Monday, December 2, 2013

When Your Hero Is a Harlot

You ever had somebody ask you who your hero is? I've heard of this question being on college applications and in job interviews. Sometimes it is used in one of the "getting to know you" games. And I've never had one. Sure, I've had college applications and job interviews and even participated in those social ice breaker games (I met my husband that way, he handed me a penny), but I have never had a hero. Never until a couple of years ago, that is.

Some time in 2011 my daughter came home from the library with Season 1 of CSI: Miami. One episode and I was hooked. Over the next few months we managed to purchase the first five seasons of the show and watched with anticipation and rapt attention. And for the very first time, I found a hero, Calleigh Duquesne.

Calleigh Duquesne, the crime scene investigator ballistics specialist is everything I have ever longed to be. Beautiful (by pretty much anybody's standard), smart, chock full of technical know-how, tough and determined, and rolling in common sense. Totally indispensable to the team. Yet she is also compassionate, loyal and completely trustworthy. If you would ask me who I would want to be when I grew up, I would have to say Calleigh Duquesne. But Calleigh Duquesne is a fictional person, a figment of somebody's imagination. And Calleigh Duquesne doesn't need a Savior.

Enter the harlot. In Luke 7:36-50 we are told a story. Jesus has been invited to have dinner at the home of a Pharisee. All we know about this woman is that she has lived a sinful life and, from what I have read, that means she was likely a harlot, a slut, a prostitute. Yet she longs to see Jesus. This woman comes to Jesus at the dinner party, falls at his feet, and begins washing his feet with her tears and wiping them with her hair. The host is not pleased. Jesus goes on to teach a valuable lesson about forgiveness and love.

But, right now, I just want to focus on the woman. Can you imagine the guts that took? For a harlot to show up at a dinner party in the home of a Pharisee, the most fine and upstanding and righteous of the bunch? And then to pour herself out at the feet of the dinner guest?

I admire her, this harlot. Not for her beauty or her skills. But for her faith. For her brokenness. For her heart. For her determination to bow at the feet of Jesus, no matter what it took. I admire her because she knew she was helpless on her own. She knew where to go with her sin. She KNEW she needed a Savior.

And that is the beauty of it all. Defying social conventions for the sake of the gospel. A real person, a real sinner, real brokenness, real forgiveness at the feet of a real Savior. Yes, this harlot is my hero.

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