“Behind the gas stove top in the kitchen is a glass splashback which, over the years, has had bits and bobs stuffed behind it. There’s a couple of the girls’ drawings from yesteryear, and most recently, a poster we made to publicise our Hogmanay ‘Survivor’ themed party.
In the top left hand corner is a little painting I did years ago, to represent the story of Mary pouring nard (perfume) over Jesus’ feet in John 12. The whole story is compelling, but I had found myself captivated by the end of verse 3 –
And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.
John 12:3b
I remember pondering how this woman, sacrificing probably her most prized possession for Jesus’ sake, had altered the aroma of the whole setting. It occurred to me at the time that our love does that – it changes the atmosphere of the physical spaces we find ourselves in. It might not be actual perfume, but the scent of our love, our sacrifice, our adoration, our joy, is redolent for all to breathe in.
The little painting in the kitchen has been there for over a decade and I have long since stopped looking at it. I enjoy the colours, and don’t really know how to remove anything from behind this glass screen anyway, so it’s remained. But I’d forgotten the heart of it. I’d forgotten how I’d felt drawn into the story, inspired to view my life, in a sense, as a living sacrifice, setting the atmosphere with grace.
I wonder also if over time the sweeping pinks and golds have served to paint the picture of Mary worshipping her Lord with a kind of elegance that most of the time seems difficult to relate to. This is Mary, we know, Mary who sat at Jesus’ feet while Martha tidied the kitchen. Mary who seems to know, at any given time, that her devotion and focus is Jesus. It’s easy to imagine her, with her long hair and steady devotion, as graceful, steadfast. It’s more difficult to imagine her running around like a banshee, which is something I have plenty of experience of.
.
This week past, though, I’ve had reason to look again at the painting over the stove. I spent a bit of time with another woman who anoints Jesus’ feet with perfume, this time not Mary with Lazarus in John 12, but the sinful lady who washes Jesus’ feet with her tears in Luke 7, in the house of Simon the Pharisee.
Both women washed Jesus’ feet with perfume, and dried them with their hair. Both women made huge sacrifices; these alabaster jars would have cost the equivalent of thousands and thousands of pounds.
The stories differ, though, in the emotion expressed. The sinful woman, who wasn’t named, was likely a prostitute, unwelcome in the Pharisee’s house; an outcast. It says she ‘stood behind Jesus at his feet, crying‘ (v38) and then proceeded to wash his feet with her tears.
Here was a woman, bereft, who knew that the only place she could go was the feet of Jesus. And once she was there, she instinctively knew that she had to give him everything, so spilt her precious perfume for him. (Mary from the first story knew this too, to her credit; it’s my interpretation of her story that became somewhat two-dimensional, rather than the woman herself).
Jesus says later on in the sinful woman’s passage (v 47) ‘I tell you that her many sins are forgiven, so she showed great love. But the person who is forgiven only a little will love only a little.‘
We know from Jesus’ other teaching that this woman was no more or less sinful than anyone else, but what was different was her awareness of her own sin. There was no doubt in her mind that Christ was everything, everything she needed. She was so aware of her own lack that it allowed for her love to flow freely. And the whole house smelt beautiful because of it..
Something of the messiness of this lady’s situation has allowed me to engage with this principle again. The principle being that we’re invited to give all that we have, all that we are, at the feet of Jesus. And the aroma of that sacrifice infuses all the physical places, and earthly relationships that we are part of. What, in particular, we asked to give to Jesus doesn’t matter so much – we don’t have jars of perfume to pour out of – but we are asked to come as we are, and worship him. To sit at his feet in our lack, and to receive his love.
This week has been a messy week. I’ve stared at the picture behind the stove as I’ve cooked, and I wondered to myself What do I smell of? What scent is infiltrating into my surroundings? Because it sure doesn’t smell like perfume. It smells like fear. Disappointment. It smells like agitation and pressure. I haven’t had time to sit around pouring anything over Jesus’ feet. I don’t think I’ve got anything beautiful to give you Lord.
And what I have realise is that the perfume isn’t the most important part of these stories. The most important part isn’t what I sense I have, or have not, to bring to Jesus.
The most important part is Jesus.
Jesus.
These women whose lives are an example to us are only there to point to Jesus.
Jesus, full of grace, who is not only worthy of our total adoration and the sacrifice of our most expensive possessions, he is there to receive us in our place of lack. He receives us in our lack and meets it with his love.
The wisdom of both of the ladies is that they knew this. The beautiful aroma wasn’t from the perfume, it was from their dependence. It was from their desperate and determined decision to sit as close to their saviour Jesus as they humanly could.
And so in a week where upset has heaped upon upset, without any of the elegance or long hair of these ladies, I’m invited to plonk myself before he who is my home. I’m invited to come as I am, with the worship of my sorrow, and receive his grace.
And that – or rather he – is the sweetest smelling fragrance of them all.”
Ros Boydell
Thank you again Ros for how you bring the word of God to life.
