Now one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, so he went to the Pharisee's house and reclined at the table. When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee's house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume, and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them. (Luke7:36-38)
I look at this woman lying at Jesusí feet and I see myself. I am dirty, guilty, and so utterly unworthy. I cannot look at His face, I dare only to touch His feet. My sin has stained my heart a horrid black. He can see this and so in His presence I am ashamed. Yet to His love I continue to cling. I long for Him, yet how often I turn from Him.
Again and again the pit cries and the darkness beckons. Again and again I return to my sin. Yet every time, He still calls my name.
Over and over again I find myself crawling back to cry at Jesusí feet. Time and time again He lets me confess, lets me shed the tears that will cleanse my soul - then He forgives.
He does this not because of me. No, before I wept on His feet they were clean. He didnít need my tears to purify His heart. It was already perfect. He can forgive because He is perfect and He paid the perfect price. He doesnít need a confession to know my sin, but still He listens because my heart needs Him to.
My tears are not washing His feet, but cleaning my soul. My hair is not drying His feet but applying the balm of service to my heart. When I kiss His feet I am kissing the feet of the one who has, once again, made me whole.