done a beautiful thing to me. The poor you will always have with you,
and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always
have me. She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body
beforehand to prepare for my burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the
gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also
be told, in memory of her.” (Mark 14:6-9)
Re-membering Her: The Jar
Smooth and white and cold in trembling hands
the jar shook with the pounding of her heart
She paused outside the door - time still to turn!
time still to slip into the pitch of night
Be still, my heart! For Him be still, be brave!
How ill the thoughts of those who lay in wait
to pierce His flesh out of their lust for power!
The sight of Him that hour drew her on-
kind eyes that held no trace of harm or blame
feet bruised and worn by travel in the name
of love and hands that had no fear to touch
the leper’s oozing sore, the sinner’s shame
She knew, she knew
in Him was life—her life;
this jar—all she possessed—love’s sacrifice
She stood behind Him where He lay to dine
as guest of one poor leper in the town
then snap!
the jagged alabaster shards
sharp scent of nard
the ointment streaming down—
all this from woman’s hands--
called forth harsh cries
of “Waste!” and “What about the needy poor?”
But He blazed back at them, those blinded men,
“Leave her alone, she’s done this for my death.”
With inner eyes He saw the waiting cross
and seeing her, knew He’d not run but stay
the course, be broken and like unguent spilled
would fill the earth with fragrance of His love
For she, He knew, would love the poor He loved
and for their sake set free from fear His friends
to heal, forgive, befriend, become as one
anointing vessel—broken, blessed and given.
Julia Dorsey Loomis
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