Monday, November 18, 2013
I crept quietly through the empty courtyard. My hands trembled. The ornate box of extravagant fragrance, shifted uneasily. I tried to calm my racing heart. I saw Simon at the head of the table. I prayed silently that I would not be seen and sent away. Looking through the columns I saw the room crowded with Pharisees, disciples and other men. Some were seated on lavish cushions around the large table, others stood listening. Where was Jesus? Someone on the street told me He was here. Ah...there He was, in the middle of the room, next to Simon.
I was beyond caring what people thought. I didn't care what the men had to say. I had to get to Jesus. I needed to worship. I knew Jesus was HIM! The Messiah. The Almighty. The King of Glory robed in flesh.
I ran as fast as I could and knelt behind Him at His feet. My face was wet with tears. I couldn't stop crying. In His presence I realized my brokenness. I knew that I, a sinner, didn't deserve to be in the presence of the HOLY ONE, but yet I was. It was at that moment I shattered my treasured perfume box. The room was filled with sweet incense, and silence. Jesus' feet were now wet with my tears. I anointed His clay caked feet with the precious contents of my box. Tears fell with the worship and adoration of my heart. I could feel the glares of the men in the room. I didn't care. I was desperately longing to worship. Aching for forgiveness. Seeking earnestly for Jesus' touch of mercy.
No one spoke for several minutes. The whispers, like daggers, pierced the silence as the men gawked at me. It was obvious they were appalled and embarrassed at my display of affection. Jesus turned and gazed on me with compassion, not caring what the men said or thought. He didn't send me away. I cleared my mind when I heard Simon snidely make a remark about Jesus not knowing what kind of woman I was. Yet somehow I knew Jesus knew everything about me. He accepted my feeble attempt of honor. It was as if He already knew I would be there.
I kissed His feet. Wiped them with my hair.
Me. A sinner. Accepted.
Worshipper of God. Unworthy, I knew, yet completely loved.
How could these men sit here? How could their knees refuse to bend? How could their eyes not weep? Why would their hands not serve? Why was their perfume still in their jars? How could they not Worship...HIM? As for me, I could not stop...
Like oil upon your feet,
Like wine for you to drink,
Like water from my heart, I pour my love on YOU, (Jesus)
With praises like perfume, I lavish mine on You,
Till every drop is gone, I pour my Love on YOU.---song writer unknown
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