A Blaze of Light

Living In One Room

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One of the less dungeon-esque student digs.

There are several things spending seven years as a full-time student teaches you:

  1. It is possible to live off 9p jars of “curry” sauce from Sainsbury’s.
  2. The more degrees you gain, the harder you have to work to prove you’re employable.
  3. How to have your life fit into one room.

I was once chatting to a colleague at one of my summer jobs where she was lamenting the moving in process with her new partner. He had no furniture, but he did have boxes upon boxes upon boxes of books. I smiled sympathetically. My earthly possessions are basically 80% books, 15% Pinterest-inspired room decorations, and 5% useful items, i.e. an air bed, a laundry basket, and a candy floss pink bin. It’s a seven-years-spent-as-a-student problem.

One of the things you learn as a student is how to make four walls contain your whole life. As a fresh-faced fresher, my halls of residence room betrayed my overwhelmingly heteronormativity (‘Even your bloody hole punch is pink!’ exclaimed the jock who was my new flat mate). Without a social area, without a proper kitchen (catered halls still one of the best decisions ever) my life had to fit in that one room.

By second year, the refusal to turn on the heating had us all fleeing from the drafty living room to our beds, curling up under duvets. On my study abroad year, I lived in an apartment where I just had my room, with a fridge acting as my bedside table, sharing a bathroom with a girl from deepest, darkest Quebec. Even when I worked as a junior dean and had my own flat, my claustrophobia compelled me to move the bed into the living room, so again, my life became confined to one room. Two more years of student life, two more years of living in a room.

And now? Well, now I’m in a house. And yet, I find myself so often just in my room. There is a whole house. It has a sofa and a television and a tumble dryer and housemates and a garden and yet, so often, I retreat to living in just one room.

There’s a Tim Hughes song that, whenever I hear it, makes me feel physically sick with guilt. It begins, ‘I don’t want to get there at the end of it all, looking behind me to see there was so much more.’ These lyrics floor me. They make me feel utterly horrendous. Here am I, a person claiming to have been saved by grace, to have experienced the awesomeness and magnificence of the Holy Spirit, and yet, I seem to approach my spiritual life like I do houses: one room rather than the whole house.

In Luke’s Gospel there is the story of perhaps my favourite encounter that Jesus has.

A woman in that town who lived a sinful life learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, so she came there with an alabaster jar of perfume. As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.

When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is – that she is a sinner.”

Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you… Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven – as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.’

It’s easy to make our worlds small. And yet, just look at the freedom that comes from opening up, from letting Jesus in, from letting him begin a good work in us. For whoever has been forgiven lots, loves lots.

The Tim Hughes song continues, ‘take this pocketful of faith, it is all I have today, I’m giving it all, I’m giving it all.’ In the encounter between Jesus and the Woman With A Past, she gives it all, her pocketful of faith were tears, hair, and an alabaster jar of perfume. She gave it all. The best place to ever be is at the feet of Jesus. And that was where she was. At the end of it all, she won’t see that there was so much more.

As for Simon the Pharisee? I’m not so sure. Only semi-embracing Jesus is like living in a house and staying in only one room. You get a glimpse. It’s nice. It’s comfy. But there is so much more.

It’s costly to give it all, to break a jar of perfume and weep at Jesus’s feet. But not as costly as not doing it at all.

To quote the great John Newton: I am a great sinner, but Christ is a great saviour.

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