Faith Not of a Gentile

     I cast a glance at Mark, but his face was solemn and fixed straight ahead on the dusty road. "Please, oh Lord. Please.” The gentile woman—who called herself Docia—had been following behind us for the last few minutes now, supplicating him. 

     “Please. She is so young, much too young to be vexed by such evil. Please, Son of David, help her.” I looked up at him, but he simply kept on walking, his face composed and serene.

     “Lord, please! Please!”

     Soon, the woman’s sobs and pleadings were the only thing I could hear, even among the bustling, crowded road.

     “I cannot lose her!”

     It was too much. I stopped and turned to him, “Jeshua, why not help this woman? Or send her away so she will weep and wail after us no more.”
     
     Both Mark and he had stopped walking. Mark put a hand on his arm and nodded, “Yes, why not respond to her pleadings?” He looked at us and said, “I am here to administer unto my people, unto Israel.” I frowned and looked back at the woman, still sobbing and pleading. Her curled, raven hair was tied into a disarrayed knot at the nape of her neck. Her young face was streaked with tears and her fine blue garments draped about her were soiled from kneeling on the dirt.

     I felt sympathy for her. She was a Greek, a gentile, pleading to a Jew to help her young daughter—Doroteia, she had said her name was. Following my glance, he walked to the woman, and upon seeing him approach her, she reached out to him and said, “Lord, help me.”

     He took hold of her hand and gently murmured to her. I stepped closer to hear the words between them. The woman firmly held his hand and said, “Yes, this is true, Lord, yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.”

     I was taken aback by her words. Astounded, I looked to him. His face glowed with compassion as he smiled at her. He pulled her from the ground and spoke unto her. She thanked and praised him, and then gathered her skirts as she turned to run, a laugh of relief trailing after her.

     I kept staring after her, amazed at what had just happened. He then turned to both Mark and I. Mark had the same wondrous look on his face. He smiled and said, “Come now, don’t look so marveled at what you have seen.”

    “But,” I began, “you told us you couldn’t help her because she is a gentile.”

     He walked towards us and put a hand on each of our shoulders. “But her faith was not of a gentile. She knows who her Savior is. So I blessed her daughter as she is part of my people.”

     “Then why didn’t you help her sooner?” Mark asked. “Why let her follow behind us pleading for such a long time?”

     “Because the true believer will not cease to implore their Savior and God, even with no response at their first supplication. I needed you two to witness the great faith of this woman. Even if she is a gentile, she is still a child of my Father, just as you and I are.”

     He smiled once more and continued on the road. Mark and I looked to each other. Enveloped in a quiet peace, we both nodded and followed after him.