This is Holy Week – Wednesday
A Beautiful Thing
‘A
woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, which she
poured on his head as he was reclining at the table. When the disciples saw
this, they were indignant. “Why this waste?” they asked. “This perfume could
have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor.” Aware of this,
Jesus said to them, “Why are you bothering this woman? She has done a beautiful
thing to me. The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always
have me. When she poured this perfume on my body, she did it to prepare me for
burial. I tell you the truth, wherever this gospel is preached throughout the
world, what she has done for me will also be told, in memory of her.’
Matthew
26.6-13
‘What
a waste’ demonstrates common sense at a time when love was needed. A jar of
very expensive perfume broken to anoint Jesus was an act of extravagant love. The
woman understood what the disciples failed to see. He would not be among them
for very much longer, for his own act of extravagant love was only a few days
away. Nailed to a cross, his life ebbing away, sacrificed so that we might be
reconciled to our Father.
The
dictates of prudence take up the greater part of our lives but what is too
often missing are acts of extravagant love. Times when we give up all we have for
love of him who loved us first. We make a gift of ourselves and a gift is only
a gift if it is more than we can afford: a sacrifice. That is a beautiful thing.
And
it is true, that story is retold, and the woman remembered.
My song is love unknown,
my Saviour's love to me,
love to the loveless shown,
that they might lovely be.
O who am I,
that for my sake
my Lord should take
frail flesh and die?
my Saviour's love to me,
love to the loveless shown,
that they might lovely be.
O who am I,
that for my sake
my Lord should take
frail flesh and die?
Here might I stay and sing,
no story so divine:
never was love, dear King,
never was grief like thine!
This is my Friend,
in whose sweet praise
I all my days
could gladly spend.
no story so divine:
never was love, dear King,
never was grief like thine!
This is my Friend,
in whose sweet praise
I all my days
could gladly spend.
Samuel Crossman (c. 1624–1683)

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