An Embarrassment of Love

Luke 7:36 - 50

³⁶One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table. ³⁷And a woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment. ³⁸She stood behind him 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. ³⁹Now when the Pharisee who had invited him 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.” ⁴⁰Jesus 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. ⁴²When they could not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?” ⁴³Simon answered, “I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt.” And Jesus said to him, “You have judged rightly.” ⁴⁴Then 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. ⁴⁵You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. ⁴⁶You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. ⁴⁷Therefore, 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.” ⁴⁸Then he said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” ⁴⁹But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” ⁵⁰And he said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

We like to level the playing field when we read this story. The woman is a victim of circumstances, and the Pharisees are insufferable little prigs. Paul Tillich says that ruins the point. To the storytellers, "the sinners are serious sinners, and the righteous are seriously righteous". The Pharisees get a lot of bad press, but they lived very good lives. Not all Jewish laws were about fasting and washing your hands. There were also commandments to take care of the vulnerable, and to humble yourself before God. If you did that, you might be someone I admired. And they were.

And on the other hand, Tillich, says, the sinners were truly sinners. True enough, most women become prostitutes from desperation. Some are even placed into bondage by their families. But there is always a choice in there somewhere. I think of the film, "Born into Brothels", where the mothers turn on their children from their own misery. Let's say for argument's sake that she did make some choices, that she had become someone she was not proud of. She was living a life without life.

And she recognized life in Jesus. She glimpsed a way out. I buy that.

Interesting approach, though. If everyone thought you were a hooker, would you want to go acting like one? Such a sensuous thing to do, even if it were considered common courtesy to embrace a traveler, and offer oil for his feet. This seems so intimate, so presumptuous, like a mother and her little boy, or a lover.

He was an earthy man, who liked to eat and drink wine. He saw so few differences between people, talking to women at wells at noon in front of everybody,healing whoever was in front of him, Sabbath or not. He accepts this embarrassing stew of shame, sex, tenderness and brass without question. He accepts her in spite of it all. That's the point.

He tells her that her sins are forgiven. He says the Pharisees' sins are forgiven, but much less interesting to God. God, I say, is much more like the woman, in her over-the-top love.

He didn't jump up and he didn't fly away

Luke 7:11-17

¹¹Soon afterwards he went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went with him. ¹²As he approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother’s only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town. ¹³When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, “Do not weep.” ¹⁴Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, rise!” ¹⁵The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. ¹⁶Fear seized all of them; and they glorified God, saying, “A great prophet has risen among us!” and “God has looked favorably on his people!” ¹⁷This word about him spread throughout Judea and all the surrounding country.

My kind calls this kind of story propaganda. The kind of passage deftly snipped out of the text by Thomas Jefferson for not being reasonable or realistic. My kind calls it symbolism - some quality was dead - hope, love, justice - something nice and abstract so that restoring it back to life doesn't smell bad. Raising it back to life could sound reasonable.

So I don't ask Jesus if he did this or how, but why? Isn't it better to leave the dead alone, to not upset what is natural? Isn't it more helpful to teach the living how to bear their grief?

You may be more sensible on this than me, he says. Her suffering was too much for me. I became weak in it, too. Had to stop it, had to help her. Wouldn't you?

I say, And later she would be the one he grieved. What about his suffering? Would you raise her, too? Would you just raise people all the time, so nobody dies? I don't see that happening.

No, I didn't raise her; I couldn't be there. I won't tell you something reassuring like: I could tell it was an old woman's time but not a young man's. This sort of thing is not reasonable and not at all fair. So much pain, always pain, everywhere pain. They only tell of the ones I could help. There were many others. No good reason for who or which. Maybe it is your work, to sit with the grieving.

Oh no, Lord. I don't know how I'd bear it. I'd take it into my body, my being.

Exactly. That's what happens. It has a terrible price. It was easier to raise the dead.

And you died, in the end. Did you really, you know, rise? My husband's people like to say, "He didn't jump up and he didn't fly away."

That's pretty funny. And - there are many ways to rise. I'm just saying.