They want to me to be a prostitute. A fallen woman dramatically converted. But that’s ridiculous. I was never that. They are just confusing the stories that they’ve half read. They also want me to be the unexpected hero who first brought the news to the men. It’s true, but I don’t want to be put on that pedestal. Set behind stained glass. Neat and tidy for all time. Making a useful point. I understand why you need that, I know what you’re saying, but don’t put me in a box. How can I be just that? Only that? Are you only a person who draws your curtains in the morning, goes out and comes home again and puts the bins out before bed. Is that all you are? Just a one dimensional, walk-on part? No of course not. You have fears and loneliness, and mixed motives and aspirations, and favourite food and frustrations, and stomach upsets and hiccups, misgivings and misunderstandings. Well so do I. I’m like everyone whoever bumped into God. Excited at first. Then piling on the expectations about what he should do for me. Then wondering if I took a wrong turn somewhere. And doing my best to spot things that can help me keep tuned in along the way. Learning as I get on with my life of coping with doubts and questions and the odd miracle here and there, and the prayers that sometimes hit bang on target and others that seem to bounce off the ceiling. Then forgetting what I’ve learnt and needing to learn it all over again. That’s me. Selfless and selfish. That’s us, isn’t it. That’s the people he has always met and known. Accepted and welcomed and challenged and changed and wrestling and peaceful because of that radical grace. Held in the scars of those open hands. Anyway, I can’t stand here talking to the mirror all day, I have to go out and do some streetwalking. Ha! Gotcha! Not really. You see you forget so easily, don’t ya?! We all do.
Luke 8 v 1-3, John 20 v 1-18