She scrubbed and scrubbed. Her arms were pink-- raw from a desperate attempt to cleanse herself. She continued to scrub, no longer knowing if it was dirt or skin that was coming off. Not knowing or not caring. The frustration built up inside and her scrubbing intensified. She rubbed harder, pushed with more strength, dug in deeper. Her eyes stung and as the salty tears hit her bloodied arms, she cringed.
Would she ever be clean?
She was so focused on cleaning herself, she didn't even notice when the water began to run clear in the drain... and then when it began to have a hint of red. Her skin felt raw; her heart was raw. She also didn't notice when he came up behind her.
"Will you be clean when you run your veins dry?" he gently asked her, nodding toward the darkening water in the sink.
She whirled around. Terror gripped her heart and a sickening wave of shame washed over her. She couldn't possible let him see her like this. Hair dripping, bathroom floor soaked, blood stains marking the white tiles. She was so... dirty. A brief thought flitted through her mind. Maybe he had different soap, something that could actually cleanse her. But as soon as the thought entered her mind, she tried to push it out. She couldn't possibly ask him for more. Suddenly she realized he had asked her a question she had failed to answer.
She slowly shook her head. No, not even draining her vains would clean her, would it? Her blood wouldn't be enough, would it?
He took a step toward her, "Let me wash you. Let me wash your feet." She shrank away and prayed that the shadows would hide her filth. Chills ran down her spine as she tried to imagine what he saw when he beheld her. A wretched sight, for sure. No, she couldn't let him clean her.
"You can't touch me. I can't let you touch me... much less clean me. I'm so dirty. So sinful. So unworthy. I don't know how many times I've failed and how many time you've washed me. I can't let you do that again," she finally replied.
He shook his head and took another step toward her. "I've already cleansed you once... and I'll continue to wash you." She cowered; his presence filled the room. Her bottom lip quivered and she struggled to hold her emotions together. He had cleansed her once, paying much to high a price. The very fact that she had to be washed over and over again was shameful... degrading.
She looked up, her face hard like stone. "Not this time. Just give me some time. I'll clean myself." Each sentence seemed to gain momentum; her courage seemed to grow. He shook his head and pulled out a wash basin and a towel. Jesus grabbed a bar of soap-- soap purchased by his blood.
"Beloved, grace isn't handing you the soap and waiting for you to come back purified. Grace is inviting you to let me cleanse you time and time again. You will only be clean when I wash you because my veins were the ones that ran dry for you."
