Anointed and Seen: A Woman’s Place in His Story

This morning started with a familiar wrestle. One I’ve brought to the Lord more times than I can count—my role as a woman in the Church. It’s not a crisis of belief, but more of a quiet, aching question: Is there room for my voice? For my gifts? For the way I feel called to serve, speak, and stand?

Sometimes I carry it like a gentle curiosity. Other times, like today, it feels heavier. A little more raw.

But then… to my surprise, my study this morning was led—almost unmistakably—to women.

Two women.

When studying the events of Holy Week, I noticed something I hadn’t fully seen before. There are two separate recorded moments when a woman anoints Jesus. One anoints His feet. The other, His head. Many scholars group these accounts together, assuming they’re the same. But today, I paused long enough to consider: What if they weren’t? What if there’s something sacred in their separation?

One woman, kneeling in humility, wipes His feet with her hair—an act of reverence and deep devotion. The other, pouring oil over His head—symbolizing honor, setting apart, anointing.

And suddenly, it clicked. The timing of these stories matters.

These women, in their own way, bore witness to who He truly was. One pointed to Jesus as the Anointed King. The other as the Great High Priest. They were part of the foreshadowing. Their offerings—quiet, uncelebrated by those around them—were rich with meaning, with divinity.

And here’s the part that made me cry:

He let them.

He received their offering.

He didn’t stop them. He didn’t ask them to wait or defer to someone else. He honored them, defended them, and tied their stories to His gospel forever.

Maybe that’s what He’s whispering to me this morning.

That He sees women. He invites them in. Not as an afterthought or a footnote, but as a vital part of His work.

Maybe my wrestle is a holy one. Maybe it’s not something to be silenced, but something to be surrendered—and seen.

Maybe, just maybe, He’s still being anointed today… by women who dare to show up, speak up, and pour out what they’ve been carrying.

And maybe that includes me.