Do you see this woman?
When I entered your house, you did not give me water for my feet,
but she has bathed them with her tears
and wiped them with her hair.
You did not give me a kiss,
but she has not ceased kissing my feet since the time I entered.
You did not anoint my head with oil,
but she anointed my feet with ointment.
So I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven;
hence, she has shown great love.
But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.
—Luke 7:36-50
I have no alabaster jar,
no precious thing to give:
A broken heart, a wincing scar,
a tongue that cried, “Forgive!”
and even these have I held back,
have kept and called them “mine”
though in these fragments, seamed and cracked,
you poured a new-made wine;
though I have drunk it—deeply drunk—
and by that taste I live;
but still this frightened heart has shrunk
from bringing you a gift.
If I should dare approach you here,
dare set aside my shame,
still I have nothing but a tear
to lay upon your flame.
And yet I love. And yet you are.
Then I must be your bride,
must be the alabaster jar,
broken. Take what I hide.
The sin you’ve taken—take the grief
with all from me that pours.
Now from myself am I a thief,
and what was mine is yours.
I lay it on you as a balm,
this burden of the world;
and weep again for what will come,
my hair, my fears unfurled;
and you have not sent me away
or pulled back from my touch,
who know—better than I can say—
you have forgiven much.
Jar for one of the ‘seven sacred oils’, calcite – Museo Egizio, Turin S 8441 p02 By Museo Egizio In Turin (IT), CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=147853257
Kate Bluett 