We’ve all been there.
The moment.
That moment when something takes over.
Anger.
Frustration.
Fear.
Anxiety.
Worry.
Whatever it is.
You feel it.
And then it starts moving things around inside of you.
Your thoughts.
Your words.
Your attitude.
Your body language.
Your actions.
Sometimes before you even realize what’s happening.
Someone says something.
And you snap.
Someone does something.
And you react.
A situation doesn’t go your way.
And suddenly everyone around you knows exactly how you feel.
We’ve all had those moments.
Moments when an emotion became the loudest voice in the room.
The loudest voice in our head.
The loudest voice in our heart.
And it moved us.
Because emotions do that.
They move us.
Which makes me wonder.
Why are some emotions allowed to move us so easily…
while others hardly move us at all?
Luke tells the story of a woman.
We don’t know her name.
We don’t know where she came from.
We don’t know exactly what her story was.
We just know she had met Jesus.
And something had happened.
Something life-changing.
Something soul-deep.
Jesus later says,
“Your sins have been forgiven.”
Forgiven.
Past tense.
Already done.
Already accomplished.
Which means this moment in Luke 7 isn’t about getting forgiveness.
It’s about responding to forgiveness.
And what a response it is.
She walks into the room.
She stands behind Jesus.
And then she starts crying.
Not a tear.
Not two tears.
Enough tears to wash feet.
Think about that.
Enough tears to wash feet.
She pours perfume on them.
Wipes them with her hair.
Kisses them.
And everybody in the room is uncomfortable.
Everybody except Jesus.
Because Jesus knows something they don’t.
He knows what forgiveness does to a person.
Or maybe a better way to say it is this:
He knows what happens when a person finally realizes they have been forgiven.
Because that’s different.
A lot different.
This woman isn’t overcome with shame.
She’s overcome with gratitude.
She’s overwhelmed.
Consumed.
Moved.
By grace.
And here’s the question.
Why does anger get that kind of power in our lives?
Why does anxiety?
Why does fear?
Why does frustration?
Why do we allow those emotions to take over the room?
But gratitude?
Forgiveness?
Mercy?
Grace?
Those stay neatly organized.
Controlled.
Managed.
Contained.
Why?
Maybe because we have forgotten the size of the debt.
Maybe we have heard words like grace and mercy so often that they have become familiar.
And familiar things lose their ability to shock us.
But think about it.
Every sin.
Gone.
Every failure.
Covered.
Every act of rebellion.
Forgiven.
Not because you earned it.
Not because you balanced the scales.
Not because you finally became good enough.
But because God decided to forgive.
Completely.
Fully.
Forever.
That’s staggering.
That’s the kind of truth that should interrupt your day.
The kind of truth that should stop you in your tracks.
The kind of truth that should occasionally leave you speechless.
Because forgiveness isn’t just a doctrine.
It’s a reality.
A reality you live in.
Right now.
Today.
You are forgiven.
Not condemned.
Forgiven.
Not rejected.
Forgiven.
Not tolerated.
Forgiven.
And perhaps that’s what the woman understood better than anyone else in the room.
She understood what had happened to her.
She understood what she had been rescued from.
She understood the size of the gift.
And because she understood the gift…
she couldn’t stay composed.
Maybe that’s what worship really is.
Not working up emotion.
Not pretending.
Not performing.
Just seeing clearly.
Seeing clearly what God has done.
Seeing clearly who Jesus is.
Seeing clearly what forgiveness cost.
And then responding.
So here’s the question.
If you’ve allowed anger to overwhelm you…
If you’ve allowed worry to overwhelm you…
If you’ve allowed fear to overwhelm you…
Why not allow yourself to be overwhelmed by grace?
Why not spend a few moments today thinking about what God has actually forgiven?
Why not sit with the reality that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus?
Why not let gratitude have the same access to your heart that anxiety has had for years?
Because maybe…
just maybe…
the woman in Luke 7 wasn’t out of control.
Maybe everyone else in the room was.
Maybe she was the only one seeing clearly.
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