Abraham and the Syrophoenician Woman

Over the last six months, I’ve found myself coming back to two Bible stories. I might’ve even posted about one—or both—on Facebook, but both my memory and my tiny data package fails me. Either way, I figured it was probably worth reprocessing them. Maybe someday I’ll compare my thoughts now with what I wrote before.

What struck me about these two stories is the thread that connects them. One is the story of Abraham and Isaac. The other is the New Testament story of the Syrophoenician woman. Both are often taught in ways that emphasize surrender and humility—as if God is waiting for us to grovel before He’ll bless us.

But honestly, I think that’s missing the deeper point. These stories are actually about identity, not humiliation.

Let’s start with Abraham. In the context of 2000 BC, child sacrifice wasn’t shocking—it was disturbingly common. Abraham may not have been surprised by God’s request, but I imagine he was heartbroken. Not just because of Isaac, but because he had hoped this God was different—relational, compassionate. So when God provides the ram in the thicket, it wasn’t just a relief—it was a revelation. God was saying, “I’m not like the other gods. I don’t demand your child. In fact, I will be the one who sacrifices myself for you.”

Now, the Syrophoenician woman. That moment when Jesus says, “It’s not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs”—that line has tripped up a lot of people. But Jesus didn’t call her a dog. That would have gone against His very nature. What He did do was echo what society said about her. Then He gave her the opportunity to speak back to that identity. Her faith wasn’t in accepting some lowly label—it was in her refusal to accept what the world said about her. She knew her daughter deserved healing. And Jesus was amazed—not because she humbled herself, but because she knew who she was, and she wouldn’t be dismissed.

The hard part is, when we preach surrender and humility as the end-all-be-all, the people who most need to hear it usually don't give any heed. Meanwhile, those already living lives of devotion and selflessness start to question themselves even more. It fuels this spiritual anxiety—this constant wondering: “Am I fully surrendered? Have I really let go of everything? Is this God’s voice or just mine?”

But Romans 12 doesn’t tell us to become a burnt offering. It says to present our bodies as a living sacrifice—alive, thinking, feeling, desiring. That doesn’t mean erasing ourselves. It means resisting the world’s systems of fear, oppression, hierarchy, and shame, and instead living fully into who we are in Christ.

If this resonates at all, I’d recommend the book Living Fearless by Jamie Winship. It dives deep into what it means to walk in your God-given identity.