Apple

“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

The righteous men refused to eat the apple—
their eyes were never opened to their sin.
They never got down in the mud to grapple
with all the filth that comes out from within.

But she has tasted, and she knows its flavor:
The skin was red and firm beneath her touch,
and it was sweet—the sweetest—so she savored,
and well she knows she is forgiven much.

Then why should she withhold the alabaster?
No, let her perfumed prayer like incense rise,
and let them stare, though none will dare to ask her
what is it draws this torrent from her eyes?

They sit at feast, yet they have tasted nothing
except their scorn to see her at his feet,
but she is sated with her Lord's anointing,
for here is something more than apples sweet

and only they who taste and they who hunger
will one day know the pleasure of that feast,
when he who came to seek them in the mud here
bows down himself to wash their dirty feet.

The Ointment of the Magdalene (Le parfum de Madeleine). James Tissot, c. 1900 – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2007, 00.159.214_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10957535

Some Mother’s Son

Jesus journeyed to a city called Nain,
and his disciples and a large crowd accompanied him.
As he drew near to the gate of the city,
a man who had died was being carried out,
the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.
A large crowd from the city was with her.
When the Lord saw her,
he was moved with pity for her and said to her,
“Do not weep.”
He stepped forward and touched the coffin;
at this the bearers halted,
and he said, “Young man, I tell you, arise!”
The dead man sat up and began to speak,
and Jesus gave him to his mother.
—Luke 7:11-17

Some mother's son, they carried him
out of the city gates
and met the prophet coming in,
but coming there too late.

A mother's son himself, he stopped—
What was it he beheld?
Him mother, weeping her own loss,
and on the bier, himself?

The days when he had thought his strength
invincible were past,
and numbering his own days' length,
he could not call them back.

Not if the angels of the sky
bore him upon their wings
could he recall the days gone by
or stop their hurrying.

His mother—would she weep like this
or stand in silent grief
that her days should outnumber his?
He won't be there to see.

For her sake, no!  But this he can:
The breath begins to stir.
He takes the dead man's living hand
and gives him back to her.

Brooklyn Museum – The Resurrection of the Widow’s Son at Nain (La résurrection du fils de la veuve de Naïm) – James Tissot – overall – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.115_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10195957

Tears

When the Lord saw her,
he was moved with pity for her and said to her,
“Do not weep.”
He stepped forward and touched the coffin;
at this the bearers halted,
and he said, “Young man, I tell you, arise!”
The dead man sat up and began to speak,
and Jesus gave him to his mother.
Luke 7:11-17

You beheld the widow weeping—
Did you know then what would come:
at the cross her station keeping, 
Mary with belovèd John?
You stepped in and raised the sleeping,
gave the widow back her son.

Knowing how Eve wept for Abel,
Rachel for her children wept,
knowing Martha—faith unshaken—
mourned when you delayed your steps,
did you guess what Mary's fate held,
keeping vigil at your death?

Eden tore us all asunder;
life by dying was undone.
Bread of life, you knew our hunger:
Make our separation one.
Give us back to one another,
death by dying overcome.

Tears have been our bread since Eden,
since the day we took and ate.
We have had our fill of feasting,
sated since the days of Cain.
You who joined us in our weeping, 
let it be the bread you break.

Take these tears and make them hallowed;
let our weeping make us one.
Let them, then, give way to dancing;
let rejoicing come with dawn.
Let the widow's prayers be answered:
Give her back her only son.

Resurrection of the son By Wilhelm Kotarbiński – cyfrowe.mnw.art.pl, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23801336

Alabaster Jar

“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.”
Luke 7:36-50

How much have you forgiven me?
What debts I cannot pay
are lost in all you've given me,
new tallies every day?

How can I search the depths of it,
or scale the dizzy height,
or know that I have met with it?
Lord, only by your light.

Then shed that light upon me now
and teach my heart to know
your ocean where my sins are drowned,
your streams that overflow.

Teach me to know how I am loved,
and then to love in turn:
My heart within your furnace proved,
oh, teach me how to burn!

For you, O God, have given me
an alabaster jar
to hold you've forgiven me,
distilled to sweet attar.

And so I break it open here
and pour it on you, Lord.
Anointed so with oil and tears,
you perfume all the world.