Forgiven

I woke today from a disturbing dream, one in which I had fallen again to temptation. I’m thankful it was a dream and not reality, yet it reveals the unrest in my heart. “Be careful if you think you stand, lest you fall.” I am not immune to temptation; forgive me, Abba, for thinking myself stronger than I am. I am so very weak, God … forgive me for once more bowing to self rather than toward Your Spirit. Forgive and cleanse me, Lord. I have nothing to be proud of, no reason to boast; I am fallen, broken, weak, and sinful.

Yet You love me!

I think of the “sinful woman” I encountered again in Luke yesterday. Had she pulled herself out of a lover’s bed just that morning before stumbling into Your presence? Had she tried to clean herself up a bit first? Either way, she could not hide her sinful life from You, or from anyone else. And yet, You drew her. I think it must’ve been something in Your eyes. Perhaps she’d caught a glimpse as You walked past. Perhaps she’d heard Your name, whispered through the crowd, snatches of stories about You, healing and teaching, spending time with those the crowd forgot. Surely it sounded too good to be true, and yet … what if it was true? Dare she hope that she – even she – could have a different life?

And then, He turned and looked at her. She felt gripped by His eyes, arrested, completely exposed, and yet protected. In that instant, she felt Him knowing her – every secret shame, every foul deed, every pain and shattered hope that made up the shredded fabric of her life. And in the depths of her spirit, she heard Him answer her unbreathed question with, “Beloved, follow Me!”

The noise and bustle and press of the crowd rushed back in on her; lightheaded, she swayed a bit on her feet, testing her balance – and her grip on reality. His group was moving on ahead; she watched to see which house they entered. She slipped away, one thing on her mind. It was all she could do. Tears blurred her whispered words as she tripped along – eager, terrified, longing – “Please, let it be enough!”

And she was there. Somehow, the door was left open. The marble halls echoed with low baritone laughter, but her slippers made not a sound. From the shadows of the doorway, she could see Him across the room, reclining on a cushion at table. She felt her flesh chill, then heat, as she calculated the distance – the longest walk of her life – and swallowed hard to press her heart back down into her chest.

“Can I reach Him before anyone sees?” Before the thought finished forming, His eyes again found her. An audible catch of breath lifted her from the shadows, and she was walking forward, her sweaty hands clutching close the precious gift she’d brought.

All voices, laughter, meal clatter stilled as she entered the room, but before she’d reached halfway, the murmuring started. She could hear it, and yet not. Low, hostile, curious, outraged, the voices rose and fell around her, but she was drawn past them all by the gaze of the One toward whom she walked.

And she was there. Trembling, she dropped to her knees. Her tears came in a rush, falling on His feet, making little tracks in the dust. Her hair fell over her shoulder in a curtain as she crouched low beside Him. Gathering it in her hands, she tenderly lifted each foot and wiped it clean. She sat back on her heels, withdrawing from the folds of her clothing a small pearly jar of alabaster, filled to the brim with the purest nard. Those nearby gasped in recognition of its value. Flawless, expensive, perfect – she could not be more painfully aware of its contrast with one such as herself. Her hands shook and slipped on the smooth surface; the jar would not open. Frantic to release the perfume, she lifted high the exquisite container and brought it smashing down against the marble.

At once the spiced aroma rose and saturated the room, softening the harsh sounds of protest, melting into the tones of His voice as He spoke with His indignant host. She sat under the flow of His words as she concentrated on her task. Flicking to the side a few stray shards, she tipped the remains of the jar over His feet. The oil oozed down through her fingers, mingling with her tears and the blood drawn where sharp alabaster had pierced her skin. She had no words for the sensations flooding her – never had she known something so powerful, so clean. Awe. Wonder. Worship. All flowed out of her with the last of the oil. Setting the jar aside, she kneaded the fragrance into His travel-roughened feet. Reverently, she wiped each foot once more with her hair, prostrated herself before Him, and kissed His feet.

He bent near – could the tear that fell have been His own? – and caressed her head with His hand, stroking her hair in wordless blessing. In pouring herself out, emptying herself, laying all her brokenness before Him, she found herself met by the One who could bless, fill, and heal.

She felt weightless, free, her soul-deep repentance met with the one thing she never dared hope for …

He lifted her chin, looked once more into her eyes.

“Your sins are forgiven.”

Rising, He took her hand and helped her to rise. His knowing, purifying, empowering gaze burned into her soul.

“Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Her faith – she thought she’d lost that a long time ago, but she knew as well as she knew anything that she’d never let go of it again. And peace? Something she’d certainly never known, but now … she felt it lift her, carry her … she was backing away from those beautiful eyes … she was standing on the street before she could feel her feet under her – and they were dancing, spinning, whirling her around, and she didn’t care who saw. The peace was welling up within her, spilling out, trailing behind like the scent of perfume that still clung to her clothes, her hands, her hair.

“You are forgiven,” He’d said; “Go in peace.”

Go in peace … the peace was real enough, but where should she go? She stopped, mid-twirl. And then she knew. She would return to her Father’s house. And somehow, all would be made right.