A Pharisee invited Jesus in to share his table fare,

And while He sat, a woman known for sin came quietly there.

She carried alabaster, stood behind Him at His feet,

Then tears began to fall before she found a word to speak.

She washed His feet with weeping, wiped them with her loosened hair,

Kissed them without ceasing, poured the fragrant ointment there.

Simon watched in silence and condemned her in his mind:

If this man were a prophet, surely He would know her kind.

She loved much,

Because much had been forgiven.

Tears became her water,

Gratitude her only rhythm.

She loved much,

While judgment kept its distance.

Mercy measured love by pardon,

Not by polished innocence.

Jesus turned to Simon with a story made of debt:

One owed little, one owed greatly, neither one could settle yet.

Both were freely pardoned; then the question found its mark:

Which debtor loves the creditor when cancelled ledgers part?

Simon chose the greater debt, and Jesus said he judged it right,

Then turned toward the woman standing humbled in their sight.

No water had Simon offered, no greeting kiss, no oil,

But she had given tears and hair, kisses, fragrance, all.

Her sins were many,

The room already knew.

Yet forgiveness was not smaller,

And love rose into view.

The table guests began to wonder

Who could speak forgiveness there,

But the woman heard the final word

That sent her home in peace.

Her faith had brought her saving peace, not perfume, tears, or shame,

The actions showed the gratitude that followed pardon's claim.

The proud man watched the sinner, but the scene reversed the view:

The one he thought least worthy loved because forgiveness grew.

She loved much,

Because much had been forgiven.

Tears became her water,

Gratitude her only rhythm.

She loved much,

And mercy broke resistance.

The woman left in saving peace,

The room still asking who He is.