Category: Mary of Bethany

The yearning such a fragrance brings

Sr. Dorcee, belovedLeave a comment

This passage has always held great significance for me, especially because of Christ’s invitation to me to live a consecrated life for him. But we, each in his or her own way, are invited by him to pour out what is most precious to us upon his feet, to enter into that intimacy with him, and this week is a most important time for us to do just that.

The Anointing at Bethany

Come close with Mary, Martha ,  Lazarus
So close the candles stir with their soft breath
And kindle heart and soul to flame within us
Lit by these mysteries of life and death.
For beauty now begins the final movement
In quietness and  intimate encounter
The alabaster jar of precious ointment
Is broken open for the world’s true lover,

The whole room richly fills to feast the senses
With all the  yearning such a fragrance brings,
The heart is mourning but the spirit dances,
Here at the very centre of all things,
Here at the meeting place of love and loss
We all foresee, and see beyond the cross.

Malcolm Guite

One’s little pot of oinment

Sr. Dorcee, belovedLeave a comment

Today’s Gospel as we begin Holy Week is the story of Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus’ feet.  A meditation from Amy Carmichael to ponder when we think we have broken our “little pot of ointment” in vain.

Things to remember quietly when one’s little pot of ointment seems to have been broken in vain.  Of Thine own have we given Thee, for love is of God.  The love, then, was His, and to Him first of all it was offered–to the human dear one not first but second.  No pot of ointment was ever broken at His feet wihtout given Him some little quick sense of pleasure. So it was not all in vain.  Then if it seemed to miss what we meant it to do for the one we love down here, it may be only for the moment.  The remembrance may return and be very sweet, like a fragrance.

The more loving the heart is, the more it looks forward to giving a pleasure to the one it loves, the keener therefore the pang of disappointment when it fails, and the fiercer the inrush of depression.  The heart is grieved and cannot rise to be glad.  At such times it does help to know that love cannot be as water spilt on the ground.  For it is of God.  The fragrance of the ointment will yet fill the house.  The one to whom we wanted to bring comfort will in the end find that which we brought.  But the sweet and immediate comfort is-–‘Of Thine own have we given Thee.’  Dear Lord, did it comfort Thee?