Megan Meyer

October 12, 2018

•

min read

There is a story in the bible about a girl who doesn’t have a name. Funny, there are a few of these. These women in the bible, nameless, yet not without significance, are in all of us. And this one in Luke really resonates with me, in particular. The story begins with Jesus eating with a Pharisee and this woman shows up- she wasn’t invited but she came. Of all the bustling over this Jesus person going around town, there was no doubt she knew where to find Him. She has no other title or description in the story to give her any other reason to be there- but Jesus.

It goes on to say that she was a sinful woman. Different scholars have argued to what her sin was, a popular conclusion being prostitution, though scripture doesnt' say for sure. From her reaction to Jesus, whatever her burden, it was heavy. It was significant enough to bring her to her knees, in front of a crowd. It must have been so overwhelming. Can we identify with her? Have we been so broken that the very mention of His name, the healing that it brings, has drove us to our knees? It doesn’t matter the name of your short coming, or your mistake, your regret, your shame, you carry it and it has been debilitating.

In this room, with Jesus and others she is completely overcome. Let me tell you it’s personal. It’s not just Jesus. It’s HER Jesus. She is washed over by emotion. She gets it. She has sinned much, and the awareness of that is evident in her lack of words and her abundance of surrender. She is completely undone.

Luke 8:50 Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

I was this woman. Couldn’t even speak it, but He already knew. I was in a room full of people, and yet it was just Him and I. He was calling me to let go. To turn over to Him the sin I had held on to for so long. With my face downcast, crying out, I was ready to surrender. He took the aching of my heart and began a healing in me. In that moment, He spoke the words of peace over me that day that I never knew how desperately I longed to hear: “I have them. They are okay. They are here with me. You don’t need to carry this anymore.” That’s where it began. One tear at a time.