"The Fragrance of Worship" (John 12:1-8)

Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is in the near future for us in this time of Lent.  The palm branches will soon be placed in our hands as a remembrance.  Holy Week looms on the horizon and those in-between days, those days between Palm Sunday and Easter morning, become dark and colorless for us in our walk with Jesus into the garden and to the cross.   We have been preparing for a time such as this all along as we have been on our own journey during these weeks of Lent.  We have been in prayer and have come before God with repentant hearts.  There has been reflection and healing.  And just as we are about to be plunged into the hectic and dark days that will ultimately lead to the glorious morning of resurrection, Jesus asks us to stop outside of the city gates with him.  He wants to spend a bit more time with each of us, apart from the crowds.  It is in this time of fellowship with him, before the palms are waved or we journey on toward Golgotha, when our hearts are exposed.  Will we pour out extravagant love and worship at our Lord’s feet?  Are we filled with a love for Jesus to the point of overflowing?  Do we recognize what Jesus is doing and are we willing to go the distance with him?  This is the time to think about these things.  Where are our hearts?

Outside the walls of Lazarus’ house, rumblings of fear and hatred could be heard as thunder in the distance.  Inside the home, clueless disciples and friends gathered with Jesus to enjoy each other’s company.  Suddenly “the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.”  There she was.  Mary in worship.  Pouring her most costly possession on the feet of her Lord.  Anointing his feet with nard.  Wiping them with her loosened hair. This was an extravagant outpouring of love and spontaneous worship that could wait no longer.  It didn’t seem to matter what was said as Judas objected.  Mary, above all others in the room, knew that Jesus was her Lord and Savior.  She had once intently listened to his words at Martha’s objections.  Jesus wept with her at the tomb of her brother.  He then raised Lazarus from the dead.  While the others failed to listen carefully as they walked with Jesus, while the others argued among themselves, while the others slept, Mary sat at his feet and listened.  She witnessed God’s power.  She experienced God’s love.  She knew the One who sat at her table was truly the Messiah.

Down comes her hair.  Out comes her most priceless possession.  It cannot wait.  The perfume of adoration, love, worship, praise and offering fills the room and ultimately the world.  That’s what extravagant worship is like…spontaneous, overflowing, priceless and permeating.

There is something quite breathtaking in Mary’s act of extravagant worship.  Did Martha stop serving the others and gasp at the sight of her sister loosening her hair, or was she too busy to notice?  Did anyone hear the sounds of the perfume’s container being broken open or did all heads turn at the first scents that filled the air?  Were there quiet mumbles from those men around the table or were there shouts of “STOP!”  Perhaps spontaneous and extravagant acts of worship silence a room for a moment before any objections can be voiced.


First things first, Jesus says.  “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.  This is the first and greatest commandment.   And the second is like it: ‘ Love your neighbor as yourself.’ “   Mary has exampled this to us in her extravagant way of worship… she loved with ALL of her heart, with ALL of her soul and with ALL of her mind.   May this be our worship…spontaneous and extravagant, with a love for Jesus that breaks open our hearts.   Worship that fills the room with its fragrance and scents the world with love and compassion for others.  Extravagant worship.  Close your eyes.  Take a deep breath and smell worship’s fragrance … and continue to walk with him toward Jerusalem..

(reposted)

"Plant Deep and Water Often"

The instructions were clear and exact from the elderly gentleman who gave what looked to be a dead stick to my mother.  He asked a question that seemed puzzling at first… “How big is your backyard?” Then he held out his hand and offered to her the twig wrapped in a bit of newspaper.  “Plant it deep and water it often,” he said.  Those were his complete instructions for what he trusted would grow into a fig tree.  I laughed at the thought of this precious gift of a twig from his own fig tree being handed over to my mother (who is very definitely not a gardener!) and to be honest with you, I shook my head at the thoughts that it would ever show signs of life.  But as my mother re-tells the story each season and I listen once again, we both realize that there was no question in the mind of the one who offered this gift to her.  He had complete faith that this seemingly dead twig would grow into a fine fig tree that would need a lot of backyard.

But there is more to the story….more to the miracle of its survival and to the harvest of its fruit.  The twig was offered at the onslaught of one of the worst droughts that seemed to hovered over the area. “Plant it deep and water it often.”  It was difficult to be obedient to the instructions of this gift-giver in the face of mandatory water restrictions.  No watering lawns.  No washing cars. Use water sparingly indoors.  In light of all of the restrictions, my mother still planted what looked to be just a dead twig.  A bowl was kept in her sink that caught any water that would have gone down the drain. She washed her hands over the bowl.  She emptied the juice from cans of vegetables into this bowl. Any saved liquid was carried out to water this little twig.  In her obedience, she found many ways to water it often, as she was told to do.  The twig began to show signs of life.  Leaves sprouted.  It grew taller.  At the signs of its first fruits, my mother rejoiced.   Now look at the tree!  Beautiful. Strong. Filled with fruit that will most certainly be given to others.

There is truly much to be learned in this fig tree and that is why I don’t mind listening to the story of the tree’s beginnings once again. The words of the gift-giver tell it all, don’t they?   “How big is your backyard” or perhaps better asked…”How big is your God?”  This is a parable of faith… of “being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see.” (Hebrews 11:1).  It is a lesson of trusting the One who is completely trustworthy and whose promises always accompany commands.  It is a reminder that obedience to God often includes times of testing… but obedience always produces great fruit.

Think on these words of the gift-giver.  “How big is your backyard? (How big is your God?)   Plant deep and water often.”   May you see in this week, God’s great certainties in what once seemed your very small possibilities.  And may you be reminded that in your faith, trust and obedience, you will most certainly see the promises of God come to fruition.  “Plant deep, water often…and bear fruit!"

"It Is My Wilderness, Not Yours"

It has been my wilderness ...

  a place to which I was led.

My wilderness, not yours.

It has been my 'forty days'...

yes, my 'forty days' and not yours

    to endure and to seek,

    to trust and to pray,

    to be surrounded by

       very tending angels.

It has been my aloneness,

    and wilderness and 'forty days'.

I wouldn't want this for you,

   yet I would hope that

   you might allow it

      if and when it comes ...

      for there is a Holy Presence there.

 The wilderness was born

    out of a great silence

    that hoped for a glimpse

    of God in worship

    when all others around me

    were following their worship bulletins

      so carefully ... so dutifully ...

      so worshipfully ... so very well.

It has been my wilderness, not yours.

    It is I who sang the hymns,

          with parched lips.

    It is I who reached out for the morsels

       that the Spirit handed to me

       when I was so malnourished.

It has been my wilderness, not yours.

It is I who listened for shouts

   and heard holy whispers.

I ask that you don't say that you know best

      which cross I should choose,

      but consider my steeped-in-prayer "NO"

      as valid of an answer as a "YES".

It is my response to God to live into,

   not yours to discourage.

The words, "Get thee behind me...."

  are on my lips, on guard and ready

  for one more attempt

  to change my mind ...

     to change this direction.

O God, how do I tell them

  that the cross I have just put down

  was what you asked of me then ...

  and that which I have just picked up

  is what you ask of me now?

When I prayed for words from you,

   you gave me sight!

You pointed to the wooden cross

   so familiar to me in the moments

   of my every-day.

Has this cross stood tall for years,

   on this busy corner along my way,

   on the front lawn of the church

   in my neighborhood,

   subject to the elements,

   for a time such as this?

I have looked its way,

   every day of every month

   and have given thanks

   for forgiveness and grace.

Yet, this day you spoke to me

  through this weathered cross

  in a different way.

How wonderful are your thoughts, O God!

When was the old cross-piece

   replaced by the new one?

It is so noticeable,

   so different from the vertical piece.

Freshly cut wood.  Caramel in color.

Nailed to a grey, weathered piece of wood.

There is such a stark contrast

   and in that, you speak to me!

You have given me words in this sight!

Words of newness in the same wooden cross.

You have asked me to share

  with those who say "NO",

  that it is good and right

  to put down the old sameness

  of the cross I once picked up

  and pick up another cross,

  nailed together with a newness,

  and pieced together by you.

It was my wilderness, not theirs ...

... my 'forty days', not theirs,

... my aloneness, not theirs,

... my seeking, not theirs,

... your leading, not theirs,

... my cross, not theirs;

        my cross

          that you so wonderfully

          pieced together with a newness

          and commanded me

          to pick up.

Holy One, you are in it all

   and in that, I do trust

   these unknown steps.

Amen.

"Begin Here and Now"

A journal with a smudge as its first entry … a smudge from the unmistakable and sooty cross drawn on my forehead this Ash Wednesday.  A journal with a smudge as its first entry … a smudge from the unmistakable and sooty cross drawn on my forehead this Ash Wednesday.

It is the fresh page as if it happened to be the first day of my life.  It will become the place where transgressions will be scribbled with a shaky hand, where hopes for a clean slate will be whispered, where written prayers find a home and where deafening silences become spaces of purpose.
 
A smudge of a cross on a page, saying to me, “Begin here and now.” Such is the beginning of these 40 days of Lent.

"Here I Am, Such As I Am"

Here I am, such as I am …

Imperfect.

Weak.

Broken.

In need of forgiveness.

In need of your Presence.

Here I am, such as I am …

Confessing.

Repentant.

Hopeful.

Listening.

Here I am, such as I am …

Willing to be melted

and molded.

Wanting a newly-created

pure heart.

Here I am, such as I am …

Branded with a mark –

Your unmistakable mark.

Lead me, O God …

walk with me 

in these 40 days. 

Amen.

"This is Our Tomorrow" (the day before Ash Wednesday)

I realize that I have shared this in years past, but" this is our tomorrow" ... each and every year. Blessings as you prepare for Ash Wednesday and for these 40 days of Lent.   anna

Neglected,

it rests on the corner,

visible to all,

yet ignored by most …

it has been empty

far too long.

This morning,

this day before 

Ash Wednesday,

the front of the building

has been painted 

a brilliant white

and the windows

on each side 

of the entrance door

are now adorned 

with new, royal blue awnings.

Yet the “For Sale” sign

is still posted,

weather-worn

from the years 

of begging 

and pleading

for someone to look…

just look and consider

the property’s value.

If one dares 

to look closer,

beyond the brilliant white paint

and the royal blue awnings,

the other sides 

of the building can be seen.

Three other sides …

a dingy beige

with peeling paint 

and windows broken

by those who think nothing

of doing damage 

to something that is not theirs.

The flat roof

can no longer withstand

the weight of

years of debris

or torrential rains

that only accumulate 

and puddle 

in its flatness.

The property is

overgrown with weeds

and littered by those things

that others have so carelessly

and thoughtlessly

thrown its way.

What are we to think

of an appealing façade

of fresh paint 

and new awnings?

What are we to think 

of neglect 

and damage … 

of brokenness 

and litter …

of weeds 

and debris

and puddles?

Perhaps this is exactly

what we will bring with us

tomorrow … 

on this day we call

Ash Wednesday.

We bring with us

freshly painted facades 

and new awnings,

hoping beyond hope 

that those around us

will not see the 

neglect and damage,

the brokenness and litter,

the weeds and shattered hearts.

The black soot 

marks our façade

with a cross …

and the ash 

falls onto our awnings.

The difficult admission 

that there are

other sides to be seen

are whispered in prayer

and are heard by the One 

who has clearly seen 

all four sides

of each of us.

This is our tomorrow.

Holy God,

we come to you 

in need of repair …

not in part,

but throughout 

our whole being.

Create in us

a newness in our days,

a wholeness and healing through you,

a purpose in your kingdom,

hope in your love

and a pure heart before you.

Amen.

© 2013  anna murdock

"Changes From the Glimpse of Glory"

I often spell my name

‘anna’,

in lower-case letters

for reasons

that have been

humbling

and focused

and yet, at times,

a little uncertain

in the journey.

But there are

other days when

‘Anna’ is

wanted

and felt

as I walk

along the way

with a little more

confidence

and more awareness

of God’s Presence,

just waiting

to blind me

with surprises.

Always,

I am reminded,

that I am

‘ANNA’ …

greatly beloved,

written in letters

formed by God

with the flourish

of  grace and mercy…

made bold

by the Holy Spirit…

capitalized by Jesus’

call to discipleship.

.

But there is one 

who reminds me

that my name

is also spelled

‘aNNa’

as one who lingered

at the foot of the mountain

perhaps a little too long …

as one who has

climbed up to the

top of the mountain …

as one who has

seen the smallest portion

of the Glory of God …

as one who has heard

“Shhh.  Listen!

This is my Son, the Beloved” …

and as one

who has been

sent back down

from the mountaintop

as anna

and Anna

and ANNA!