6 Now when Jesus was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper,
7 a woman came up to him with an alabaster flask of very expensive ointment, and she poured it on his head as he reclined at table.
8 And when the disciples saw it, they were indignant, saying, "Why this waste?
9 For this could have been sold for a large sum and given to the poor."
10 But Jesus, aware of this, said to them, "Why do you trouble the woman? For she has done a beautiful thing to me.
11 For you always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me.
12 In pouring this ointment on my body, she has done it to prepare me for burial.
13 Truly, I say to you, wherever this gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will also be told in memory of her." (Mat 26:6-13)
A Tattoo for God
I think of a tattoo
That now I'm sold out.
Though shortly I'll be judged
But this is an amount
Of crazy thankful praise
That I can now offer,
Dismissing words and looks
From legalists and mockers.
My God deserves my praise,
It can't be too extensive.
The praise that I can sing,
The ointment so expensive.
My body is for Him,
My acts, and looks, and gazing,
My life, relationships
Should all just Him be praising.
Sold out I should be
In all my being and thinking.
Sealed by the Holy Ghost
Just Him I'm now seeking.
I think of a tattoo,
A sign of belonging,
That Jesus is my all,
That Him I always follow.
That's not a stamp of fad,
It's niether an emotion,
Nor what my friend once had,
Nor a protesting motion.
I think of a tattoo,
That's crazy to stick out
For a guy like me, but Paul
Would do, without a doubt.
To Jesus he was sold,
Sold out for the Gospel.
For Jews he was like one,
For Hellines like another,
But all - for Christ and God,
Sold out without a doubt.
I think of a tattoo,
That crosses people's minds,
That goes against the look,
That's stirring thoughts and shaking,
That breaks stereotypes.
But will I ever make it?
I might get a desease.
It blurs with time. It's fading.
I might dislike the art
That on my hand has landed.
Sometimes I'll be ashamed
Of things I do and think of
While having such a mark.
I'll want to hide or shrink it.
I think of a tattoo,
Though I might never make it.
A sign of my faith,
The true one. No faking.
It's like a seal of faith
That sits there, stamps me boldly.
Despite my sinful flesh,
It'll point to the Holy.
I think of a tattoo.
A sign of my passion
For God who got my faith,
Of which it's a confession.
But all in all I got
Once a tattoo inside me,
The Ghost's holy seal,
And no, it wasn't frightening.
I'm saved with a tattoo
That's seen sometimes by people.
I'm thinking of the one
They'll notice like a steeple.
And I don't want to brag
With ink that's slowly drying.
I want to be sold out
Without compromising.
I think of a tattoo,
Though I might never make it.
A sign of my faith,
That's true, without faking.
Andre Anokhin
25.04.19
