BY TORSTEN SCHWANKE
A Pharisee brought Jesus to his board,
To eat a meal in honor of the Lord.
He entered in and sat down at the feast;
A sinful woman heard, and never ceased
To seek the place where Christ the Savior sat.
An alabaster vase of oil she brought,
And stood behind Him weeping at His feet,
Whose tears began to wash those footsteps sweet.
She wiped them with the tresses of her hair,
And kissed His feet, and poured her perfume there.
The host who bade Him entered in his mind
A haughty thought, and deemed the prophet blind:
"Were this a prophet, surely He would know
What kind of woman touches Him below,
And how her life in sinful ways is spent."
Then Jesus spoke, to read his heart's intent:
"O Simon, I have something I would say."
"Speak, Master," said the host without delay.
"A certain lender had two men in debt;
Five hundred pence to one his ledger set,
The other fifty. Neither had the means
To pay the sum, nor clear those costly scenes.
He freely pardoned both their heavy score;
Which of the two will love the lender more?"
And Simon answered, "He, I would divine,
Whom he forgave the greater sum in line."
And Jesus said, "Thy judgment is upright."
Then turning to the woman in his sight,
He spoke to Simon: "Seest thou her here?
I stepped inside thy house, yet not a tear
Nor drop of water for my feet was brought;
Yet she hath washed them with the tears she sought,
And with her hair hath wiped the stream away.
No kiss of greeting did thy lips convey,
Yet since she entered, she hath never ceased
To kiss my feet throughout this holy feast.
Thou pouredst no oil upon my weary head,
Yet on my feet her ointment she hath spread.
"Wherefore I say, her many sins depart;
Much is forgiven her, for great her heart.
Who is forgiven little, loves the less."
He told the woman: "Pardon now I bless;
Thy sins are gone." The guests began to say:
"Who is this man, to wash our sins away?"
He told the woman, "Faith hath made thee whole;
Go now in peace, and rest thy saved soul."
When Mary’s true repentance fills my thought,
I weep in silence for the work she wrought.
What heart of stone could hold its tears inside,
To see the penance that she would not hide?
She weighed her deeds, yet set no bound or measure
To what she now would yield as sacred treasure.
Unbidden, mid the guests she took her place,
To offer tears before the Lord of grace.
Behold her grief, a burning, holy fire,
Unblushing mid the feast at her desire!
Whom Luke a sinner calls, and John names Mary,
Is she from whom seven devils once did vary—
Whom Mark declares the Lord delivered free.
What are seven demons but all vanity?
For seven days embrace all earthly time,
And seven marks the total of her crime.
With every vice oppressed, she saw her stain,
And ran to mercy’s fountain to obtain
A cleansing wash, nor blushed before the crowd;
Her inner shame subdued the outer proud.
What shall we marvel at with deeper grace?
The woman coming, or the Savior’s face?
Does He receive her, or attract her soul?
He draws her in, and then He makes her whole.
His secret mercy draws her from within,
His sweetness takes her as she flees from sin.
Behold the order of her healing hour:
She brought her jar of sweet aromatic flower,
And stood behind Him weeping at His feet,
And wiped them with her hair, in sorrow sweet.
This woman, bound to forbidden pleasure past,
Had used rich scents to make her beauty last;
What once she spent on fleeting fleshly praise,
She offers now to God in holy ways.
Her eyes had lusted after earthly sights,
Now mortified, they weep in sorrow's nights.
Her hair, once dressed to make her face look fair,
Now dries the tears she scatters in despair.
Her mouth had uttered words of haughty pride,
Now kissing sacred feet where truth abide,
She presses lips against the heels of grace.
Thus all her charms become an offering place:
Each crime turned virtue in her weeping eyes,
And all that scorned Him forms her sacrifice.
Yet at this sight, the Pharisee felt scorn,
And blamed the woman and the Lord reborn:
"Were He a prophet, surely He would know
What kind of woman touches Him below."
Behold his pride, his justice false and blind!
He blames the sick, and hates the Doctor kind.
Unconscious of the plague within his chest,
The Doctor stood between two men distressed:
One sick with fever knew her bitter plight;
The other, blind in mind, lost truth and light.
A sigh forces my mind to look upon
Some bishops who, when priestly deeds are done,
Look down upon their flock with cold disdain,
And scorn the sinner in his grief and pain.
They feel no pity for a soul's regret,
Like this proud host who kept his judgment set.
For had she touched his shoe, he would have fled,
For fear her sin upon his robe might spread.
Unfilled with justice, sick with others' stain,
He turned away from mercy in disdain.
When sinners fall, our own frail heart should weep;
We might have fallen, or like errors keep.
Though holy leaders must rebuke the crime,
Compassion for our nature stands sublime.
Punish the fault, but build the neighbor's state;
When he repents, his sin no more is great.
Joined to God’s justice, he himself shall rise,
And correct the fault that in his nature lies.
Now hear the judgment that confounds the proud:
The Lord declares the parable aloud.
Two debtors stood: one owed a lesser part,
The other owed a sum to break the heart.
To whom both debts were pardoned free and clear,
Which debtor holds the creditor more dear?
The Pharisee replied: "The one, I deem,
Forgiven most will hold him in esteem."
He brings the rope to bind his own proud throat,
And signs his doom on what his words denote.
The Lord then counts her deeds of love against
The cold neglect the host had fenced:
"I came inside, no water didst thou bring,
Yet she hath washed my feet from sorrow’s spring.
No kiss was given by thy haughty face,
Yet she hath kissed my feet with endless grace.
No oil was poured upon my weary head,
Yet scented perfume on my feet she shed.
"Therefore I say, her sins are washed away,
For she hath loved with love's immortal ray."
What is true love, my brothers, but a fire?
And what is sin, but rust of base desire?
"Her sins are pardoned, for she loved so much"—
She burned the rust of sin beneath His touch.
The rust of guilt is melted all away,
When charity’s great flame consumes the day.
Here stands the soul whom Christ the Healer blessed,
While others burn with envy in their breast.
The seated guests grew bitter in their mind,
And whispered at the Physician so kind:
"Who is this man, that takes the power to raise
The fallen soul, and pardon sinful ways?"
Yet Christ ignores their anger and their pride,
Nor leaves the sick who gather at His side.
To her He spoke, to make her spirit sure:
"Thy faith hath saved thee, and hath made thee pure;
Depart in peace." Her faith believed His word,
And held the hope she sought from Christ her Lord.
He bids her go in peace, that she may tread
The path of truth, where holy souls are led,
Lest any stumbling block should turn her feet.
As Zechariah sang in accents sweet,
"To guide our footsteps in the way of peace"—
So walk our feet, that all our sins may cease,
And every deed we do below the skies
Keeps us within the grace our Maker buys.
We traced the Gospel story as it stood;
Now let us seek the deeper, mystic good.
What is the Pharisee with righteous claim
Except the Jewish folk who bear the name?
And who the sinful woman at His feet,
If not the Gentiles, seeking mercy sweet?
She brought her alabaster vase of price,
To offer up her tears as sacrifice;
She stood behind, and washed His feet with care,
And dried the falling stream with flowing hair,
And kissed those feet, nor ceased her loving store:
She stands for us who worship and adore,
Whene’er we turn to God with hearts renewed,
And weep for sins in deep beatitude.
What does her ointment signify inside,
Except good fame, spread far and holy wide?
As Paul declared: "Where’er our steps may trod,
A sweet perfume of Christ we are to God."
When by good works we fill the Church with praise,
We pour our ointment in the Savior’s ways.
She stood behind His feet: we stood as foes,
When in our sins we dared His will oppose.
Yet when true penitence turns back our ways,
We stand behind His feet to offer praise,
And follow in the path we once defied.
She wets His feet with tears—and so beside
The suffering saints we stand in holy grief,
To mourn their trials and to bring relief.
She wipes His feet with hair: the hair is grown
As extra store, superfluous and lone,
Cut without pain—a fitting sign to show
The wealth we hold beyond our needs below.
We wipe His feet when to the saints we give
Our extra wealth, that all the poor may live;
If in our heart compassion’s sorrow springs,
Our hand must yield its superfluity of things.
He waters feet with tears, but leaves them wet,
Who feels for others, yet gives nothing yet;
He speaks kind words to mourn a neighbor’s woe,
Yet keeps his goods, and lets the sorrow grow.
She kisses, too, the feet she dried above,
When with our gifts we show our eager love,
Lest helping those who suffer in their need
Should seem a heavy burden or a deed
That chills the soul and turns our heart away.
His feet denote the secret, holy plan,
By which the Word took flesh and walked as man:
"The Word was made true flesh, and dwelt below."
We kiss His feet when loving hearts bestow
Their adoration on His human birth.
We pour sweet ointment on His feet on earth,
When we proclaim the power of His race
And praise His manhood through the Scriptures’ grace.
The Pharisee beheld her work with spite—
So envious Jews condemned the Gentile light,
Enraged to see the heathen world proclaim
The living God, and glorify His name.
"I entered in thy house, no water came
Upon my feet"—for water is the name
Of outer goods, which Jews refused to give;
Yet Gentiles poured their blood that He might live.
"Thou gavest me no kiss"—for love’s pure sign
Was absent in the law’s unyielding line,
Where fear, not grace, compelled their hands to serve;
Yet Gentiles kiss His feet, nor ever swerve,
And cry with Song of Songs: "O let Him press
His mouth’s sweet kiss upon my loneliness!"
"Thou pouredst no oil upon my head," He said.
The head is God, as holy Paul hath read:
"The head of Christ is God." The Jews professed
To serve the Father, yet their lips transgressed;
They failed to preach the glory of His name,
Nor praised the Majesty from whence He came.
Yet Gentiles poured their ointment at His feet,
For through His human flesh, in praises sweet,
They exalted even that which stooped below.
Wherefore He says: "Her many sins forgo,
For she hath loved so much." Though sins endure
Like stubborn rust, love’s fire is deep and pure,
And consumes all the hardness in its blaze,
When charity ignites the soul to praise.
How sweet to contemplate His tender grace,
Who counts her works before her rival’s face!
He sat to eat inside the host’s abode,
Yet on her secret soul His feast bestowed.
The host gave earthly food to fill the day,
The woman gave a banquet far away,
Feasting His heart with tears of deep delight.
Hence Holy Church, who seeks Him day and night,
Asks like a little deer in sacred song:
"Where dost Thou feed, my Love, the whole day long?
Where dost Thou rest at noon?" For Christ the Lord
Is like a young roe by the prophets’ word,
A son of ancient fathers, seeking shade
When noon’s fierce heat invades the open glade.
He rests in hearts not scorched by worldly lust,
Nor parched by earthly gain or golden dust;
As Mary heard: "The Holy Ghost shall shed
His holy shadow down upon thy head."
The little fawn seeks out a shaded place,
So Christ finds rest within the shade of grace,
In souls delivered from the fleshly fire.
This sinful woman fed His heart's desire
With richer food than all the host supplied;
The noble Roe turned from the heat of pride,
And fled into her soul—which, burned by vice,
Found cool repentance in His paradise.
Behold the boundless goodness of the Lord,
Who not alone receives the soul restored,
But yields His very feet for her to touch!
Consider mercy’s grace, that loves so much,
And let us judge our countless faults within.
Here we offend: He sees and bears our sin.
Here we resist: He suffers our disdain,
And calls us through the Gospel once again.
He asks but true confession from the heart,
And pardons every evil on our part.
He tempers all the rigor of the Law,
Which held the world in severity and awe.
For was it not written in the Law of old:
"Who does this deed shall die, as I have told;
With stones the offender shall be crushed to ground" (cf. Lev 20)?
Yet when our Savior in the flesh was found,
No longer death, but life He promises
To all who turn to Him and sins confess.
He welcomes her who brought her wounds of late,
And sends her healed beyond her former state;
He bends the hardness of the Law to grace,
And saves the lost within His warm embrace.
Thus in the Law 'tis written of that day:
"When Moses’ hands grew heavy in the fray,
They set a stone beneath him for a seat,
And Aaron supported him, and Hur complete".
Moses upon the stone sat down to rest
When in the Church the Law became expressed.
Yet heavy was that Law of ancient time,
Which spared no sinner, but struck down the crime.
Now Aaron’s name means "mountain of renown,"
And Hur means "fire" that cometh pouring down.
What is this mountain of eternal grace
Except our Savior in His holy place?
Of whom the prophet sang: "In days to come,
The Lord’s own house shall top the mountain’s sum".
And what is fire, but the Holy Ghost,
Whom Christ declared He sent upon our coast?
Thus Aaron and Hur held up the heavy hands,
And eased the burden of the Law's commands;
For Christ the Mediator, coming near
With holy fire to cast out every fear,
Showed that the heavy precepts of the past—
Unborne when kept in carnal shadows fast—
Become a light and tolerable road
When spirit-truth unlocks the sacred code.
He made the hands of Moses light to bear,
By turning judgment into heart-felt prayer.
To us who use this strength, His mercies strive:
"I will no sinner's death, but that he live".
To every sinful soul He speaks again,
As unto Judah in her grief and pain:
"If any man put off his lawful wife,
And she belong unto another’s life,
Shall he return to take her to his side?
Is she not stained and fully vilified?
Yet thou hast played the harlot far away
With many lovers in a sinful day—
Yet turn again to me, the Lord hath said".
Behold the parable of shame he read!
He shows the husband cannot take her home,
Yet His own mercy lets the wanderer come!
He states the rule that limits mortal men,
Yet stands prepared to take us back again,
Beyond all earthly measure, bound, or line!
Behold the excess of His love divine:
He calls the souls whose filth He must decry,
And seeks to embrace the ones who passed Him by.
Let none reject this favorable hour,
Nor turn away from such redeeming power.
Behold, God’s loving-kindness bids us turn,
And opens wide the bosom we did spurn.
Let each man weigh what debt he owes above,
While God awaits him with unwearied love.
Let him who fell arise without delay;
Who lost the path, return unto the way.
Our Maker reveals the love with which He stays,
When through the prophet’s mouth He softly says:
"I listened and I heard: no man speaks right,
Nor turns his heart to sorrow in my sight,
Saying, 'What have I done against the Lord?'"
We should have kept our thoughts in true accord;
Yet since we strayed, He waits for us to see
His open lap of grace and clemency.
Though lost in evil thoughts, we find His grace
The moment good desires take their place.
Turn now the eyes of your own mind within,
Dear brothers all, and weep for every sin!
Mourn for the faults of youth and early years;
Wash all your deeds and manners with your tears.
Come, let us love the feet of Christ our King,
Which once we scorned by evil worshipping.
Behold, the bosom of His grace divine
Receives our life, no longer to repine.
In hating sin, we reach the inner pure;
He folds us in His arms, forever sure,
No longer holding sinful life as mean,
Since washed by tears and made forever clean:
Through Jesus Christ our Lord, who reigns on high,
With God the Father in the unity
Of God the Holy Spirit, three in one,
World without end, when endless time is done.
Amen.