The Aroma

Mark 13 She has done what she could, she has anointed My body for burial.

My friend Margo just returned from Jerusalem and she brought me a bottle of Spikenard from Basam's spice shop in the Old City. It is a treasure. A favorite of mine.

The bottle had leaked a little inside the bag and even through the plastic its smell has permeated this prayer room; this holy fragrance, filling my house with the aroma of a Savior. I feel unworthy of its presence.

If I close my eyes I can imagine the scene....And while He was at Bethany in the house of Simon, the leper, a woman came with an alabaster flask of ointment of pure nard, very costly, and she broke the flask and poured it over His head....She has done a beautiful thing to Me.

I can imagine that the flavor and odor of the spikenard would have clung to the hair and skin of our Lord during the agony that was to come; that as His flesh was torn and beaten that the aroma would have been released from His skin and that maybe it's smell would have taken Him back to one of the last acts of kindness that He would know on this earth. One moment in time when He allowed Himself to receive a luxury. One of the only times when we see any indulgence for Himself.

The story, like the fragrance, is lingering in this room. Heavy. Thick in the air. Very costly.

Can you see Him there, reclining at the table? To me He wears linen. Oil dripping into His hair, His beard, trickling slowly to His shoulders, chest and back. Seeping into His pores. Filling the entire house with the memories of its Lord.

It is strange the way that smells take us back to memories. Pine reminding me of Christmases past. Warm bread reminding me of my mother's cooking.

Spikenard reminds me of Jerusalem. When we were there the second time my hair was very short and at night when I would shower I would rub a little of the oil into my hair. When I would turn over the smell would be released. I dreamed often of the Lord in Jerusalem and I believe it is because I wore His fragrance in the night. Thoughts of Him in my sleep stirred up images of Him.

It is a sweet thought that during His passion Jesus would have been taken back to a moment of comfort by the smell of spikenard on His skin and in His hair. One moment when a woman did what she could and offered her best to the Master.

Lord Jesus fill this house, this room and this life with Your presence. Your fragrance. Your aroma. Live here. Speak here. Linger here for You are my desire.