The Rose of Sharon

 

 

Mary knew He was the fragrance,

the Rose of Sharon,

when the alabaster shattered

and the scent filled up the room. 

 

It was called a beautiful waste—

a too-costly jar, and should be sold

for such and such a price

and elsewhere used. 

 

Worth one year’s wages,

the ointment mingled with His blood

and dried as it clung to Him

from cross to tomb.

 

Her precious scent was spent

and followed Him

from Bethany to Calvary

—now onto me.

 

So, how shall I waste

such precious offering,

my palms perfumed

from the hollow of His Eternal Bloom.

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

 

“I am the rose of Sharon, And the lily of the valleys.”  Song of Solomon 2:1

And when Jesus was in Bethany at the house of Simon the leper, a woman came to Him having an alabaster flask of very costly fragrant oil, and she poured it on His head as He sat at the table.  But when His disciples saw it, they were indignant, saying, “Why this waste?  For this fragrant oil might have been sold for much and given to the poor.”

But when Jesus was aware of it, He said to them, “Why do you trouble the woman? For she has done a good work for Me.  For you have the poor with you always, but Me you do not have always.  For in pouring this fragrant oil on My body, she did it for My burial.  Assuredly, I say to you, wherever this gospel is preached in the whole world, what this woman has done will also be told as a memorial to her.”  Matthew 26:6-13

 

 

street art, Valley of the Sun, Photo © Jennifer Wagner 

OLN

Leap

 

When faced with the plank,

I feared the sea.

 

I shouldn’t have.

The dark waters have always borne me

like God’s own hand.

 

Breathing petrified air

for far too long,

I’d neglected the glide

and swift flip

 

I’d learned

birthed at the milk side

of deep monsters who’d cradled

the calfling me.

 

Kohl running,

half-burned candle

ripped from my hand,

arms and legs bound,

I braved the ship’s side.

 

Pirates snarled insults

with teeth missing,

and legs, from the knee.

But what did they know

of my means,

 

their jealous hands yielding

the treasures of scurvy

and bitter gangrene?

 

No push needed, I jumped—

fear on their scarred visages,

gaping, cursing me

and their luck,

 

with every tie being unstrung

in the sparrow-filled wind.

 

 

© 2023 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.   And the very hairs on your head are all numbered.   So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows. Matthew 10:29-31

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me. ~ Civilla D. Martin, 1905