February 14, 2016 - First Sunday of Lent
Luke
7:36-50
36 One of the
Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house
and took his place at the table. 37 And a woman in the city, who was a
sinner, having learned that Jesus was eating in the Pharisee’s house, brought
an alabaster jar of ointment. 38 She stood behind Jesus at his feet,
weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her
hair. Then she continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment.
39 Now when the
Pharisee who had invited Jesus saw it, he said to himself, “If this man were a
prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching
him—that she is a sinner.” 40 Jesus spoke up and said to him, “Simon, I have something to
say to you.” “Teacher,” he replied, “speak.” 41 “A certain creditor had two
debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. 42 When they could
not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love
him more?” 43 Simon answered,
“I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt.” And Jesus said to
him, “You have judged rightly.” 44 Then turning toward the woman, he said
to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water
for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her
hair. 45 You gave me no
kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. 46 You did not
anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. 47 Therefore, I
tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown
great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.” 48 Then he said to
her, “Your sins are forgiven.” 49 But those who were at the table with him
began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” 50 And Jesus said
to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”
Our deepest memories as human beings aren’t triggered by touch, or hearing, or sight, or even the taste of a favorite meal. Our deepest memories are unearthed by our sense of smell.
What would happen if I blindfolded you and held a plate of your grandmother’s chocolate chip cookies in front of your nose? You’d know them, right? Or how about the smell of your first campfire, or your childhood bedroom, the cleaner used on the basketball court you played on each week, the perfume or cologne of someone you love, or the fragrance of a newborn baby you held? You’d never forget those smells.
When I think of Simon the Pharisee’s dinner party gone wrong, one I just so happened to be invited to, it’s not the awkwardness I remember, or the anger of the host, or the pointed whispers of shock. I remember the smell.
Take a moment, and imagine being forced to walk through the perfume section of Belk’s, and be spritzed mercilessly with fragrance, over and over again. Multiply that by about 1000, and you begin to get close to the overwhelming smell we experienced at that dinner table.
Honestly, I was surprised to be there in the first place. I knew our Pharisee host Simon (well, most everyone did), but we weren’t what you’d call friends. I actually suspected I got invited so his dinner table would look nice and full (kind of like a seat filler at your awards shows). But, never one to turn down a good meal, I went.
It started off normally enough. We were all seated at the table according to our social standing (yep I was on a corner, wouldn’t you know). Simon wasn’t exactly what you’d call warm. I noticed that he didn’t even bother to go through the social customs of giving guests water to wash their feet with as they entered, or giving a kiss of greeting. I honestly never even saw the woman come in. (It’s possible I was a little distracted by the spread of food.)
But soon enough, we all saw her. We were just tucking in to some tasty olives and rich wine when she came and knelt in front of one guest: Jesus, a controversial Rabbi from Nazareth. Most people were polite enough to pretend not to notice. Simon even raised his voice to keep everyone’s attention on him and his self-important teaching about the law. When she let her hair down, a few people couldn’t help themselves, and gasped. Unbinding your hair in public was a great disgrace for a woman. We were perhaps a tad rigid in those days. Still, most of us tried to ignore her. And then a perfume bomb exploded, and there was no ignoring that.
Now, I’m not talking Chanel No. 5 here. She had a large alabaster jar of perfume that would have cost about a year of wages. And she didn’t just sprinkle a little on that wanderer’s feet. Nope. She dumped the entire thing right there on his feet, the floor and the legs of that dinner table. Suddenly, everything tasted like perfume!
The amazing thing was, this woman didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. She acted like a nice dinner table was the perfect place for a foot spa treatment! She was even crying happy sort of tears, and without a towel, used her hair to dry Jesus’ feet.
Simon did what he could to keep decorum, finally loudly saying that, if Jesus really was a teacher of the law, he’d know what sort of woman was doing this to him.
What sort of woman, was she, though? A sinner? Sure, but aren’t we all? History has remembered her as a prostitute, though there’s no mention of that in any of your gospels. Funny how that whole what sort of woman business carries on, no matter how much time has gone by. I think your gospel of John says she’s Mary, not Magdalene mind you, but Mary of Bethany, sister of Martha and Lazarus. John turned the affair into something of a birthday party to celebrate Lazarus being alive again.
But back to my version of the story, which you read in Luke: Simon was furious. He wanted to preserve order and purity like some kind of legalistic Miss Manners. But Jesus, well, he didn’t care that much about convention.
He actually took the shame Simon was trying to bring upon that woman and dumped it back on him, like that costly perfume was dumped on him.
“Do you see this woman?” Jesus demanded. “Not the label of her. Not her reputation. Not her lack of manners. Actually see her for who she is.
You didn’t give me so much as a wet wipe to clean my feet with, while she’s been bathing my feet with her very tears.
You didn’t give me so much as a fake air-kiss by way of greeting, while she’s not stopped kissing my feet.
You didn’t give me so much as a spritz of Pam on my head to honor me, while she anointed my feet with expensive ointment.
Who’s the sinner, Simon?”
Ooh, that Pharisee was livid. The dinner party pretty much ended right then and there, and Jesus told this brazen woman she was forgiven for her sins, something I think she already knew, or she wouldn’t have created such a scene in the first place. He then said to her, “Woman, your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”
That day changed things for me. I realized how very much of my life was dictated by convention. You know what I mean: you’re supposed to study this. You’re supposed to take that job. You’re supposed to wear this, and only associate with them, and be this. Faith becomes just another regulation in our automaton lives.
But that woman knew at that table that sometimes faith isn’t meant to create order in our lives – it’s meant to interrupt it! Because God’s grace doesn’t come to us when we’ve carefully mapped out the road to forgiveness, or slotted it into our calendars. God’s grace comes whenever it darn well pleases.
It might come in the middle of the night, when we think no one is listening to our raw pleadings. It might come in the middle of an argument, when we realize that if we truly are forgiven by God, we simply cannot continue the same patterns of selfishness. And it might come in the middle of a dinner party, when we suddenly see how very fortunate we are to have food to eat, and water (or sweet tea) to drink.
If we wait until Jesus fits neatly into our carefully laid plans, we will be waiting all our lives. We might be happy. We might even have something of faith. But we’ll never really experience the overwhelming love that woman knew. We’ll never be as raw and real as that woman was, to boldly claim to the world that we are sinners, but that we are also forgiven. We’ll sit there at the dinner table of life, nibbling politely on olives and sipping wine, trying to avoid being overwhelmed by the perfume of God’s grace. What a sad story that would be!
When you reach the end of this life, what will you be most proud of? That you maintained order, did what was expected of you, and said your prayers when it seemed appropriate to do so? Or that you loved God with such reckless abandon that you became an entirely new person by grace, a person who knew that now is always the right time to do the right thing, a person who created a bit of holy chaos, the kind that peace leaves in its wake?
Your faith has saved you, this is true. But the real question is: now what will you do? Amen.
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