:23). These are the only places in the New Testament where we find this word, and both are in Mark; it was Mark, more than any other, who tells us the small detail of some special word or look. In English we have no such form of 'daughter'. The translators have done their very best: 'little daughter', or 'young daughter', or 'dear daughter,' but I am sure it does not tell half the story.
The story uses two names for the same trouble.
In the Gospel accounts the terms "unclean spirits" and "demons" are in many places used of the same case. So we read that the daughter of the Syrophenician woman "had an unclean spirit," and that she begged the Lord that He would "cast forth the demon out of her daughter" (Mark 7:23-30).
What gave her the right to ask?
"But immediately a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit heard of Him and came and fell down at His feet." What claim had she? Not the smallest. "The woman was a Greek [or Gentile], a Syrophoenician by race." She came from the fertile stock of Israel's enemies, the corrupt and idolatrous despisers of the true God. But suppose Jesus wanted an opportunity to show the grace of God, apart from every question of right or deserving, with no plea at all except utter misery thrown on Divine mercy in Him. Then there was never a more needy person asking.
One writer sets her beside another foreign visitor who came to a king of Israel loaded with gifts.
A wealthy queen among the Gentiles heard of the wisdom of Solomon. She came to him from the ends of the earth with her choice gifts, so that she might see and hear for herself. A greater than Solomon was now staying in an out-of-the-way corner of Galilee. But the one who came to do homage at His feet and present her request was only a descendant of Canaan, weighed down from the days of Noah with a curse (Gen. 9:25)... This poor woman had nothing to bring to Jesus except her own child, held, sadly, by an evil demon.
One writer draws a lesson for anyone responsible for a household.
In the home the terrible effects of sin, and of the way it works, are perhaps more visible than anywhere else. There, too often, example and advice fail to deliver anyone from corrupting and destroying evil. But the cases given in the Gospels encourage mothers, fathers and masters — the responsible ones of the household — to make believing appeals to Jesus for those in their care. He is able to control and heal the evils of the soul, just as He did the diseases of the body.
- Need hears. She had no privileges to rely on, but her misery made her attentive to the report of a Man who was both good and powerful.
- Need finds. He wanted to stay unknown. Faith's quick eye found Him where the privileged missed Him.
- Need falls. Coming with no claim and nothing to offer, she went straight to His feet and asked.
- Need named. Mark's small word for her "little daughter" — used elsewhere only of Jairus's child — carries a parent's ache into the record.
- Need answered. Her case encourages every parent to bring the child they cannot heal to the One who can.
(and the woman was a Greek, Syrophenician by race), and asked him that he would cast the demon out of her daughter.
A mother from outside Israel falls at the feet of Jesus near Tyre and Sidon, where He had gone into a house to stay hidden. Mark stops the story to tell us who she was, because that detail decides whether she has any right to ask.
Mark gives her two labels, and both mark her out as a foreigner. One commentator explains them and adds the name Matthew uses for the same woman:
The description of the woman whose daughter was possessed by a demon. She belonged to Phoenicia in Syria, and the name "Syrophoenician" holds both of these names together. By birth she was a Greek, which here probably means simply "Gentile." Mark 7:26. In Matthew 15:22 she is called "a woman of Canaan."
Earlier in the chapter Jesus exposed what comes out of the human heart. Now the picture turns around.
The evil of the human heart has been exposed. Now, in the story of the Syrophenician woman, we have a wonderful unfolding of the heart of God. His heart is full of love. It holds to the truth while giving grace to needy sinners. The Lord, as He passed through this world that had rejected Him, would gladly have stayed hidden... But His perfection was so great, and the contrast with everything around Him so sharp, that He could not stay hidden. As one writer said, "Goodness joined with power is too rare in the world to go unnoticed."
Her request was simple and enormous: cast the demon out. What she could not produce was any reason why He should.
What claim had she? Not the smallest. "The woman was a Greek [or Gentile], a Syrophoenician by race." She came from the fertile stock of Israel's enemies — corrupt, idolatrous people who despised the true God. But suppose Jesus wanted a chance to show the grace of God, apart from any question of right or deserving, and apart from any plea we can imagine except sheer misery thrown on divine mercy in Him. Then there was never a more needy applicant.
The gap between her and Israel was a real order that the Lord upheld — and then overflowed.
He fully and clearly upheld the claims of the Jews as the covenant people. He said to the Gentile woman, "It is not right to take the children's bread and give it to dogs" (Matthew 15)... But suppose the condition of those people was such that they could not take in the goodness of God that had come to them in their own Messiah. Then that same goodness would overflow every barrier of God's arrangements. It would meet the need of those who had no claim on Him.
Mark does not simply call the child a daughter. He uses the diminutive form of the word, and one writer traces where else it appears:
Mark tells us that her "thugatrion" (diminutive of "daughter") had an unclean spirit. Matthew tells us she was "miserably possessed" by a demon. Jairus had come to the Lord not long before, using the same diminutive for his daughter (Mark 5:23). These are the only places in the New Testament where we find this word. Notice that both are in Mark. It was Mark, more than any other writer, who tells us the small detail of some special word or look. How can we translate it? I do not know, for English has no diminutive of "daughter".
Cases like hers are meant to move other parents to do the same:
But the cases given in the Gospels encourage mothers, fathers, masters — the responsible ones of the household. They can make believing appeals to Jesus for those in their care. He is able to control and heal the evils of the soul, just as He did the diseases of the body.
Her plea did not get an instant yes. That is deliberate.
Yet if the woman's faith was to triumph, it was no less tested. And I find it instructive to notice one thing. The richest grace on Christ's part does not make the trial of faith less, but more. The soul that is little exercised never eats the kernel of the blessing. It never proves the depths that are in God and in His grace.
- Named — Mark calls her a Greek, meaning a Gentile, and a Syrophoenician; Matthew calls her a Canaanite. Every label says the same thing: outsider.
- Empty-handed — She had not the smallest claim. That made her the ideal applicant for grace, which answers misery alone.
- Honoured — Christ upheld Israel's place as the covenant people. Then God's goodness overflowed the barrier to reach someone with no claim.
- Tender — Her plea is for a "little daughter." Mark uses that word only here and of Jairus's girl. Parents are meant to copy her and bring their households to Jesus.
- Tested — The richest grace does not shorten the trial of faith. It lengthens it. The soul that is little exercised never tastes the kernel of the blessing.
But [Jesus] said to her, Suffer the children to be first filled; for it is not right to take the children's bread and cast it to the dogs.
Jesus has withdrawn to the region of Tyre. A Gentile mother begs Him to free her daughter from a demon. His first reply sounds like a door closing. Why does He answer her with a rule about children, bread and dogs? And what does the small word "first" leave open?
His answer is not coldness. It is consistency. For centuries God had set Israel first, and the Lord kept to what God had set.
Even in this desperate case, her need did not give the woman the right to set aside the rule and ways God had kept for centuries. God sent the Messiah to Israel, and salvation came from the Jews. She must learn that her only hope lay in the sovereign mercy of God.
The Greek behind "children" and "dogs" is not as blunt as it looks in English. One writer shows how the Lord takes up the mother's own tender way of speaking. He hands her a word she can use.
He used the word tekna: the ones who have the dignity and position by birth. Then He said, "It is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the little dogs." The poor mother had been pleading for her "little girl", and the Lord takes up her word. He speaks of the "little dogs" — the small, affectionate form of the word. The fierce, horrible dogs of that land were not allowed in the houses. But the little dogs, the cute puppies, could come in. So the Lord gently leads her faith on, giving her this special, unusual word to encourage her.
The word first implies a turn that comes after. Her faith reaches for it.
Even here our Lord holds to the principle of "the Jew first," while her simple faith presses on to "and also the Gentile." But there is more. Grace speaks out the whole truth. And grace strengthens the one who receives it, so that she can bear it, confess it, and delight in it.
Everything now depends on what she does with a sentence that shuts her out. She could have treated it as a closed door. Instead she agreed with it and appealed past it.
The Lord draws out her faith by this saying. It was a great test for faith. She might have argued, "Then I am only a dog and have no claim on the Lord; the blessing belongs only to the children." But her faith wins over this difficulty. She admits the truth about herself and falls back on the grace that is in His heart. She can say, as it were, "Yes, as far as I am concerned, it is true I cannot claim the place of a child. I am only a dog. But my whole trust is in what You are, not in what I am." This is always the way of faith: to own the wretchedness, the vileness, and the unworthiness of our hearts, and to rest in the perfect grace of His heart.
Her plea leans on one thing only — what God is like. To refuse her, He would have had to be less good than she believed Him to be.
She was but a Gentile dog, yet such was the goodness of God that He had bread even for dogs. Christ is the perfect expression of God, God Himself made known in the flesh. He could not deny His goodness and His grace. He could not say that faith had a higher view of God than was true, for He was Himself that love. Her faith, with an understanding given by God, took hold of the grace that reached beyond the promises made to Israel.
She asked for a crumb. Where do the nations stand now?
The Gentiles are no longer regarded as "dogs" in contrast with "the children." It is the time of salvation for the Jew first and also for the Greek. God grants salvation to the Gentiles. The fall of the Jews has been the reconciling of the world.
- Order. God Himself set Israel nearer to Him. Deep need gave the woman no right to overturn the ways He had kept for centuries.
- Word. He chose the word for the little dogs let into the house, not the fierce ones shut outside. That soft word gave her something to answer with.
- Test. The saying forced a choice: treat it as a closed door, or admit it is true of herself and still appeal to His heart.
- Faith. She rested her whole case not on what she was but on what He is — the settled pattern of faith in every age.
- Reach. "First" is not "only". Her crumb pointed to today, when the nations are no longer dogs at the table but people who receive full salvation.
But she answered and says to him, Yea, Lord; for even the dogs under the table eat of the children's crumbs.
Near Tyre, outside Israel's borders, a Gentile mother pleads for her demon-possessed daughter, and the Lord tells her that the children's bread is not thrown to dogs. Her short reply is what wins the blessing for her.
Her opening word is not a protest. It is an agreement. What she adds next turns that agreement into an argument. One writer traces the force of the Greek behind her "Yes, Lord" — older translations read "for even the dogs" where the ESV has "yet even":
In Matthew 15:27, Mark 7:28, it is simply "yes, Lord," that is, "yes, Lord, You can do it" even on Your own ground, "for even," or "since." It challenges any opposition.
She does not argue against what He said. She builds on it. Another writer puts her reasoning into words:
The Lord draws out her faith by what He says. She might have argued, "Then I am only a dog and have no claim upon the Lord; the blessing only belongs to the children." Her faith wins over this difficulty. She admits the truth about herself and falls back on the grace that is in His heart. She can say, as it were, "Yes, as far as I am concerned, it is true I cannot claim the place of a child. I am only a dog, but my whole trust is in what You are, not in what I am. I see there is such grace in Your heart that You would not deny a crumb to a dog."
The Lord's word to her was not a refusal. It set an order: Israel first. Her answer keeps that order and still finds room for herself inside it.
Even here our Lord does maintain the principle of "the Jew first," while the simple faith in her — and what is more intelligent than that? — urges "and also the Gentile." … The Lord teaches her to take her true place. But she holds with unshaken assurance to the certainty that He will not deny His own. She was no better than a dog; but is not God full of bounty and goodness even to the dogs?
Her phrase "under the table" is not a random image. It picks up a hint the Lord had already given her in the word He chose:
The last word "dogs" is not the word for the wild, homeless, scavenging creatures of the eastern streets. They are still "dogs," but the "little dogs," the house or pet dogs; the kind that would look, as she was doing, for something in the house. So the way into blessing has truly been opened for her — if only she has humility enough to take it. Faith and humility — which in a sinner is repentance — are twin companions that never part. He who is lowly enough to take the place of a dog will soon discern God's way of grace.
She asks for crumbs, not for a seat at the table. How little she asks says how much she believes He has:
It was as though she said, "I know that You have spread the table for the house of Israel, in keeping with all the promises of the past. But Your provision is so rich that the table will not hold it. It must overflow, and I will be satisfied with the overflow." She got her desire, she tasted that the Lord is gracious.
What she leans on is not a promise made to her but the character of God:
I have no title; I am just a wretched dog; but there is goodness enough in God for those who have no title.
Her place under the table was real at the time. It did not stay that way:
The children have their place at the table, the dogs are underneath it, so can only eat of the crumbs which fall from it (Mark 7:28). While the wall that divided Jew from Gentile still stood, she could only be as a dog, and could not take a child's place. Thank God, it is not so now. All believers on the Lord Jesus are born of God, and so are members, through divine grace, of His family. They can look forward to the Father's house as their permanent, everlasting home.
- Agree — She does not dispute the Lord's word about her; she says "Yes, Lord," and then builds her plea on His own ground.
- Place — The order stands: children first. Her place was under the table, and she claims nothing that belongs on it.
- Word — The "dogs" He named were house dogs, not street scavengers. The hint of a place in the house was already in His answer, and she took it.
- Table — She asks only for crumbs. By asking so little, she says how rich His table must be: rich enough to overflow past Israel to her.
- Family — She has no claim, and the blessing comes anyway. That barrier is gone now: believing Gentiles are children in God's family, not dogs.
And he said to her, Because of this word, go thy way, the demon is gone out of thy daughter.
Jesus has gone north to the region of Tyre, away from the crowds and the arguments over tradition. There a Gentile mother begs Him for her demon-possessed daughter, and He answers her — not for her tears, but for one thing she said.
Start with who she was: her background gave her no claim on Jesus at all.
What claim had she? Not the smallest. "The woman was a Greek [or Gentile], a Syrophoenician by race." She came from the stock of Israel's enemies — corrupt idol-worshippers who despised the true God. But if Jesus wanted a chance to show the grace of God, there was never a needier applicant. That grace stands above every question of right or deserving. It is above any plea you can imagine, except sheer misery thrown on divine mercy in Him.
His words about children and dogs sound like a refusal. The same writer sees a test in them, and draws a rule from it.
Yet if the woman's faith was to triumph, it was no less tested. And I think this is morally instructive: the richest grace on Christ's part does not make the trial of faith less, but more. The soul that is little exercised never eats the kernel of the blessing, never proves the depths that are in God and in His grace.
"For this statement" points back to her answer about the crumbs. She could have collapsed under the Lord's words. Instead she agreed with them and then reached past them.
Her faith triumphs over this difficulty by admitting the truth about herself and falling back on the grace that is in His heart. She can say, in effect, "Yes, as far as I am concerned, it is true — I cannot claim the place of a child. I am only a dog, but my whole trust is in what You are and not in what I am. I see there is such grace in Your heart that You would not deny a crumb to a dog." This is always the way of faith. It owns the wretchedness, the vileness and unworthiness of our hearts, and rests in the perfect grace of His heart.
Her answer told the truth about Him, and He would not contradict it.
This was a faith that the Lord would not, and could not, deny. He could not say, "I am not as good as you suppose," or "My grace is not as great as you imagine." Blessed be His Name! His grace exceeds all our faith. He delights to respond to the smallest faith.
Another writer traces this back to who Christ is:
The Lord's mercy necessarily flowed out; had it not, it would have been a denial of Himself. This is the force of faith acting on what the Lord is, according to His mind and will.
He does not go with her. He does not touch the girl or speak a command over her. He gives the mother a sentence and sends her home. Her faith now shows in whether she walks out on it.
Her faith showed itself in following the Lord until He answered her. It showed itself again when she left Him and went home, fully sure that her daughter was healed. Before she reached her own door, and even before she left Him, the deliverance she had asked for was already done. The deliverance was complete without the Lord seeing the child, and without a single audible word of command leaving His lips. She was a Gentile and a Canaanite, and she proved there was mercy for her as well as for others. God can have mercy on all, if only all are willing to receive it.
- No claim. She was a Gentile from the stock of Israel's enemies, with no right and no deserving. No one ever needed mercy more, and need is the ground grace loves to work on.
- Tested. The children-and-dogs saying was not a rebuff but a sieve; the richest grace does not lessen the trial of faith, it deepens it, because "the soul that is little exercised never eats the kernel of the blessing."
- Answered. Faith's reply owned the whole truth about herself and still refused to doubt Him: "my whole trust is in what You are and not in what I am."
- Granted. He honours that saying because He cannot deny it — He could not tell her His grace was smaller than she imagined, and to withhold mercy would have been "a denial of Himself."
- Proved. She walks home on a sentence, and finds it already done — no visit, no touch, no spoken command over the child. The word that sent her away had already worked.
And having gone away to her house she found the demon gone out, and her daughter lying on the bed.
A mother walks home and finds everything just as Jesus said. Mark gives no bedside scene — only a woman who took Him at His word, and a child free of the demon before her mother reached the door.
The woman was not a Jew. She was a Gentile — an outsider to Israel, with no promise to claim and no right to ask.
She had no claim on His mercy and power, for she was under the curse. Her daughter had a demon. And though she had no claim on His power and no promise, she believed in His love. She takes the place He gave her, and He restored her daughter. What a display of grace! ... In that moment His all-seeing eye must have seen the crowds of Gentiles who would believe in His love after His death on the cross. They were lost sinners with no promise, strangers to the commonwealth of Israel.
Before she went home with good news, she had accepted a hard description of herself. Commentators read her reply as an agreement with what Jesus said, not a protest against it.
She might have argued, "Then I am only a dog and have no claim upon the Lord; the blessing only belongs to the children." Her faith triumphs over this difficulty by admitting the truth about herself and falling back on the grace that is in His heart. She can say, in effect, "Yes, as far as I am concerned, it is true I cannot claim the place of a child. I am only a dog, but my whole trust is in what You are and not in what I am. I see there is such grace in Your heart that You would not deny a crumb to a dog."
The hard words she heard look like obstacles to grace. One writer reads them the other way.
Yet if the faith of the woman was to triumph, it was tested no less. And I think there is a moral lesson here. The richest grace on Christ's part does not make the trial of faith less, but more. The soul that is little tested never eats the kernel of the blessing. It never proves the depths that are in God and His grace.
Nothing visible changed while she stood there. Jesus told her the demon had left. She turned and went home. That is the faith this verse records.
The Lord's mercy had to flow out; if it had not, it would have been a denial of Himself. This is the force of faith acting on what the Lord is, according to His mind and will. He must show Himself that way, or it would be the denial of Himself. "For this saying go your way; the demon has gone out of your daughter." She did believe His word and acted on it — the answer of faith. She went off to her house and found the demon gone — a further witness of power and mercy!
The timing matters. Jesus never went near the child. The healing was done while the mother was still away.
She found that what He had said was true. When she went back into her house, she found her child laid on the bed and the demon gone. Before she reached her own doorway — even before she left Him — the deliverance she had asked for was done. Divine, delivering power had reached the daughter while the mother was still away on her errand. And the deliverance was complete: the Lord never saw the child, and not one audible word of command left His lips. The demon had gone out, and mother and daughter could now rejoice together in the power and grace of their Deliverer.
Mark notes where the child was found. One writer sees in the bed the sign of an ordeal now over.
Returning home, she of course found His words to be true, her daughter laid on a bed, perhaps exhausted from her previous ordeal.
- No claim. She was outside the promises and under the curse, with nothing to offer Him but her need.
- Owned it. She did not argue with the word "dogs"; she agreed with it and rested her whole trust in what He is, not what she is.
- Tested. The richest grace does not shorten the trial of faith. It lengthens it. A soul never tested never tastes the depths of God's grace.
- Went. She left on the bare word of Christ, sure the thing was done before she could see it.
- Found. No touch, no sight of the child, no spoken command — yet the demon was gone, the child at rest when her mother walked in.