Before the Breaking Begins
"The house was filled with the fragrance of the oil. - John 12:3"
Six days before Passover, the narrative centers on Mary. As Jesus sits at the table, she kneels before him in an act of love, knowing she cannot hold onto this moment forever. She pours out what is precious even as the story moves toward inevitable loss. Her kneeling becomes a posture of both courage and surrender. Mary does not rush toward resolution, nor does she shield herself from the sorrow she senses approaching. Instead, she remains fully present in the moment.
This year, that kneeling feels closer to my own heart. Life seems to unfold beyond my reach, not only in my life but also in the fragile parts of the world. It brings a deeper awareness of our shared vulnerability. In the quiet of that realization, I have been asking God, “How do I love freely?” Not as denial, nor as a way of escaping the shadow of the cross, but as a sincere plea for the grace to stay openhearted even when sorrow draws near.
These days, I feel the weight of loving within limits, of holding close what I cannot always keep near, and of loving my brother as he carries what this season asks of him. Deep within, there is a gentle edge in my heart where I am still learning what forgiveness truly means. Forgiveness, I am discovering, is not about agreement or approval. It does not erase pain or turn loss into something good. Perhaps it is something quieter: a daily choice not to let resentment take hold, and a willingness to bring my unrest to God again and again, asking God to keep my heart soft.
Mary does not ration her love in Bethany. She does not turn away from the shadow gathering around Jesus. She loves in the midst of it, pouring out her most precious possession, a costly jar of pure nard, letting the house fill with fragrance before the breaking begins. I wonder if forgiveness is something like that: an offering poured out before the heart has finished making sense of everything. Perhaps it is a way of pouring ourselves out before God so that the heart does not harden into a vessel made only for holding pain.
Lord, as Holy Week begins, teach me to kneel close to You and to love and forgive with a tender and truthful heart. Hold sorrow and hope together within me, and help me trust that even what feels unfinished can still be filled with Your love. Help me believe that love, even when stretched thin, can still fill a house.
Tam Lontok