my reckless abandonment...

I had heard of him, yes. I had been hearing of him for quite some time. People had been telling me of his work for quite some time: how he would heal people even on the Sabbath; how he would dare to tell people that their sins are forgiven; how he would hang out with the least, the last people on earth that everyone else expected he should hang out with, but not only that, he sought them out!; and how one of his friends, Peter, had once walked on water because he said that he could; how he would simply say to someone, "Follow me," and that person would drop everything, completely transfixed, and follow him so close they were covered in the dust he kicked up. In the beginning, I thought Who does he think he is, telling people that kind of stuff? And it went from that to Man, who is that guy? and then to I want to meet this man, this mystery. I didn't originally know why I wanted to meet him, or at least get a good look at him, I just knew that I did. Maybe just to find out what he looked like, if he looked normal or not, who he was, if he was really who they said he was, and could really do the things that I had been hearing about, that kind of thing.

I knew I was the last person who should have been thinking thoughts about meeting someone so... extraordinary. A woman who has a past colored as dark as mine had no business entertaining such thoughts. I mean, it wasn't even all entirely in my past, it was my present too. How many mistakes had I made, did I continue to make over and over for that matter? And I mean, come on, who did I think I was anyway? I wasn't fooling anybody. I was convinced that I would be the exception, the one that he would look at pityingly and then after a minute, would say completely exasperated, "Hope and faith in me is not enough for you. Your past is too dark, too full of shadows and deceit. I cannot help you. You should just go home now."

I was so sure that would be his reaction to me if I even tried. So when I heard that he was in Bethany, at the home of Simon, a leper, I almost didn't go. I imagined the scene over and over again in my head. My eyes pleading for his favor and for his touch, asking him to love me. His deep brown eyes not even meeting mine. The white of his robe shining so brilliantly that I couldn't look at it, only at the dirt floor in front of me, and the toes of his feet. His rejection of me and then the hushed laughter and condemning whispers of the others gathered there. And then me, turning to go, trying to keep my head above water as I swam out fighting the weight of my shame, mocking me by pushing me under. And then, at last, I would give up and have to be dragged out, even though the thoughts of them putting their self-righteous Pharisee hands on me was worse than drowning in my own guilt and shame. The scene was a little different every time I went over it in my head but the end was always the same. And then something happened the last time that I tried to imagine it. I had just been dragged out and left just outside the doorway. I raised my head to see what it was that I felt on my hand. And a serpent slithered its way over my skin and then turned to look at me, right in the eyes, flicking his tongue at me as if to say, "Ha ha ha, and you actually thought he would tell you that everything would be okay now? You should have known better; you should have known that you aren't worth it." And that's when I knew that I had to go and try.

I quickly finished hanging the wash on the line and told my mother I would be out for a while. I grabbed the alabaster jar of perfume from where my father had been keeping it for me, and I set out for Simon's house. My parents were saving it for me, as was custom, as part of my dowry. When I married I was to break it over my husband's feet, anointing them with the sweet-smelling ointment inside, as a symbol of abandoning all that I had for him, that I would give everything I had to offer, what little it was, to him. I knew it was expensive, worth a year's wages, and that they might be angry with me later for it. I don't know what told me to take it but my heart told me that if I did, that he would take it and use it and give me back something better, something even more valuable.

I arrived there and saw the great crowd of people gathered there. They spilled out the doorway into the yard. I imagined most of them were curious, as I was, about this mysterious man. I shoved my way through them, carefully protecting the fragile jar in my hands. I entered and saw Simon first, though I did not recognize him right away for his wounds were all healed; he was clean and smiling. And then my eyes were drawn elsewhere, to a stranger that was seated in the center. He was dressed in a robe so brilliant white that I could not look at it directly. Instead I sought his eyes and when I finally met them, I fell to my knees. I had never seen eyes so filled with compassion and love. They stole the breath from within me, they were so beautiful. I was able to bring myself to crawl across the floor, weeping as I went. Tears of joy, tears of praise, tears of love, and happiness; but there were no tears of guilt or shame there that day. I made my way to him and when I finally arrived I raised myself up beside him, and the jar along with me. I uncorked the jar and poured all of it over his head, abandoning all that I had to offer to him. I was whispering to him words of praise and worship, offering prayers so effortlessly even though at the time I didn't realize that was what I was doing. My hands reached out then and massaged the perfume into his hair.

I had not noticed that it had been quiet until some spoke, first in whispers, and then finally someone out loud: "Why this waste? This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor." I couldn't see them from where I was kneeling, my hands tangled in his hair. But I wasn't there to see whoever it was that was speaking; I was simply there to see him. Then, he turned to look at me and brought his hand up to touch my arm, and grabbing my hand he raised me to my feet, standing himself. He turned to look somewhere behind me and said, "Why are you bothering this woman? She has done a beautiful thing to me. The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me. When she poured this perfume on my body, she did it to prepare me for burial. I tell you the truth, wherever this gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her." I was stunned. He really had taken what I had given him and used it. And he had given me something far greater and far more valuable: unconditional love, something I knew no other man would be able to give me.

But I was also stunned by something else. He mentioned that I had prepared him for burial. I had only just met this man and I knew then that I was in love with him. But he was going to die, and not just someday, but very soon. A deeper reality of that would sink in much later but at that moment my grief was overwhelmed with the joy of the present. He turned back to me and looked deep into my heart. He brought his hand to touch my face, in that intimate place where my jaw and neckline meet. "Your hope and your faith in me has saved you. You have offered to me the greatest offering you could give, yourself. All that you had to give you freely gave. Go in peace." I turned and left, upright and without the weight of my guilt and shame pushing me under. And as I exited the house I looked to my left and saw there a serpent slithering quickly away from me, his head sliding on the ground hung low in his own shame for he had been defeated again.

This was based on the biblical story of the woman who poured her alabaster jar of ointment over Jesus' head. It has been fictionalized to depict how I imagined it.