» MEMBER LOGIN
LOGIN ID:
PASSWORD:
REMEMBER MY LOGIN?
Current Active Users: 10
 » OOZELETTER
To sign-up for the latest updates just enter your e-mail address below.
HTML TEXT


 » ADS
 » PROUDLY SPONSORED BY
MAKING SENSE OF CHURCH ETREK
DTOUR DSN Hosting


FAITH


Search Articles

NARRATIVE MUSINGS: Luke 7:36-8:3

by Sally Coleman

Saturday July 21, 2007

Rating: (5)


Comment!(9)

PAGE: | 1 |


"The sound of women's silence runs deep, let us attune our ears to the sound of womens silence, to attend and to listen to what is not said, what has never been said, what is only now beginning to be said.

Let this silence cry aloud in our ears, let it resound and reverberate inside our heads, let it deafen our whole being with its colossal roar." - Nicola Slee, Praying like a Woman.

Could this perhaps be this woman's story...?





I knew he wouldn't like it- Simon I mean; Simon the Pharisee- he was known for his righteousness, his clean living, his fastidious attention to every detail of the law...

...but I had to go, I had to be where Jesus was. For Jesus had helped me for the first time in a long time to love myself, because I knew that he also loved and accepted me...

I was what many called politely a disreputable woman- others simply said it like it was and called me a whore...but it was not through choice, I had been married a short time, only six years when my husband died- leaving me with our three daughters to care for... now had they been sons of course things may have been different, his brother may have taken me as his wife.... but girls, and women- we were simply a burden- unwanted , rejected. I couldn't go home either, for my father too had died only a year before, and my mother now lived in my brothers house...

...my brother helped me out from time to time, but we had to live, we had to eat, the girls were growing and needed new clothes, and I was desperate...

When I answered a knock at my door one night and offered more than a days wages for an hours "company" what could I say but yes.... and so I sold myself...

My caller left quickly counselling me to remain silent, I was hurt by the contempt in his eyes....

...word soon got round, more and more men approached me, coming to my door at night or in the early hours when nobody would see...

...and so we ate... we survived...

..yet at the same time something in me died- this was all for my girls- I had to care for them...

The gossip followed quickly after the first month or so, people who used to stop and talk shunned me...

I had become untouchable, unclean, and I knew it...

I hated my self, my body, I had to separate my body from my heart and mind....with my mind and heart I prayed... with my body I survived...

When he approached me in the market place that day, I was astonished by his boldness, most men came under cover- ashamed, but not he, he walked straight up to me...I thought I knew what he was going to ask, but I was wrong...

He stood and looked me straight in the eye, I flinched and glanced at the floor, but he lifted my chin gently searching my face with his eyes, he spoke; "You do not have to live like this"; his eyes flashed " you should not be made to live like this."

I dissolved into tears and poured out my whole sorry story; all the time I sensed his anger building, he thumped his fist hard on the table we were standing by and shouted "NO!"...

... At first I thought he was angry with me, angry about what I had become, but it soon became apparent that this was not the case at all...

He was angry with those who had abandoned me, those who had ignored my plight, with those who had used me and then dared to look upon me with contempt....

There were women with him, in his band of followers, women of means, they stepped forward offering me their support- they thrust money into my hands promising more- promising their help and support...

... and then, he spoke again, those amazing words; "I forgive you, as the Father loves me, so I love you and I forgive you..."

Such authority, such power, those words swept through my heart mind and soul like a warm ointment, healing the broken places, restoring me and making me whole again.

He saw a mother whose desperation had pushed her down a terrible path.... and suddenly I knew that although my actions had not been good I was not the terrible dark temptress others had made me out to be....

That is why I had to find him that evening, and although he had gone to Simon's house I simply had to push aside all of my discomfort, running the gauntlet of stares from Simon's servants and guests I pushed my way through to where he was seated... and fell weeping at his feet, my tears, tears of relief, and tears of joy, mingled with tears of genuine repentance ( for I wanted a new life)... I had no towel- and so I let my hair down and used that, it seemed right somehow...then drying his feet I took a jar of expensive perfume and anointed his feet,,,again wiping his feet with my hair..

It was as if for a moment there were only the two of us in that room as I poured out my gratitude and love- abandoned to the moment...

Then he spoke again, not to me, but to Simon,,, yes he knew who I was, and how I had lived...

... and yes he accepted my act of anointing as a sign of my repentance and of forgiveness received... he said those who are forgiven much, love much... whilst those who are forgiven little remaining unconscious of their sins love little....

The other guests were muttering and grumbling about his words-I knew then that I would not stay in this town, rather my girls and I would join this strange travelling group, the girls would manage the travel now- the other women would become my friends, for they had received me with grace and love- just as he had done..

I was whole and I was free, and for the first time in a long time I knew myself to be valued by others...

-------

I don't for a moment believe that all men are bad guys, but I do wonder how women might have told their stories had they been able to do so.

"So many womens voices have been lost in the pages of history, erased and blotted out and passed over in silence by the rulers of patriachy, the makers of culture.

So few have survived in the pages, and their stories have so often been ignored, trivialised, marginalised, distorted...

We want to hear the sounds of our foremothers voices,

We want to listen to our grandmothers tales

We want to speak the names of our sisters who came before us

We need to hear their stories

we need to hear their voices

to hear and know who we are... " - Nicola Slee, Praying like a Woman.

Article and photo reprinted with permission from Sally's blog.
Other articles in this series include Narrative Musings: Martha's Story, Narrative Musings: Sarah's Story, and Narrative Musings: The Mother's Tale on October 3.


Comment!(9)

PAGE: | 1 |


Comments

Are you planning to write more Narrative Musings, Sally?


Hi Lydia- yes I hope to- I have written narrative musings before and find they make a useful; change to the traditional sermon!


Wonderful. :)

If or when you do, let me know. I'd love to reprint them on The Ooze if you're interested.


Wow. Great stuff, Sally. There is a story for everyone. I'd like to hear some of those others stories.


Very thought provoking and moving Sally, keep them coming! Sue


Thanks Christine and Sue :-)


SORRY Christian!


Wow, thats beautiful. Thank you for your thorough and imaginative expression. I have no doubt that it could have been exactly as you say.


Did enjoy it sally. Quite a thought provoker.


 

ADVERTISE | PRIVACY POLICY | TERMS OF SERVICE | CONTACT US