Tales From The Word

#6: S.M.H.

I found this new teacher to be… interesting. I mean, it’s not like I really admired him or anything, but there was something intriguing about him that I wanted to get a deeper insight into. From a personal perspective.

So I sought him out, approached him and invited him to my home for dinner.

I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised at how he graciously accepted my invitation. And he made it, too.

I made sure everything at home was in order before he arrived. You know, so he could be highly impressed by my levels of hospitality. I mean, it’s the least I can do as a host, right?

Yeah, so, he arrived, and I had him sit at the table and served him, and he ate.

Of course, this teacher is really popular, and I’m one pretty popular Pharisee (of course I would be! Do you think I wouldn’t remind the sinful ones around me of my position?), so people around knew he was at my place.

As I sat at the table with him, engaging him as he ate, I suddenly took notice of something.

This woman had entered my place, and was on her knees. Right in front of this teacher. Weeping her head off like she had just lost some relative or something.

Goodness, you have no idea how my stomach churned!

Given her overall appearance, I was very sure that this piece of human vermin was probably one of those disgusting harlots who possibly got beaten up by one of her clients. Typical. And it serves her right, in any case. I mean, did she think her sin would never find her out or something? News flash: it always does! That’s what our father Moses said, and he wasn’t wrong in the least.

I wasn’t the least bit moved by that nauseating pity party. She was being dealt with for the consequences of her actions. No need to feel any sort of sympathy for her.

But… you know where my problem lay?

It was with the teacher in my house.

I was really disappointed with his reaction to what was going on.

I hoped that at my table sat a man of integrity and uprightness, a stalwart for the law, a pillar of right. But I guess I was wrong.

Because, if he truly was, the thought of that piece of filth raining her tears on his feet would have been the most revolting of thoughts. The idea of her using her tear to clean his feet would creep him out. For a person who claims to speak for God, he should’ve been so intolerant of wrongdoing, this woman would receive nothing less than a shout down, a warning to never touch him again, and a quick dismissal from our presence. That’s what a true prophet would do!

But no, this man actually permitted her to do all that. She cried over his feet. Cleaned it up with her hair. And he simply sat there and let her do it.


I definitely didn’t admire him, to begin with. I just wanted to get close to him and know what makes his mind tick. The kind of ideology he possesses. Why he does what he does.

But at this point, I definitely lost respect for him. I might not be a prophet, but it was so easy to tell what kind of person was around us. For someone who is supposed to be a prophet, he certainly did not live up to expectations. Holiness and sin must never mix. Never!

If he really were a prophet, he would have known the manner of woman touching him. He would have known that he’s the total opposite of what he is.

A sinner.

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