Surprised by Grace (24): I don’t know how He could see me

(Mt 26:6-13 / Lk 7: 36-38 / Jn 12:1-8)

I don’t know how I got in Simon’s house.
His house servants knew me.
Had they not wanted me there, I couldn’t have gotten in.
How could I have insisted or crashed their party?
Who was I?

I knew how despised I was.
I knew they named me, all of them did, with “that woman,” “that sinner,” or just “she.”
I seemed to not have a name.
But never mind.
History makes name.

I could tell from the looks I got too.
And the movements away from me.
Funny I always thought I was like the rod of Moses to the Red Sea, or the tabernacle to the Jordan River.
They just avoided me like a plague.

But I had no excuse, neither options.
I had to survive.
That’s the only profession I knew.

I was hoping that evening He knew too.
For somehow there’s one thing I knew too: This person would accept me.

Anyway I managed to sneak in.
I have earlier used all my savings to buy a jar of ointment.
I fully intended to pour it over him so that his scent would dominate the scene.
That’s all I had in mind.
Nothing prophetic.
Nothing significant.
It just seemed right.
He was worth every denarius of mine.

I planned on using a towel.
But no one cared to loan me one.
Everybody avoided me.
How was I to anoint him with the ointment without a piece of cloth?
Would I be doomed to a futile evening? Not even able to anoint him?

I knew of nothing else.
I only thought of making him look and smell good.
He deserved that.
Perhaps if I could, I could sing a song, but I suppose I would have been stopped cold.
I knew if I could break the flask and go ahead rub all over him, I could finish the task quickly.

I could use my long hair, that which had enticed dozens of admirers in my line of work.
I did, ended up.

Somewhere along the line I was overwhelmed with gratitude that He let me do it to him.
I teared up.

Honestly I had no intention of leaving any mark in history.
Not least in one Gospel, not to mention four!

I was too ashamed.
All of you who think little of yourself would understand me.

It’s how history was made, written.

Jesus asked for it to be remembered.
He didn’t even mention my name.
Perhaps he didn’t even know.
That’s ok.
I don’t mind.
The important thing is he noticed my presence and saw through my heart.

When God saw your heart, you could only accept his grace.

My heart was open to him.
My heart was thankful.
My heart received him.

My heart without name is just as well be yours.
My heart was touched by grace.
Surprised by Grace.

So can yours.

Jesus Annointed by a sinful woman, by Jean van Orley in Sint-Salvator (User: Javier Carro, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons)