Through Stained Glass: Advent Word a Day 20 & 21-Anoint Conceive

 

Only my books anoint me,
and a few friends,
those who reach into my veins. - Anne Sexton

Anoint

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is of the woman anointing Jesus's feet with costly perfume. It is unexpected. It is controversial. It is vulnerable. It is intimate. It is a moment that is made beautiful by two human beings giving their presence to each other. 

I know that isn't the text for today. But it is the story that comes to mind when I saw the word 'anoint.' 

Part of the reason why I love the story of the woman anointing Jesus's feet is that it is about surrender. At that moment, she gives of herself and her gift entirely to Jesus, who in turn gives of himself entirely to her anointing. Imagine if we all lived from that place with the gift of our lives? Not stopping to consider all the ways that something could go wrong or what others might think of us if we risk being vulnerable. 

People will, too, just like the disciples did in that story. You know what, the money from that perfume probably could have fed a lot of hungry people. And there might have been enough left over to add a plaque to a window at the local synagogue in honor of some saint long gone. At that moment, though, that's not what was needed. What was needed was the communion between two people. In their connection, the heavens opened up, and the Divine's heart was exposed in the relationship between the woman and Jesus. 

Anytime we give ourselves completely in service to others, heaven opens up, and the love of the Divine pours out upon us. It is also when what we can't conceive with our logic emerges in our presence. We know that which is beyond our language and understanding. 

Conceive

Mary will conceive a child. This child will grow to bear witness to the liberating love of the God of his people. He does this by being nothing other than who God created him to be. He lives into his humanity by a pathway of descent. Jesus will empty himself out for the sake of the poor, the downtrodden, the least of these, and especially the little ones. Jesus will stand and see these people's hopelessness and act--he will do more than provide charity. He will struggle for their freedom, and it will cost him his life. In dying, we walk into a living--an abundance of God's love right now. 

For the last 48 hours, I have been writing. At the current moment, I've written close to 5000 words over those couple of days. My mind is pretty spent. My fingers are stiff. And my hands ache. The work, though, is satisfying. I write to process what I'm learning. I'm learning because I never want to fall for the trap that I know everything. The moment I'm comfortable is the moment my attention turns away from God and towards my ego. Suddenly my concerns become about how much I could get for my gift rather than enjoying it. 

Want to hear something...silly? One of you gifted me with a delicious fruit basket. In this basket is my favorite fruit--a pear. That's not the silly part. This is: 

I began my writing by eating a pear. As I ate, the juices ran down my fingers and onto the back of my hand. Some even dripped onto the desk. I was annoyed. Until I went to the sink to wash my hands. As the water ran over them [y'all know where this is going, don't you?] I remembered my baptism, and while looking in the mirror, I gave thanks. The dam holding back the content I wanted to put on the page broke, and for two hours straight, I wrote. 

When I returned to my writing later that day, I finished my pear. Again, the juices ran down my fingers, onto the back of my hand, and then the desk. This time I didn't immediately wash my hands. Instead, I sat with the pear core and my sticky hands, gazing at my writing. It became a sacred moment, an unexpected moment, and one I couldn't intentionally conceive on my own even if I wanted to. The goodness of the pear dripping onto my work opened my eyes to the gift before me--my work...my life. 

A daunting task became a holy work. I wasn't simply doing homework, but I was writing my story. I stumbled upon an opening of heaven right there at my writing desk. Were my words divinely inspired? Not at all. But I was fully present to the call God has placed on my life. 

The woman anointing Jesus was a moment that further enfleshed the reign of God. It was costly. It was vulnerable. It was risky. It was intimate. It was all she had at that moment. It was everything Jesus had at that moment, too. The fragrance of love filled the room. The people were changed--the woman, Jesus, and me. 

In these long nights, be like this woman. Give your gift to Christ, and don't worry about what others think. Allow the good gifts in your life to anoint you and conceive in you the Incarnation. We are the messengers of Christ's love. We are the authors of God's story. 

Anoint.

Conceive.

Give.