They tried to make her leave. She knew she shouldn’t be here, but she loved him deeply, a love that came from a heart of desperate need.
He didn’t turn her away, though. He watched as she wiped away the tears that had dripped onto his feat as he reclined at table. Then she pulled out the small jar from the folds of her gown.
She heard a gasp. “That must have cost a fortune,” she heard someone exclaim. Indeed it had; it cost her everything she had.
She tapped the top of the flask on the stone floor. It cracked, filling the room with its strong fragrance. She carefully poured the smooth liquid on the master’s feet, and once gain wiped them gently with her hair.
“Why was the ointment wasted like that?” someone else scolded her. “For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor.”
Another man, a religious leader, scoffed. “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what sort of woman this is who is touching him, for she is a sinner.”
It was only then the master lifted his face from what she was doing and turned to the others reclining around the table. “Leave her alone. Why do you trouble her?” He looked back to the woman, love in his eyes. “She has done a beautiful thing to me.”
Therefore I tell you, her sins,
which are many, are forgiven—
for she loved much.
But he who is forgiven little, loves little.