Who are you?

I've been recently challenged on how I form my opinions of other people. It's not a challenge that has come out of an encounter with a living person but rather hearing a story about a woman I've never actually met.

There's a story* in the gospels where Jesus is having dinner out at someone's house and a 'sinful' woman comes in and begins washing his feet - sounds a bizarre series of events but stick with me. A couple of weeks back in one of my college lectures we were encouraged to imagine this scene unfolding; put ourselves in the picture, as this story was read out aloud.

Now, my imagination is somewhat vivid. It operates as if I'm watching a movie. And so hearing these words read out my cinematic brain began imagining the location the atmosphere. And when this woman was introduced to the plot-line I had instantly cast her in my mind as this provocatively dressed hooker with far too much dramatic makeup walking seductively down the street. This was my first impression of this 'sinful woman'. And no doubt this is the impression of the rest of Jesus' eating companions, the upper class members of society. Religious leaders, town officials and the like. Everyone knew who she was, some probably knew her too well. And all eyes are on this woman as she enters the room.

But then the story continues, as she enters the room she is crying, heartbroken. She walks over to Jesus and she sits down next to him and begins washes his feet with her tears, taking her hair down to dry them, and pouring her own perfume and pouring it all out, all over Jesus' feet. Suddenly this confident seductress has changed. In my minds eye she's no longer dressed provocatively, she's got more of a natural, girl-next-door look about her. Suddenly I don't see her for what she's done, but I see her for who she is.

All eyes are still firmly fixed on her. This is just not social acceptable. Until Jesus breaks the stunned awkward silence and explains this beautiful act. He says to the host of the dinner;

"Do you see this woman? I came to your home; you provided no water for my feet, but she rained tears on my feet and dried them with her hair. You gave me no greeting, but from the time I arrived she hasn't quit kissing my feet. You provided nothing for freshening up, but she has soothed my feet with perfume. Impressive, isn't it? She was forgiven many, many sins, and so she is very, very grateful. If the forgiveness is minimal, the gratitude is minimal."

Picture the girl now. Jesus is talking about her to someone else but her ears are hearing that everything she's ever done wrong has been forgiven; that this Jesus guy actually understands why she's crying and why she's doing this and not only does he understand but he accepts it. The relief in her heart must've been enormous.

This next bit isn't actually written in the Bible, it's my imagination taking over but I don't think it's far fetched to say this girl hugged Jesus on hearing this news. And I'm pretty certain Jesus would've hugged back. And for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, this girl experiences the embrace of a man who doesn't want anything from her - he just wants to let her know she's loved and accepted. This pure but passionate moment is sealed with the words "You're forgiven". The rest of the room is in uproar over this whole encounter but Jesus ignores them. His sole focus is on her. "Your faith has saved you. Go in peace". A totally different girl walks out of the room; smiling, laughing, giggling, dancing, skipping, her whole attitude to life is different. She feels truly valued not paid by the hour. She is a totally new person with whole new fresh outlook on life.

I'd love to be able to see people how Jesus sees them. To glimpse through the outer shell and see the person inside. Past the designer suits and breifcases. Past the wragged shirts and boxes. Past the low cut tops and short skirts. Past the religious attire and symbols on chains. Into the hearts of ordinary human beings who need to be loved for who they are, but loved too much to leave them that way.

[*if you want to read the whole story click here]

Born 55 years too late...

I'm quite the daydreamer. And so yesterday -14th May 2008, which marked the 10 year anniversary of the death of Frank Sinatra- in one of my daydreaming moments, I wondered what my life would've been like if I hadn't been born in England in 1983. I decided I would love to have been born in New York in the late 1920's.

Born in 1928, [55 years earlier] growing up in a working class family but dreaming of a life in the golden age of showbusiness; working my way through the smoky saloons and bars singing the, now classic, jazz standards. Moving to the bright lights of Vegas and on to LA to make my name as the youngest member of the Rat Pack, performing huge big band numbers with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jnr.

Spend my career singing 'Mack the Knife', 'Mr Bojangles' or 'My Way' and starring alongside the rest of the Rat Pack fellas in the original Ocean's 11 movie. And whilst filming, maybe, just maybe, catch the eye of a beautiful, classy, darling young actress named Audrey - who was in town filming her new movie Breakfast at Tiffany's - and live happily ever after in Hollywood's Hall of Fame...

Of course, all those great stars are gone now, and if I had lived then I'd be nothing more than a name and a legacy now - which would be a shame, cos I would never have had the chance to meet the amazing people I've met along my life so far.

Daydreaming aside, I'd choose 1983 over 1928 any day.