Jesus feet

Several members modelled for the disciples in this picture and the critic FG Stephens sat for Christ. Does this text contain inaccurate information or language that you feel we should improve or change? We would like to hear from you. Main menu additional Become a Member Shop. Artist Ford Madox Brown — Medium Oil paint on canvas. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: Now a certain man was sick, named Lazarus, of Bethany, the town of Mary and her sister Martha.

It was that Mary which anointed the Lord with ointment, and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was sick. Therefore his sisters sent unto him, saying, Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick. When Jesus heard that, he said, This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby. Now it came to pass, as they went, that he entered into a certain village: And she had a sister called Mary, which also sat at Jesus' feet, and heard his word. But Martha was cumbered about much serving, and came to him, and said, Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone?

And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one thing is needful: Then Jesus six days before the passover came to Bethany, where Lazarus was which had been dead, whom he raised from the dead. There they made him a supper; and Martha served: Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair: And when they were come to the place, which is called Calvary, there they crucified him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand, and the other on the left.

Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do. But why is it thus now, when His last appearance, as given in the Revelation, is so grand? Because many thorns preceded the many crowns ; and weariness and neglect were the portion of those feet, which having passed heaven's threshold in triumph, now burn like fine brass! Nor could we have believed in Christ's sympathy as we do now; our dull hearts would not have been so assured of His feeling for us, unless we knew that He also had felt trials like our own.

Nor could we have offered Him our feelings and infirmities, as we now can. What a wonderful thought this is! God in Christ desires human sympathies; He has so arranged that these sympathies are possible, that they can reach Him—that we may offer Him our feelings; and He has given us the privilege of solidifying our feelings. This poor woman's offering to the feet of Jesus—her tears and ointment, and that lowly ministry of her hair, became, so to speak, solidified; the Jesus who turned water into wine has made them shine with a resplendent light for His Church through many ages. God loves to embody His thoughts; they are so embodied in countless forms of beauty around us.

He embodied them pre-eminently in Christ, and He wills that we should embody our sympathies with Jesus. Therefore let us do as this woman did—let us not merely talk , and look —but do. He who sympathizes practically with the lowly ones of Christ, or with the small and worrying troubles of even the smallest of His people, does so with His feet—they wash, they wipe, they anoint, they kiss. The activities of practical Christian life are constructed and based upon, and energized by, the personality of Jesus.

Everywhere we are met by "the man Christ Jesus. If only we will see it—He is still in our midst. Take Him away, and our spiritual life will be divested of a central, moving figure—one whose life on earth, as well as whose glory in heaven—are ever to be before us. And so, we might go on with many other evils which would happen, if we had not as a Christ—One who with human feet walked the same earth as we do, and whose feet were ministered to with such acceptance as we find here.

Thus keeping before us the person of Jesus, we also may in our measure realize the apostle's words, "That which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled of the Word of life. Let us do all things so personally to Christ—let us hear His voice saying so plainly, "Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren—you have done it unto me," that we may indeed be able to take up those words and say, "What we have seen, looked upon, handled of the Word of life.

A large subject is embraced here—but we shall confine ourselves to the Feet of Christ as the place of personal ministration. Let us mark here the highest, or heaped-up nature of this woman's service. There was washing, wiping, kissing, anointing.

It is like a cluster of diamonds in a single ring, like many fruits on one bough. And the first thought which strikes us concerning it is a sorrowful one; it is the difference between this woman's highest service, and the poor, and often grudging service, which we offer. We look upon service too often as under law—that we are commanded to do this and that; it becomes the fulfillment of law, and nothing more. And so it comes to pass, that much of our service becomes grudging or of necessity, and inquires not "how much can be given," but "what will be enough ," "what will barely do.

But this woman's service was under no law. She was not even under the unwritten law of hospitality; for Jesus was not in her house. This service was the representative not of law—but love; and in love it found a motive power, which law never could have supplied. Let us aim at the highest service—to do much to Christ; for in doing it for Him, we do it to Him.

And let us remember that this service will not be noted merely in the mass, God will separate it into its component parts. Each specific good thing will be noted. God will unwind the golden thread into its various strands; He will pass the ray beneath a prism, which will divide it into many hues. We take things in the lump; our earthliness, our lack of memory, our imperfect power of perception, all conduce to this; but God is too exact not to note the parts which make up the whole.

If we pay a visit to the sick for His sake, He notes all the component parts of that visit—the cheery word we uttered, the tone in which it was spoken, the gentle touch of the sick one's hand, the patient silence while listening to complaints, the loving craft by which we sought to take the afflicted one's mind, away from himself. In our mind—it may be, in the sick one's mind—we paid a visit, and that was all.

But God knows what there was in that visit, and He counts it all up, and records it even as He does the washing , wiping , kissing , and anointing here. The feet of Jesus were the recipients of love's highest service; and what encouragement is there here to those who are diffident about aiming high. The feet, at least, are open to them; they may pour out all their fullness upon what is very lowly, yet belonging to Christ.

The lowliest object may be the recipient of highest service. Jesus Himself took care to point this out when He said, "Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren—you have done it unto me! There is also a certain perfection in this service which the reader is invited to observe. There was washing and wiping. This was no half—no unfinished service—but one altogether perfect in its kind. The wiping was the needed consequence of the washing; and it is forthcoming, and that with no diminution of love's intensity.

There were tears with which to wash—and there was hair with which to wipe. One fact which strikes us here is, the continued strength or energy of this service; the ministry of the tears of her eyes—is immediately followed by that of the hair of her head. Surely this woman's hair and tears have a voice for us. When we put our service by the side of hers—we are reminded how often we diminish, how often we leave unfinished, how often we think we have done enough, when there plainly remains yet more to be done. Some of the most beautiful services in God's eyes are probably so from their perfection , and not their extent.

God loves what is perfect in its kind. Its kind may be very lowly; He Himself has made a great many very lowly things—little flowers and insects which make no pretension to being otherwise than lowly; but when He had seen everything that He had made, He pronounced it to be "very good. It is a sign of a perfect workman not to leave anything unfinished; and LOVE should be of all workers, the most perfect.

But there was another element of perfection in this ministry to the feet of Jesus. She gave not only herself, but her substance. After washing, wiping, and kissing, all three as it were givings of her very self—she anointed Him with the ointment from the alabaster box. There were three personal services—services of herself—before there was the giving of substance. The ointment was very precious—but it did not weigh down what had gone before. It might be said, service can be recognized in the washing and wiping ; but what service was there in the kissing?

The answer is that, a kiss is a service of love—a performance of the lip on behalf of the heart ; the heart feeling that it must do something to show its love, and the lip lending it its aid. This woman probably uttered not a word during all this process of love —let it not be considered a contradiction in terms that, her KISS was the voice of voiceless love.

From the position in which the mention of her kissing of Jesus' feet is found—midway between the two ministries of the washing and wiping , and the anointing —a thought arises with reference to our own personal feeling in service. It must needs have been, that this worshiping woman had herself some of the enjoyment of love's sweetness and refreshment, when she kissed those feet of Jesus.

It is no irreverence—but strictly within the probability of things, to believe that an ineffable sense of happiness passed through her, as she thus vented her adoring love upon the honored feet of Jesus! I accept with comfort the suggestion which hereon rises in my mind. I say, "There is to be happiness for the server in his service—as well as honor for the served one, in being served.

Jesus' Feet Anointed in the House of a Pharisee.

And, reader, you must seek to enjoy this privilege. Do not argue against yourself and say, "How can there be any happiness where there are tears? There are flowers which are obliged to hang down their heads by reason of the heavy showers—but their perfume has not gone. Seek for personal happiness when rendering to Jesus personal service ; seek for refreshment to your own soul, when refreshing His people—that is, Himself. Let us bracket kissing and anointing together, as we did washing and wiping ; the one was a true symbol, the other a costly and substantial reality of love.

Kisses may be poor things like Orpah's, or deceitful like Judas'. But when the kiss and the fatted calf go together—the kiss and the ointment—there is no mistake. But let us return more immediately for a moment from this ministering woman —to the feet which were ministered unto. All was lavished upon the least, as it were of Jesus—upon His feet. How often we think that only the head —some great cause of Jesus, or some great enterprise for Him can be worthily served.

But the feet of Jesus had here a great capacity for absorbing service, the washing, wiping, kissing, anointing—were all accepted and appreciated. We know that the very head of Jesus may be anointed—that He graciously places it within our reach; that what may be called great enterprises for Him may be undertaken; but for the most part we have to do with the feet. Let not the reader, then, sigh after great spheres of service , or seek great outvents for love to his Savior.

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He who is untrue in the least, would be also untrue in the greatest; he who neglects the feet would neglect the head. Amid the dust-soiled, the way-worn, and the neglected will be found recipients capable of absorbing all the service that we can give. Like the feet of Jesus, they lie within our reach; it is only fit that the lowest and the least of God's—should be able to absorb the greatest and the best of ours. It will be a great encouragement to us in our ministerings among humble people, or in doing humble offices, to remember that they actually have a capacity for swallowing up our utmost efforts—they are big enough for the most that we can do.

From among many others which lie to hand, let us just take one point more for a moment's thought. What shall we do with our tears? The world is full of tears, and many of them are wasted. Now there should be no waste of anything, and tears are not intended to be spilt upon the ground. The Psalmist knew that God valued tears when he prayed, "Put my tears into Your bottle. Tears are to be brought into connection with Jesus.

The tears which touched the feet , thrilled through the being of the Lord. We may hold back, thinking that we cannot reach the heart of Christ; but let us touch Him anywhere, His whole being is sensitive, He will soon say, "Somebody, something has touched Me! And now, lastly, let those who read these lines make up for the neglect of duty by others, by the exuberance and fullness of their own love. Simon's duty, in common hospitality, was to have given Jesus water for His feet. He gave it not; but this woman supplied its place with tears. May we have that love, which will supply the deficiencies even of those who profess to entertain the Lord.

The closest personal services done to Him—those which will gain most place in that history which is for eternity—are those, not of duty —but of love ; and many of them done, as it were, only to the "feet of Jesus. We have in Holy Scripture, something about the feet of Jesus—as regards His life on earth, His death, His resurrection life, and His life in glory.

We are at present concerned only with incidents which refer to those feet, while He lived and moved as a man among men, in what we might call the ordinary walks of every-day human life. No doubt, what meets us here is very extraordinary—but the scenes in which we find it embrace the usual places, people, and things of daily life. Among the various mentions which we find of Jesus' feet, that with which we commenced these chapters is the only one embracing numbers of people; all the rest have to do with individual persons—their individual feelings, their troubles, their needs.

And if we follow them out, we shall find them embodying and illustrating many of the experiences and feelings of Christian life.

Luke NCV - A Woman Washes Jesus’ Feet - One of - Bible Gateway

In the Syro-phoenician woman—we see the trial and victory of Faith—Jesus allowing Himself to be overcome. The leper who fell down before Jesus—gives us the expression of terrible personal need. And in Peter falling at His feet, we see the abasement of felt personal demerit. One great beauty of the Bible, and one of the means by which it takes such deep hold of us, is its individual cases ; our natures crave what is personal, and find it here; they fix upon it; they take special comfort from it.

We cannot take in the woe of masses ; we have no capacity for doing so—it is well that we have not. A single case with all its particulars can be realized; we enter into it, and it affects us more than any amount of anguish, no matter how great, which is but a confused mass. We read of so many thousands being wounded in some dreadful war—but let there be in the article which states this, an incident of individual suffering , and the human mind instinctively fixes itself on that.

It is a blessed thought that all masses of misery resolve themselves into their component parts—into individual cases before God. His great mind is analytical—it goes into particulars and details. And here—much of the soul's life—yes, and of the body's life too—might be said to be analyzed at "the feet of Jesus. Here we have the feet of Jesus—the place for agonizing personal suppliants—for the stating and pleading of individual need. In the three cases, which we have grouped together at the head of this chapter, we might be said to have to do entirely with "death.

In that of Jairus, there was present death—first threatened, then actual. In that of Mary, there was the finished woe—her dear brother was dead—and buried. As long as the body remains with us there is something to look at—something to be done—the mind feels there is something yet to come; but when that is taken away, there remains nothing more—the woe is consummated—ah, me!

In the first of our chapters, we met with multitudes and passive misery; here we meet with individual cases, where all is concentrated and active; and individual effort and energy are put forth in the highest degree. Here I find him—a ruler of the synagogue, at "the feet of Jesus! What brought him there? A threefold sorrow—a mingled, a concentrated, a comprehensive sorrow. It was mingled —both the daughter's and his own; she lay a-dying; and forasmuch as his heart was bound up in hers—his heart might be said to be a-dying also.

Mingled sorrow might be said to be the higher sorrow; it is not purely selfish; it has to do with others' woe. Though it does not exclude 'self;' to be mingled, it must give 'self' its place; but it has to do with another also. And this mingling is very close—here it is a father for an only daughter, and because of an only daughter; the two thoughts could be separated—but they are not meant to be so.

So is it with many of the sorrows which God appoints for us; our feelings for our dear ones and our own personal feelings are interwoven so as to become one. But what we are principally concerned with here, is the fact that this sorrow was brought to the feet of Jesus. And surely that was its appropriate place; because Jesus Himself was a man of mingled sorrows. He was not only a man of sorrow—but of sorrow s —He tasted this kind as well as others; it is included under the head of His "acquaintance" with grief.

The cup which the Father had given Him in Gethsemane, was a mingled cup; those tears at the grave of Lazarus were mingled tears. So, then, Jesus was the very one to whom a trouble like that of Jairus, or of the Syrophoenician woman, could be brought; His feet were their proper place.

And here let us bring our sorrows in their mingled form—let us not seek to scatter them; and look for comfort for one part here, and for another part there. Jesus, by His own experience, will understand all the component parts of our grief. And He will not be displeased because we seek relief for our own sorrow, as well as for the one on account of whom we are in grief. Personal sorrow is recognized; the same God who meant it to be felt —meant it also to be eased ; and the place for ease by His appointment, is the feet of Jesus.

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I next note this as a concentrated sorrow—she for whom Jairus had come to the feet of Jesus was an only daughter. This sorrow, though mingled, was not shared; it savored much of an essence—an essence of woe. If the only daughter died—then all was gone. This woe was well defined indeed. And in this aspect of it—it found its fittest place at Jesus' feet. His own course of sorrow was well defined enough; He was continually coming into contact with facts, often in relation to His own closest disciples and friends, which grieved Him; He could have well-defined feeling for well-defined trial.

Let us remember this, for we are often thinking that our particular trial is infinitely more to us —than it is to Christ ; that He does not see it to be as large as it really is; that He cannot feel it as we feel it, or understand it as we do; that His sympathies are so scattered and diffused, He cannot gather them into the focus of our one grief. Jesus can cause the rays of His sympathy to converge on one point, until He makes it glow and burn with a light and heat of love. We must not fear, then, being intrusive, or say, "Why should I think that my sorrow which is so great to me—should be great to Him?

Even if it is an exaggerated sorrow—made so from our worry and anxiety, still to us it is real, and therefore, it is so to Him. An "only daughter;" here is a center, a pivot, something around which the dried-up heart would grind in days and nights of sorrow.

And are there not some hearts which have unoiled centers of sorrow, around which they unceasingly grind? They perform the one dull round of grief—the eye so fixed on one central point, that it soon becomes incapable of taking in anything else. Let it be brought to the feet of Jesus, that is the only place for dealing with sorrow like this. Remember the picture painted for you here—it is that of one deep sufferer, about one sorrow, before one Helper. We must glance at one more aspect of this sorrow.

Like all, or almost all those connected with death, it took in a past and a future. Jairus brought a past to the feet of Jesus—a past full of endearment.

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For twelve years this child had been creeping around his heart, ever budding, ever throwing out fresh tendrils, which found their clinging place around that heart. For twelve years had she nestled inside it, so that his very life was as it were, the enfolding of another. It may be that father with child, and child with father, they mingled their lives together.

Perhaps, this only daughter had helped to keep this father fresh and young, by the sweet unconscious ministry of youth—for children minister to us by their toys, and laughter, and the fresh dew upon their early morning life; perhaps, he had often sat, and with sweet contentment watched the mother being reproduced in the child.

Jesus Washing Peter’s Feet

Who knows into what depths this "perhaps" will travel, if we let it go forth unrestricted into twelve years' life with an only child? It is said that fathers love their girls the most, and mothers their sons the most; and whatever is that peculiarity of affection, it is beautiful to see how Jesus meets its sorrow, for He raised Jairus' only daughter; and the widow of Nain's only son. He not only gave them back their all—but a peculiar all; and, doubtless, He knew that He was doing so, for He is delicately skilled in the peculiarities of grief. It was with such a past—a past with a great circle, and that, crowded with the imagery of love, that Jairus, the father, fell at Jesus' feet.

But that was not all. He knows little of death-sorrow who imagines that it is all connected with the past. The death-sorrow is a stand-point upon life's road—with a past brightly populated, with a future darkly blank. I bear in mind the almost indignation with which a friend of mine—advanced in the life of faith, received a letter on her husband's death condoling with her on her "misery. But consolations like these—certainly those high ones of the Gospel, this ruler had not; and so we may ponder how blank and void, how unseasoned and lusterless was that prospect which now lay before him.

The father had probably looked forward to much; he had day-dreamings of what that girl would be to him in his old age; a father's heart had often taken to love's speculations , and built castles in the air—which now lay ruined at his feet—ruined, not by slow decay of time—but, as it were, by a lightning flash. The girl was then a-dying—to all intents and purposes dead, unless Jesus would come at once and help; and Jairus embodying in himself these varied forms of sorrow —the mingled, the concentrated, and the comprehensive—fell with them all—at Jesus' feet!

Up to the present, we have seen Jairus only as a father; but the narrative brings him before us in another character also—we are told he was "a ruler of the synagogue. True need brings us very low. It brought down that ruler; it has done the same to many a one since. The rich, the honored, the intellectual, have been brought there. They might have dialoged with Jesus, and admired Him, and said, "You are a teacher come from God," and continued just as they were.

But nothing, save a deep sense of need, would have brought them to the feet of Jesus. All adventitious circumstances—all rank, riches, intellect—are swept away before the avalanche of urgent and tremendous need.

Death makes an impertinence of them all. Our imagined personal importance becomes nothing there. And where have we been brought, and what has "the reality" done for us, or rather, with us? For there is a great difference between these two. Something must be done with us, before anything is done for us; we must be brought to the feet of Jesus, there to receive a life gift—a gift, which shall be a victory over death.

Into the place so lately instinct with joy—but which was now stilled; into the recesses of home life where everything which was associated with his departing joy lay around, there the ruler of the synagogue would bring Him who was in truth a higher ruler than himself, for He had power even over death. We do not like the world or outsiders to see our deepest and most sacred sorrow, especially when it is fresh; but if our heart has apprehended Jesus aright—we shall be ready to ask Him! His will be no look of curiosity, no cold taking in of circumstances in which He has no interest.

Wherever He comes, whenever He speaks or looks—it is always with a purpose. And let us be circumstantial in the detail of our sorrow. Jairus told the Lord that he had one only daughter, and that she was twelve years old, and that she lay a-dying. All that he said would be helpful towards exciting Jesus' interest and moving His pity; which perhaps, he, who knew not Jesus' heart fully, would have thought necessary. We know that for this purpose it is not needed; still it is a good thing to enter into particulars with the Lord.

It is treating Him with confidence; the very feeling that He will be specially interested, is honoring to Him. Every particular that we bring before Him, He will note —and act with reference to it too. So then, when we analyze this sorrow of the ruler, we see that there was enough to bring him ruler though he was to the place where we find him here—the place for every reader of these lines, in all sorrowful times— the feet of Jesus!

Now the woman was Greek, a Syrophoenician by birth, and she begged Him to drive the demon out of her daughter! The first position which this woman took up does not appear to have been at the feet of Jesus. According to the account given us in Matthew, she seems to have followed Christ for some little time, probably at somewhat of a distance, crying after Him, and begging for mercy at once upon herself and her child. She was apparently within hearing distance—but that availed her nothing, for Jesus had not answered her a word.

And if she heard the answer which the Lord gave to the disciples, when they asked that she should be given what she wanted and sent away, her chances of help seemed about utterly to perish. But "the feet of Jesus" had yet to be tried. Neither had the mother's perseverance, nor His grace—been tested as yet to the uttermost. That saying, "I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel," which to some might have seemed a hurricane blast, enough to sweep her beyond all reach of hope forever, was in truth intended to catch her in eddies, which swift circling would soon sweep her into the center, and that center was "the feet of Jesus.

Here, on the very threshold of the story, we are met by our first teaching. We have here one brought to the feet of Jesus. It may seem to us that, so as the mother's heart were eased and the afflicted child were healed, it would have been all one whether this were accomplished by speaking to the woman at a distance—or at the very feet; but we may rest assured it is not so. Whether we see it or not, there are reasons in all the diversities of circumstances attending each particular act of Jesus' mercy.

And, first, let us observe that there are often preliminaries , and those not of a formal—but of a very important character, to our being found at the feet of Jesus. There are often preparations and exercisings of heart, before the knee of man bends at the foot of Christ. And they are all for this very purpose—that we may be brought there, and receive what is to be had there; and get that particular fullness of blessing which can only be obtained from close contact with Him.

Why but to learn, by an apparent prospect of failure in having that need supplied—that it really did not know how deep it was before? Why is it thus? Because you must know yet more the depth of what you do want , and the depth of what only Christ can give. At times we think we are close enough to Christ, within reach of Him to get what we want; but He means to bring us closer still, because He intends to give us more. The preliminaries of blessing are sometimes very wonderful; the way in which great blessings are prepared for, and come about—are among the deep things of God.

Although it is crowded into a short space as to time, and a few words as to the chronicling of it, yet was there much here required, before this woman was brought into what was to be to her—the place and posture of great blessing. There was the frequent repetition of those cries of anguish, when we would have said that one request would have been enough—the indifference to them, and that no ordinary indifference, seeing that she cried to One who could help her for He who can heal has, from that very power, a certain relationship to the one who requires that healing ; and the natural uprising of hard thoughts about One who seemed so harsh to her—all this she had to undergo—but all to bring her nearer to the Lord.

Often we are inclined to say, "Why have I to bear this? What has this to say to the blessing I need? Is not this rather leading away from that blessing? All is thus done to bring us to the feet of Jesus. We must be in the right place—for certain blessings. We think we can place ourselves; the Syrophoenician woman, no doubt, thought that to cry after Jesus was enough. And so it might have been, did God design no more for her, than the bare healing of her child; but she needed to be particularly placed for what she was particularly to receive.

The "ten lepers, who stood afar off, lifted up their voices, and said, Jesus, Master, have mercy on us. And when he saw them, he said, Go show yourselves to the priests. Once at Jesus' feet, there was much to follow. And it is important simply to note this, because we are apt to have very mistaken views as to finality. We are continually thinking that the end has come, before it really has. We make a part of a Divine process the end , and seem surprised when it does not answer our expectation.

We are seeking the blessing before it is due; we have only gone once or twice; whereas, perhaps, seven times are appointed before we see even a cloud no bigger than a man's hand. And this is how many of God's people have been discouraged when seeking blessing. They expected too much from early stages; they never surmised that they had been brought to a certain point—just in order to be led on farther.

And others are ignorant in this matter, as well as we. Their kind wishes for us are often mistaken. It is not in earthly relationships alone, that we find mistaken kindness ; it abounds in spiritual relationships also, so far as they exist between man and man. It is well that we have one who has deeper thoughts for us than our friends have—thoughts which reach farther, which are fuller of blessing, which in the long run will come out with larger profit—but it must be in the long run—it is of their very nature that they must mature.

The disciples appear in this case to have been actuated by simply selfish motives. They did not want to be cried after, and therefore wished the woman to be given what she wanted, and sent away. Their idea was that in getting that, she would have received all; they did not know of anything beyond what just met the hearing of the ear—the need of the woman's child.

As to any close contact with their Lord, and peculiar blessing in store for the woman therefrom—of that they knew nothing; as indeed, how could they. Christ had deeper views for blessing this woman, than she had for herself—and so He has for us.

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It would have been easy for Him to have spoken a healing word, and so have ended up this matter with but little trouble to Himself, and with much satisfaction both to the disciples and the woman; but He had deeper thoughts of blessing for her than that. And so, when we do not receive all at once the good thing we desire—but are left to cry still more vehemently for it; and it may be even to be much exercised in apparent repulses with reference to it, ever let us remember that this is because God designs more for us than in this matter, than we have planned for ourselves.

We are now in the midst of the thoughts of God—as well as of our own; of His ways —as well as ours; and we have to experience that His ways are not as our ways, neither are His thoughts like our thoughts. We now have this Syrophoenician woman brought to the feet of Jesus—brought there by the apparent neglect of the One from whom she had hoped everything. Having not been answered a word, she does not, after the fashion of ordinary mendicants, go away, believing that it is but lost time to ask any more; on the other hand, she comes yet closer to Christ—closer to the One who had to all appearance practically refused her; and falling at His feet, she now bars the way, and He can proceed no further until He hears—and she knows that He hears her request; and until He answer her after some fashion.

Here, then, we have her; and seeing what sort of place is the ground immediately at the feet of Jesus, how tremendous was the need of this woman, and what a vantage ground she occupied—we may expect to hear of some very earnest travail—hard conflict, if need be—before she will give up her point and go away unblessed. And it will be well for us to note this; for this "remaining" has more teaching for us than we think.

It is not always so easy a thing to remain quiet at the feet of Jesus ; to carry on much and varied effort there; to be calm and still within the one sphere. We find it very hard to harmonize energy and calmness —to make them work together. We are for shifting the scene of operations; we are, so to speak, up and down continually; we don't like to remain in the one necessary place.

We would be much more calm—if we realized where we were. Our power lies not so much in what we are—as in where we are. Let the feet of Jesus be to us a place of continuance. We trouble ourselves about the amount of effort we are making, whether we are earnest enough, and so forth. We never can be quiet, or put forth the power of quiet energy, unless we have well fixed before our minds the One from whom we are expecting help.

Some rush hither and thither , like Balak—but they get no nearer blessing. We are to know where we are, and what is to be, and what can be done there. We have the advantage of having our field of action circumscribed, and marked out for us; now let us see what victories can be won there. It may be that the intellectual think this position at the feet of Christ, is beneath them—that this sphere is too small for their energies.

They say, "Talk to us about the head of Jesus, and not about His feet.