Too Little, Too Late

That day.......I remember it well....

I had just bought my first mini-van.  It was candy apple red and I was amazed at the room, the captain's chairs, the power of driving, riding head and shoulders above the rest of humanity.  Of course, this was all before I realized the repercussions this purchase would entail.  Before I discovered the crowd of kids I would be forced to transport to volleyball games, movies, and junior high parties because I owned the van! 

On this particular day, I was running a quick errand to the local pharmacy and had parked a far distance from the entrance, not wanting to get the first "ding" on my van.  Approaching the pharmacy door, I noticed HER.  The bag lady.  Now living in the suburbs, we did not have many of these.  In fact,  for all I knew, at this time, we only had one.  She was a woman in her mid fifties, streaked gray hair, and wearing the same dirty dress.  She pushed a grocery cart with an odd assortment of trash and items she must have picked up from curbside discards.  She was always going somewhere.  Her point of origin and destinations were always a puzzle.  Of course, I had heard the rumors.  She was an heiress, mildly deranged, that chose the streets over the mansion she owned.  She had a large bank account in an area bank, only drawing small amounts to subsist on.  No one could sift fact from fiction, but one thing I did know. She never talked to anyone.

On this day, she was smack dab in my path as I approached drugstore entrance, and I was a bit nervous.  I did not feel threatened by her.  I guess she was an icon of sorts.  She did not look my way as I entered, much to my relief, and by the time I was through shopping, I had forgotten she was there.  

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Leaving the store with bags in tow, I was startled to here a voice.  Even more so, when I discovered it came from our resident homeless person.  I turned and she quietly asked me if I would take her to a street about 5 miles away.  I was shocked and for a minute could not speak.  But I could think.  And what I thought about, in that split second, was loading that malodorous women and her garbage in my brand, new, candy apple red van....

In my reading this week, I happened to come across the Bible character, Nicodemus, .  He is one of those people you have mixed feelings about. You are impressed, that being a member of the religious right of the day, he approached Jesus.  A little less impressed when you remember it was under the cover of darkness.   He does rise a bit above the ranks when, with Joseph of Arimathea, he helps to obtain the body of Christ for burial.  But then he sinks a little when you remember that during the trial and persecution, this member of the governing sect was mute.  At a time when Jesus could have used a friend, Nicodemus was silent.

For some odd reason, this week, I saw him in a new light.  In my prior studies, I knew that Nicodemus had contributed costly spices to anoint the body.  For that same odd reason, this week I chose to dig a little deeper.  In the grand scheme of Rome, Jesus was not a major player. He had, however, brought a lot of attention to himself.  Enough so, that he was deemed a threat and special care was being taken after his death.  His body was to be buried and specially guarded.  

The amount of spices Nicodemus brought for preparation was estimated to be from 75 to 100 pounds.  That is a lot of spice but the weight signified was more than just physical.  It spoke volumes about the personage being prepared for burial.  The more important the individual, the more spices used for burial.  Josephus records the funeral preparation of  the famous Rabbi Gamaliel used a mere 40 pounds of spices.  My prior estimation of Nicodemus' final act had always been "too little, too late".  But was it?

If Nicodemus thought it was a threat to approach Jesus when he was alive, what was he thinking now?   He was really putting himself on the line.  The extravagance of the gift was a confession, a very public declaration of the importance he assigned to the life and ministry of Christ.  A man who had been executed for His actions.  This was a bold and dangerous move on Nicodemus part.

Well, I would like to tell you that I, like Nicodemus, made a bold, public declaration.  That I answered the homeless lady with a resounding, "Yes" and carted her and her stuff to the destination she had in mind.   But I did not.  I mumbled an excuse and quickly departed.  On the way home, I mentally listed the reasons I had declined.  She was insane, I could be in danger.  Maybe I had misunderstood her, she really had not asked me for a favor.

But by the time I got home, I could not even fool myself.  I told my husband where I was going and who I was transporting - our city homeless lady.   Amidst his heated protests, I got in my car and returned to the pharmacy.  Though my intent was honest, my timing was off.  She had moved on.  I drove down the street, half-heartedly, looking for her, but she was not to be found.  I was sad and relieved at the same time.

Regret is a very sad and empty feeling.  But if it spurs someone to future action, maybe it is not in vain.  I hope so, for both of us.....