Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

She took a moment to look long and hard at the reflection in her washing water. It was not a habit. In fact, she tried not to look. There was nothing to look at. Nothing worthwhile, anyway. The twinkle that used to be in her eyes had been replaced with the emptiness of shattered dreams and broken promises. The half-smile that used to tilt up the side of her mouth bringing out the dimple in her cheek had shriveled into a scowl of scorn and self-contempt. There was no reason to look at her reflection now. The unhappy picture was always the same.   

It had been a long time since she’d become who she was. So much had happened to bring her to this place. So many bad decisions, poor choices, disreputable resting places. She’d earned many of the names people called her. Pariah. Disgrace. Sinner. Some had been added out of hate. Unworthy. Unwanted. Unloved. She hoped they weren’t true, but couldn’t be certain. Years had passed since anyone had looked at her with anything but disdain. Fast fading was the hope that anyone ever would. 

Hope was like that. Fast fading. At least for her. She’d always hoped to change, be better, do good. She hoped for an opportunity to make her life worthwhile, meaningful, useful. The opportunity never seemed to present itself. It seemed she was stuck in an exitless cycle.  Over time, her hopes had dimmed. She’d nearly given up. Accepted her life the way it was. Wrote herself off as hopeless, helpless, useless. Almost. Until today. 

Today, that hope flickered to life as if it had never faded at all. She heard that Jesus of Nazareth was in town. He’d been the talk of the town for so long that even she had heard all about him. His miracles. His power. His teachings. His love. His mercy. His grace. She knew the idea He would speak to her was implausible. Good men never talked to her. But she had to know, had to find out for herself if His love really was for everyone. She needed to check for herself if His mercy was true. She deeply longed to feel in her soul the cleansing of grace she’d heard so much about. If it reached her. 

With boldness born of desperation, she loitered around corners she had no business frequenting, did a little eavesdropping, found a way to ask a few discreet questions. Finally, she learned where to find Him. She started to run in that direction but stopped short. She couldn’t approach Him without a gift. Wheeling around, she raced toward her hovel, flew through the doorway, scurried across the room to pull a vial of perfume, her most treasured possession,  from its hiding place. It was her favorite. A rare gift from a particularly pleasant patron. It was the best she had. It was all she had. She hoped it would be enough. Clutching her sacrifice tightly in her fist, she gathered her robe in her free hand and raced off to the place Jesus was said to be dining. 

She’d never been there before. Normally, she wouldn’t be allowed to enter. Today, everyone was so busy trying to impress their special guest they forgot to watch the door. Slipping in unnoticed, she tiptoed to the dining room. Hope surged in her soul as she discovered her information had been correct. Jesus was there! But doubt quickly evicted her hope. All those voices from days and years gone by sounded in horrific cacophony inside her head. Unworthy. Useless. Unwanted. Unloved. She shrank back, turning to creep out the way she had come. What if those things really were true? What if He said those things, too? What if she really was all those things people said she was? 

The first step toward the door was her last. She had to know. Had to hear it from His lips. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she stiffened her spine, squared her shoulders, and stepped out to complete her mission. The truth would soon be revealed. She would finally know if she was worth it, worth anything. She wished she had more to offer Him. A cleaner past. Wiser choices. Fewer scars. Tears of sorrow flowed in unchecked rivers down her face. Grief for an ill-spent life oozed out in groaning sobs. The depth of her unworthiness enveloped her like the darkest shroud. She knew who she was. She knew what she had become. She knew He’d have every right to send her away. Yet still she went. She felt compelled to go. She had to know if there really was love that reached people like her. 

Knowing she could never face Him, never be worthy of speaking His name or meeting His gaze, she approached from behind in penitence and respect. Fear and anxiety clawed at her throat with each step. How would He react to her overture? As she reached the couch on which Jesus reclined, she slid to her knees, crawling the last couple of steps. Upon reaching Him, she did the only thing she could think of to do. She began to wash His feet. Not with water from a basin as a servant should have done, but with the rivulets of tears flowing from her face. Tears of guilt, regret, and sorrow. There were certainly enough of them. They kept coming. Years’ worth of tears. Tears of rejection, pain, betrayal, and fear. She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, so she poured out her scarred, aching, broken heart to Jesus in her tears.

And something beautiful happened. Jesus heard her. Every single word she didn’t speak. Every pain and hurt she’d suffered. Every end-of-the-rope moment she’d endured. He felt her woundedness. Every cruel comment, every name she’d been called. Every time she’d looked at her reflection in the water and allowed those comments to become who she believed she was. And, with just a handful of words, He wiped it all away. He simply said, “Your sins have been forgiven.” Five words. Only five. Five words wiped away the words she was so used to hearing. Five words changed the theme of her story to worthy, useful, wanted, loved. Five words changed her life. Five words He was born to speak over and over again. (Luke 7:36-50)

Imagine the emotion as this woman, once so brutally scarred, finally pulls herself together and leaves that house. Watch as she races back to her home, grabs her water pitcher, and sloshes water into her basin. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and leans over the bowl. Her hands are clenched in nervousness, but nothing can stop her now. She draws in yet another sustaining breath and slowly lifts her eyelids. What she sees brings tears to her eyes. Again. There’s something different there. Her eyes are softer, hope-filled. Her lips are lifted in just a hint of a smile. The aching sadness that etched her features is gone. The guilt cannot be found. Why? Because God looked down from Heaven and saw a different reflection than she did. He saw worth and value. He was moved with love and compassion. And He sent Jesus, to just the right place at just the right time, to change her story by speaking the words He was born to speak, “Your sins are forgiven.”  

I know there is more to this story. I know about the hank of hair drying towel. I know about the perfume foot anointment. I even understand the lesson Jesus is teaching. I’ve heard the account a thousand times. But today, well, today I can’t get enough of these words. I can’t get enough of their beauty. I can’t get enough of their value. I can’t get a strong enough grasp on their magnificence. I am overwhelmed by their mercy, love, and grace because I am a product of the same. Dirty, sinful, wilful, my unworthiness insurmountable, my tears the only words I could utter when I came to Christ. Yet still I came. Thank God! He spoke those timeless words to me too. I don’t deserve them. Could never earn them. There’s nothing I could do to redeem my life, but God…God sent His Son to be born in a stable so He could speak those words in response to my guilty tears. And I, when I dare to think on it, I am completely undone by His immeasurably magnanimous gift. (Isaiah 43:4; Romans 5:8, 20; Psalm 103:12; Romans 3:24) 

 Perhaps, in a moment of introspection, you find yourself sobbing over Jesus’ feet. Your sin and guilt and shame have brought you to a place where you can’t imagine feeling worthy or useful or loved. You acknowledge that you can’t rescue yourself. You admit you don’t deserve a rescue at all. You know, in the depths of your soul you can’t earn your way out of the mess you’ve made. Tears of hopeless, helplessness fill your eyes and cascade down your face. Know this. Jesus hears them. He hears the story behind the tears. He hears the pain, the regret, the remorse. He sees and hears and knows. And He’s been waiting for you to come. Waiting to speak over you those words He was born to say, “Your sins are forgiven.” (Ephesians 2:8-9; Acts 4:12; Titus 3:5; Romans 6:23; Psalm 103:10-11)

  I hope you listen closely. I hope you hear those words. Words of healing, help, hope. Words of worth. Words that change your story by flooding it in mercy, love, and grace. As the words leave His lips and land on your ears, I hope you let them settle down in your soul and heal your heart. I hope you wrap yourself in them like a sherpa blanket on a cold winter night and let Jesus hold you close through them. I ache for us to hear them! Really hear them. Grasp their importance. Believe them. Know they are true. I want those words to resound within our very beings in a timeless echo that will not let us go. Why? Because there is no greater gift, no present more precious. Christ was born for this! (John 3:16-17; II Corinthians 5:21; Ephesians 1:7; Colossians 1:21-22: I Timothy 1:15)