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This morning as I sat in service listening to words describing the sustaining power of God, the minister took a turn I thought was going to lead us past a favorite landmark in scripture, Mary of Bethany.  I settled in anticipating the view when he veered sharply to an ancient footpath that leads to gardens, and fountains, and encounters with The Divine.  He spoke of how the aroma of her act of worship was with him in his scourging providing him with a fragrance of love in the face of hate.  This was a gift from The Father.  This was not to be taken from Him.

I wept.

This is worship. This is the depth of love she saw as she sat at his feet as a radical female disciple for her time,  and didn’t let one of his words fall to the ground but cherished them in her heart. She saw him.  There were others in the room, but they couldn’t see Him.  She was looking through the eyes of worship.  He was preparing to give His back to the smitters, his face to the bruisers his life for the lost.  She busted her alabaster life at his feet, and worshiped. With every rattle of air that filled his lungs in the hours to come upon our Savior, the fragrance of worship lingered upon his body, was present in the blood in his mouth, when he hung his head, wafted up into his nose to resonate a promise of love fulfilled. Joy unspeakable, a kingdom without end, everlasting Peace.

And we get bored with the worship choruses, the old hymns,the mention of the Cross, the study of the Lamb…

Thank you Mary. Because you saw him, so can we.  Open the eyes of my heart Lord…I want to see you… I want to see you.