Letting their hair down

On Memorial Day weekend I was at a worship service at Hickory Run State Park in the Pocono Mountains when a woman got off her chair and kneeled down with her head bowed almost to the ground, a position she maintained for the duration. It was conspicuous inasmuch as everyone else remained seated. I had grown up in a church with padded kneelers that swung down on hinges for use at the appropriate portions of the liturgy, but this was not that kind of thing.

I felt two emotions as I observed her: discomfort and envy.

I was reminded of the woman that my former pastor, Jack Miller, mentioned in his book Outgoing the Ingrown Church:

". . . a pastor in a mainline church decided to do a daring thing by preaching on John 3:3 and the 'new birth.' During his sermon a woman parishioner came under deep conviction from God and found herself irresistibly drawn forward. She said later, 'I was so moved by the desire to know God that I simply could not sit in the pew. But when the pastor saw mw walking down the aisle toward him, he asked, 'What is it?' I answered, 'I need Christ so very much. Please tell me how to get this new birth.'

"The shocked minister, after a moment's pause, chose to ignore her and went on with his sermon. The woman fell on her knees before the communion table and stayed there through the rest of the sermon, the collection of the offering, and the benediction. Afterward the congregation filed out without a single person, not even the pastor, coming to talk to her. . . ."

That in turn reminded me of a woman who did something similar 2,000 years earlier. It was at a party in honor of Jesus, and as in all large gatherings of folks in intemperately warm climes before the perfection of the Waterpik shower head, Proctor and Gamble deodorants, and Colgate toothpaste, a drop of oil was put on each guest's head to make togetherness bearable.

Mary comes into the room where Jesus is seated, and she is carrying an alabaster jar of a luxurious nard oil made of the plant spikenard. The guests who notice her appearance on the scene may have been thinking, "How sweet; she is about to take a drop from her family heirloom to touch Jesus' head, to show how much he means to her.

No such thing. The next sound you hear is of Mary cracking the jar open and releasing a pound of the stuff. (I remember how upset my late husband was when I accidentally spilled half of the 1-once bottle of Chanel No. 5 he had bought me.) And not on his head but on his feet, which was a very embarrassing part of the body to deal with in the ancient Middle East. (Jewish law said that even slaves had rights and should not be made to untie the master's sandals.) Worst of all, she dried Jesus' feet with her hair, which meant she had to undo her hair and let it fall down, a gesture of intimacy reserved exclusively for the privacy of the home.

Now no one was saying anymore, "Ah, what a sweet gesture; see how much she loves Jesus." They were calling her a fanatic and accusing her of stupidity or callousness toward the poor (take your pick of which label you would rather wear). And this was the opinion of fellow believers, not of unbelievers! There is nothing like the loveless judgment of your fellow believer.

I have always been jealous of a woman like that---the woman at Hickory Run; the woman who came forward during the sermon in the mainline church; the woman who committed a social gaffe in Bethany. These women are free. They only have eyes for Jesus. They are dispossessed of all fear of man by "the expulsive power of a new affection" (Thomas Chalmers).

To hear commentaries by Andrée Seu, click here.