Perfume

These last few weeks have been tough. Harder than I thought they would be. I questioned myself more than I have in a long time. My purpose, my reason, my desires, my path: all of the things that should never be entrusted to me in the first place. Who I am has been getting lost in what I am doing. Inextricably tied, unapologetically tied, I can’t get past the pace of DC and the pace of You.

I was listening to a worship song by Kim Walker. I surrender. Great concept.
There is this one part where she sings, “if my worship is like perfume, I will pour mine out in You…” and I thought about that woman, that prostitute in Scripture. That perfume, that cost. It was everything to her, it was her beauty, her path in life, her choices, her destiny, her money, her trust in her own ability to provide a future, her needs for tomorrow, her everything. She gave it all. She poured it out. It was significant in so many ways. Her trust, her understanding that is was rubbish next to Him, but it was all she had so she gave it. Scared, shaking, shameful, in front of the wrong people, at the wrong time… she didn’t care.

I wonder, I wonder what brought her to that point. I wonder where she got that idea. How did she know where He was, what made her say “Now!!!!! I have to do it now! I know he is in there and I know whom He is with and I know what they think, but I can’t wait another minute! Now! It must be now!” Was she at home when she heard The Voice? The Voice she knew, but had never known before? Was it so powerful she couldn’t ignore it? It must have rung through her like a bolt. Weighing her down, she must have known. I can see her sitting at her mirror breathing heavily as the spirit weighed her down. What is this? She must have thought. She must have felt it was time. She had to be released; she had to give it up. Suddenly she looks at the perfume, and she knows what she must do. The urgency building in her she stares at the bottle. Can I do this? Why this? Why now? She brushes the thoughts aside. I can’t do this. Then the suddenly she knows. Her life flashes before her and she gets it. All the pieces fall into place. It’s not can she, it’s can she not?

Tears streaming down her face, hastily she grabs her cloak and the bottle, running out the door. You can see the perfume getting heavier as she is carrying around. Running from person to person in the village impatiently asking, “Where is He?” Indignantly, one would look back her and say “Who?” the word spit out like a bad sip of wine. She was a prostitute after all… “You KNOW who! Where is He tonight?!” Heart beating wildly, the rush was more urgent, the Presence was getting thicker, she had to find Him.

The need growing with every minute she carried that perfume. It was her treasure and folly, she had to give it to the only One who could make it worth it’s weight. She had to pour it onto the only One that could make it clean. This perfume that had been created for beauty and used for shame now had to be turned back.

“Where is He?!” She would yell into the crowd. Couldn’t they see? She was the perfume. She had to find Him. She had to know!

After a few moments of panic, someone yells from across the square “He’s at the Pharisee’s tonight. Go there woman.”

For an instant she recognizes the danger, but it doesn’t matter, she has to go. Picking up her skirt she runs. Careful not to drop the perfume she winds her way through the city. The tears were getting worse, so bad she almost could no longer see where she as going. Panting, finally, she finds her way there. She bursts into the home, no thought of anything but Him. The servants stop her before she can throw herself in the room, “Let me through! I have to see Him! Let me through. Please! You don’t understand, I have to! I need to see Him!” Crying and panting she continues to fight.

Suddenly the Voice stops her. “Let her through.” Immediately, everything stands still. Even the Pharisees stop their protesting. The servants let her go. Heart beating wildly, slowly she turns around. Clutching the perfume to her chest, cloak falling off her shoulders, she walks around the corner. There He is. He sits regally, yet humbly. She can feel every eye on her. She can feel the scorn. Then slowly she raises her eyes to His and she finds her answer. The answer to the question she didn’t even know she was asking. “Yes.”

A small gasp escapes her as she half stumbles, half runs, half falling, she meets His feet. Somehow, she knows exactly what she has to do. She breaks open the jar and the room is filled with the smell, powerful and beautiful. Unabashedly she soaks His feet, His cloak with it. Tears fall with unknown emotions. Pleadings of a heart wounded. Not knowing what she was asking, but asking none the less. She has nothing to dry His feet, her hair will do. Peace fills her. She has poured herself out. She is spent. Someone whispers “Waste of perfume…”

Slowly, He reaches down. He cups her face. All of the sudden they are alone. She feels Him searching her soul, and for once, she is not afraid. Let Him see, let Him know. His eyes hold no hatred, no indignation, nothing but pure, violent love. She is breathless. Without leaving her eyes He speaks to the man of the house, “When I came tonight did you give me anything to wash my feet? This woman has cleansed my feet with her tears, far more pure than your water. She has dried them with her hair, softer than your linens. She has prepared me for my burial. Your sins are forgiven loved one.”

And with that look, she knows. She will never be alone again. Her shame vanishes, she has poured herself out and it had been called good. She has fulfilled her purpose.

Her grief, her life, her wounds, her everything was wound into that one moment. So hard to comprehend is what she lived through before then. The life she led and the violence she had seen. But all of that, all of that existence was validated. Not only was she freed, she earned a place in history. She had prepared Him for His death. He was cleansed by her heart, His body was readied for the death that would come to Him with her perfume and gentle touch. She was why. She was why He came. He was prepared heart, body and soul. After a dinner of wondering if this generation would ever get it, His Father had sent her to remind Him. He must have must have carried her home with Him on His cloak. I wonder how long the scent remained? Every time a breeze would lift the aroma to His nose, I can see Him smiling. I can see Him longing for her the way she longed for Him, knowing He must die so He can be with her again, so He can justify her pain. Every time he smelled it, it must have reminded Him how hard this life is for us, and how great a sacrifice that was for her. It must have been like a love sonnet repeated over and over. He must have basked in her love the way she basked in His. He must have cried in joy and love and grief over her. I imagine He smelled it again in Gethsemane as He prayed for us. He was still human and her love had been sent by the Father to remind Him of the gift she was, to strengthen for the road ahead. She had prepared Him for death after all…

When I think of her, I cry. Her role is one of the most beautiful is Scripture. So small compared to her life, but so powerful in the role of history. So important for what it has taught millions to follow. He asks me, do I think He looks at me the same way He looked at her. And if I do, what is He saying….

That’s between me and my Husband.