The Fragrance of Love


The scent of Mary’s nard lingers down the centuries, a glorious sweetness, both of giver and of perfume.  Only her hair, her crowning glory, was soft enough to wipe those feet in adoration…
Something awaking in her soul, the profound understanding (in that singing height beyond words) of this Son of God.   Son.   of God.     The bursting, impossible joy of knowing…   Nothing is now finite…   near-silence stretches into eternity… and there comes awareness that THIS is the Awaking, this is the heaven of all our searching.

and that will be heaven
and that will be heaven
at last    the first unclouded
to stand like the sunflower
turned full face to the sun        drenched
with light    in the still centre
held    while the circling planets
hum with an utter joy
seeing and knowing
at last   in every particle
seen and known  and not turning
never turning away
again      Evangeline Paterson

The picture is Stanley Spencer ‘The Awaking’