journey onWord with us

I have a confession.  As I sat down to write about Wednesday, I didn’t do as I promised I would.  Remember this from Sunday’s post on His gaze?

“On each occasion of sitting down to write this week, I will begin with a prayer that I see Jesus more truly and completely.”

I guess I was excited to get started?  Or maybe subconsciously I felt I didn’t need to do that today.  I mean, it’s Wednesday.  It’s the day “she did what she could.”  It’s the day she broke open the jar — broke it, so it was completely poured out for Him.  She kept nothing for herself.

Two years ago, I wrote:

“If eternity has a gate, on the other side of it I wish to hear Jesus say to me, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”  On this side, I wish to hear, “He did what he could.”

I know Wednesday.  I love Wednesday.  I see Jesu….  Wait.  I was just about to write, “I see Jesus clearly today.”  But, do I?  As I poured over all I had written about this day in previous years, all at once I discovered something fairly shocking.  In all I have written and all I have emphasized about the day, Jesus is nearly absent.  I know all about the significance of the house where Jesus was dining (Simon the leper).  I know all about how it would have been scandalous for a woman to approach the table to do anything other than serve.  I know all about the extravagance of the oil, the sacrifice in breaking the jar, and the anger expressed by the guests … but where is Jesus?  Certainly, I have mentioned His quick and meaningful rebuke.  Of course, I have noted the significance of the scandalous and lavish act of anointing.  But have I ever stopped to truly and completely see Jesus amid all the activity and significance of the evening?

It wasn’t an accident that I stopped after writing the first two sentences this morning.  It was not as I had convinced myself, that I simply had so much in my head to write that I just wouldn’t have time to finish, so I’ll just stop for now and finish later.  The Spirit had another prompt waiting.

As I stood in the shower and the water poured over my head, I was prompted to pray.  As the sensation of the water pouring down over my face flashed the image of the oil pouring down over my Savior’s, I realized that I had not yet seen Him truly and fully in that day or scene.  And so I prayed as I had promised on Sunday.  “Father, help me see Jesus more truly and completely today.”  The answer came quickly.

As the water flowed over me, I saw Jesus arriving at Simon’s front door and heard the deep gratitude in His voice as the Creator of the universe thanked His host for opening his home to Him.  I see Him greeting each guest, telling stories at the table, smiling and laughing as genuine friends do.  I see Him not bat an eye when the unnamed servant woman approaches Him at the table.  I see Him not flinch when the jar of pure nard is broken open.  I see Him close His eyes and bow His head slightly as the oil flows freely through the woman’s fingers.  In accepting the invitation of Simon and the anointing of the unnamed woman, Jesus receives their good gifts freely and graciously.  He invites them to be part of the story God is writing … the story of mankind’s redemption.  He does not insist on walking this road alone.  There will be a part that only He can walk, but that is not yet, and it is not tonight.  Tonight, He reclines at the table of His friend Simon and receives an anointing from a treasured daughter of his Father.

How hard is it for us to be served?  How uncomfortable do we get when someone tries to do something for us?  We may swallow hard and allow it, but how quick is the urge to repay or reciprocate?  We’re more comfortable when we receive something earned or serve someone else.  But how well do we receive another’s gift (or grace)?  I have learned this good lesson in my life — to not rob another of the joy of giving.  I see this in Jesus as He arrives at Simon’s home and bows His head as the oil flows.  To allow someone to serve Him and become part of the narrative of God’s redemptive work … this is the Savior’s gift of love.   This is His great capacity for receiving.

Thank you, Father, for the morning prompts.  Thank you, Father, for the precious gift of your Son.  May we see Him and receive Him more truly and fully today.  May His capacity to receive forever change ours.