Me? I’m not poor, but I don’t want to
think about how I used to make my money. That’s in my past now, since I met
Him.
It happened only a few weeks ago. I was waiting on the street, hoping to snag a client or
two. Suddenly He appeared, looking at me like no man has ever looked at me. His
eyes were so kind and so pure that I shrunk back, ashamed of my whole life. But
then He spoke, and I fell at His feet. He blessed me, and before I
could look up, He was gone. I knew I would never be the same.
I thought I’d never see Him again. So
when I heard about the dinner, I had to go.
I slipped in with a few others, hoping
not to be recognized. I kept my eyes down. Many of the men knew me, and I didn’t want to attract attention. Sounds funny now, after what
happened next.
I didn’t have any real plan. My
intention was to anoint His head with my perfume. I imagined I would pour it
out, tell Him I loved Him, and then leave.
But by the time I got there, they were
all reclining, leaning on one elbow at the table, feet stretched out behind them. I could see there was no way to reach His head. That’s when I noticed
His feet. They were dirty, caked here and there with dried mud from the long
walk. Obviously the host had deliberately insulted Him by not offering water for a foot wash.
The thought that He had been so disrespected,
that the beautiful feet that had brought me such good news had been left in such sad shape,
well, it was too much for me. My eyes blurred with tears and sobs began to tear
at my chest.
I collapsed at His feet and wept and wept.
I no longer cared if anyone recognized me, or if they cast me out, even if they
stoned me. I wanted only one thing—to say thank You to Him, to love Him and
bless Him, and for one moment to show Him that I knew He had given me a gift
beyond price.
Oh,
my Lord, do You see me? See that I love only You, that I worship and bless and
care only for You? It doesn’t matter what they do to me now, because You have
already done for me what can never be undone—You gave me life. How I love You!
His feet were slippery with my tears, and
I unbound my hair and began to wipe away all the dirt and
mud. I kissed His feet again and again. Then, still sobbing, I broke open the
alabaster flask of ointment. I poured it out onto His feet, every drop, and
then I was done. Peace washed over me, and finally I looked up. He smiled at
me.
The room was silent, and I saw Him look
across the table at His host. “Simon, I have something to say to you.”
* * * * * * *
Each of us
has an alabaster jar of costly perfume. Sometimes we use it only for ourselves.
Maybe we open it just a little to mask the stench of our own sin. Or we pour it
out for a special person in our lives, only to find it’s been wasted. The unashamed
woman of Luke 7:36-50 had the right idea.
