MARY MAGDALENE

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

With a sinister glance, someone looks with disgust –

As before all she comes, in her Lord putting trust.

Under garments so torn by temptation and vice,

Seeking comfort, she wants His forgiveness to rise.

On her knees she falls down, letting loose all her hair,

From her eyes start to pour heavy tears of despair.

Before Christ she bends low, from a jar she distills

For her heart – holy hope, for her faith – what He wills.

The proud Pharisee shakes in his horror and rage:

"In my house did you dare to pollute my clean stage?

You, so filthy and stained, who have lived for the bad,

How shine you on my threshold with perfume, unclad?

Let you rot in the hell! Let Him strike you to dust!

You can't wash all your sins with your tears and your lust!

Yet the Lord strokes her hair... He is crazy, it seems,

Does He mock the great Torah with these wild, shocking dreams?

If a teacher He was, or a prophet of light,

In my holy abode He would preach for the right.

Of Sodom, Gomorrah, and God’s righteous Wrath,

Which has struck down the sinners along their dark path…"

In a moment the Lord turns and speaks without fear:

"I have entered your house, and as Truth I am here!

Let me ask you a question, and tell Me the truth –

Do you easily pardon a debtor in youth?

Who will love with more strength, being faithful till death?

The one whom you have bound with money and breath,

Or the one whose large debt you have fully erased?

Why is your troubled heart looking so displeased?"

"She has loved Me so much. Many sins I forgave.

When her soul started flowing – even more I outgave…

With fine oil she anointed, with her tears she did cover.

Did God punish you, then, when I washed her all over?"

…Early morning. A garden. Empty tomb, Holy theme.

Magdalene runs again to exalt her Supreme.

Resurrected and glorious, His love He proclaims.

In a soft, trembling whisper, "Rabboni!" she names.