If you have seen the episode from The Chosen in which Mary anoints the feet of Jesus, perhaps you felt with her the anxiety of all eyes upon you. You heard indignant whispers: “What a waste!” “Get her out of here.” “Doesn’t he know who touches him?” The love is deeper than the aroma.

In early Holy Week I dispay a small bottle of spikenard with this sign: “Smell the spikenard. Let it fill the room of your soul. Touch a drop to yourself and know you share the Body of Christ.”

Through this week we can mediate often with Christ’s anointed feet, his feet nailed to the cross, the feet that still have his precious wounds: “O feet so blest, I give my costly best.”