One of the invitations I often extend to those who long to grow in discernment is simple: put your ear as close to the biblical text as you possibly can. Don’t rush past the story. Don’t skim the surface. Linger long enough that the scene begins to come alive, the people become real, and the Spirit gently draws you inside.
When we slow down in this way, Scripture becomes less like a document to study and more like a living encounter with God.
One of the most moving scenes in the Gospels is the story of the woman who comes to Jesus while He is dining in the home of Simon the Pharisee. When we prayerfully imagine the moment, we see something extraordinary unfolding. The room is filled with religious leaders, polite conversation, and social expectations. Then suddenly, a woman enters—uninvited, unwelcomed, and unwanted.
She moves toward Jesus. She comes close enough to kneel at His feet. Close enough that her tears fall upon them. Close enough that her heart breaks open in His presence.
Not so for Simon. He maintains distance. He watches and observes and comes to conclusions in his heart.
One life is guarded and controlled. The other is surrendered and open.
Many of us, if we’re honest, live more like Simon than we would like to admit. We keep a polite distance from Jesus. We welcome Him into our thoughts and conversations, perhaps even our ministries, but not always into the deepest places of our hearts. We maintain appearances. We hold back the parts of our story that feel too messy, too complicated, or too vulnerable to bring before Him.
But the woman in this story shows us another way.
She does not calculate her response. She does not protect her dignity. She simply comes close—close enough to weep, close enough to confess, close enough to pour out her love. And in doing so, she discovers something profound about the heart of Jesus. He does not pull away. He receives her.
In fact, Jesus gently exposes the deeper truth of the moment: those who know they have been forgiven much, love much. Grace has a way of awakening love in the human heart.
The woman’s tears are not merely about sorrow. They are also about relief—the relief of finally being seen and not rejected. The relief of grace washing over a weary and wounded soul.
This is why I often encourage people practicing discernment to engage Scripture prayerfully and imaginatively. When we allow ourselves to step into the story, we begin to notice things we might otherwise miss: the courage of the woman, the quiet defensiveness of Simon, the steady compassion of Jesus.
We are invited into the same posture of the heart—to come close, to bring our real lives before Jesus and to allow His mercy to meet us there.
You may discover, like this woman did long ago, that the safest place for your tears—and your worship—is right at the feet of Jesus.
