For the last few months I have been attempting to read the bible creatively. Not creative with the interpretation, but creative with the lives of the characters. The people in the bible were real people, with real emotions. There is so much of the story we don't get to see when we read the bible without creativity. This is my first attempt at writing a bible story creatively. This is from Luke 7:36-50. It is from the perspective of the woman.
Could this be him? Could it really be the Messiah?
He has been in town all day, performing all kinds of miracles. Things I only dreamed I would see.
There have been others before him, with their incantations and potions. Promising healing, but it always came with a price.
This man, he is different. He speaks and it is. His touch heals and his voice brings life. He walks with a quiet confidence, the crowds following behind. When he speaks to them there is power, not the power that controls, but the power that beckons.
His eyes pulled me to them I couldn't stop looking. I have spent the better part of my life looking at men, and having men look at me. But I never look into their eyes. It’s to imitate. Which I guess is a funny thing to say considering what I do for a living.
I left the crowd at least an hour ago, but he is all I can think of. Jesus they call him, I want to know more about him and his promises. He wouldn't give me the time of day if I tried to talk to him I bet. I am too dirty too broken.
But what if… What if he could help me? I have seen the miracles he has done for others, maybe just maybe he has one for me?
My faith has been broken over the years. But I can feel it stirring, deep inside.
I’ll find him and bring him a gift. Maybe he will have a spare minute for me. But all I have is my perfume. The alabaster jar filled with the sweet fragrance is the most expensive thing I own. I guess it will have to do.
~~~*~~~
I can hear my heart beating in my chest; my steps are matching each beat.
My neighbor said Jesus was at Simon’s house. I almost turned back when I heard that. I have seen the way the Pharisees look at me. They think they are better than everyone, but they are exactly like the rest of the men. They just undress me with their eyes, not their hands.
I can see the house now. There are more people there then I was expecting. But why wouldn’t there be a crowd. They follow Jesus wherever he goes. I’ll go around the back; maybe I will see him better there.
There he is, lying at the table, his feet toward the outside of the circle. Then, his head turns and his eyes meet mine. It is only for a few seconds but it feels like an eternity. In those few seconds I feel something deeper than I have ever felt before. He knows me, everything about me. But I don’t see condemnation or lust in His eyes. Those I am used to. No, What I see in his eyes is something entirely different than I have ever seen before. I see Love.
Before I know what I am doing I am running to him, tears streaming down my cheeks. I grab his feet and kiss them. How could there be love for someone like me? I don’t deserve it.
Apologies and kisses are intermixed with heavy sobs.
The tears are coming faster now, falling on his feet and turning the dry dust into a wet mess.
There is noting to wipe them with so I grab the clip holding my hair. My hair falls heavy around my face. I have never taken it down outside of my house and I can feel the breeze lift it and tickle my neck.I start to wipe his feet clean with my hair.
Tears are still flowing freely from my eyes when I remember the alabaster jar that I dropped at my side when I knelt at his feet. I open the stopper and pour the fragrant oil on his feet. Immediately the room is filled with the sweet scent. Normally I use a drop at a time but I poured it all out. Nothing left for me, its all for him.
Then he speaks, not to me but to Simon. I forgot all about the other people around. My cheeks flush as I try and hide my face with my hair. But he turns to me and lifts my chin. I don’t even hear what he says at first, he isn’t looking at me. But when his eyes find mine, he says them, the words I have wanted to hear for so long. “Your sins are forgiven."
His voice really does bring life.
Now I am crying not because of shame or guilt but because of love. My heart could burst with the joy I feel.
Then through a smile he says, “Your faith has saved you, go in peace.”
I stay for a few more moments just looking at Him, and praising him in my heart. Then the crowd gets in the way.
I get up and walk home, my hair still down, blowing freely in the wind. I feel lighter than air.
“Your sins are forgiven” Those words didn’t just change my life they gave me a new life. I knelt before the Lord wholly undignified and I rose wholly forgiven.
