A Pound of Spikenard
It started with the tears;
Like something, some One, had hold of me
Stronger than any Force I’d ever felt,
Yet, strangely gentle.
I knew they were having supper in an upstairs room.
John had told my brother.
I ran from my place, with the bottle in my hand.
I ran straight to the house, as if guided by some One.
I didn’t knock. It was all I could do to slow down.
I just fell at His feet.
Trembling all over, I broke the container which
Instantly filled the room with fragrance everyone knew.
I pulled the band from my hair.
It fell over the floor.
I began to weep more, trying to do it quietly.
I poured more oil over His feet and legs, over His head.
My hair became my drying cloth.
I rubbed it over His skin.
I heard Him say, "Leave her alone."
He knew, better than I, why I was doing this.
I never stopped weeping.
He touched me gently.
I left, still weeping.
He had said, "I am the resurrection and the life,"
And this oil was significant to death!
Why had He come this year?
They spread palm branches and shouted praises in one street,
And plotted against Him around the corner.
I hadn’t recognized the Spirit of God! No matter -
I couldn’t have stopped what I did.
Later, I learned that the oil had permeated the air around Him.
Everyone, who touched Him, carried it.
Soldiers, that struck Him or pulled His beard, were carriers.
The crown, Pilate put on His head, took up the fragrance;
The purple robe, the reed in His hand ... the cross!
Nicodemus and Joseph both carried the fragrance
And they sealed it in the tomb!
That’s why, when we came, early that first morning, I noticed it ...
That special fragrance.
The tomb was open!
He was gone!
Now, the weeping began, again.
That same sweet Spirit was present.
The gardener came. "Sir," I began.
The gardener had the fragrance, too!
"Sir, where have you laid Him?"
"Mary."
I didn’t need to look up.
I knew.
All I wanted was to touch Him.
He said, "No."
He said, "Go tell ...
He is risen!
He is risen!
He is Life!"
I ran with His message, His fragrance, His love and mercy, His Hope, His peace, His kingdom ...
Alive in my heart,
Forevermore!
© 2003 by Joan Clifton Costner inspirations@comteck.com