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.

The Advocate: John 16:12-15

John 16:12-15

Jesus said to his disciples:

"I have much more to tell you, but you cannot bear it now.

But when he comes, the Spirit of truth,

he will guide you to all truth.

He will not speak on his own,

but he will speak what he hears,

and will declare to you the things that are coming.

He will glorify me,

because he will take from what is mine and declare it to you.

Everything that the Father has is mine;

for this reason I told you that he will take from what is mine

and declare it to you."

This is Trinity Sunday in most of church land, and many Rev. Bloggers are getting their Creed on. Not long ago, I would probably have been smug or incredulous about the whole thing. (I am the person who in seminary wanted to make prank phone calls to the Prot Schools, saying, "The trinity is silly!" and hang up. Thankfully, I was at least mature enough not to follow through.) But in reading these blogs, I am impressed with the serious struggle each preacher makes with the meaning of trinity. Balancing tradition with modernity, mystery and faith, and fears of facing blank, bored faces in the pews. It isn't my struggle, but I've made similar ones.

So what does a good Unitarian Universalist make of this passage? I'm struck by the line, "I have much more to tell you, but you cannot bear it now..." You can feel them pressing him with questions, and his own sense of the time running out. Maybe they were just starting to get what he was saying. The disciples are a famously clueless lot, and I have the sense that Jesus was fed up a good bit of the time. And yet, he still wants to teach them, he still has faith in them and their worthiness to learn and spread his message. He sounds so human and so sad. He wants, somehow, to love them and teach them beyond his own life.

I think of the bride I met a few months ago, whose father died when she was four. Before he died, he made a tape for her, telling her about everything he wished for her life - love, education, children of her own. What an act of generosity, I thought. To say things she could not have understood then - and in so doing, to love her well past his own life. She is planning to transcribe some of the tape and have one of her uncles read it in the wedding. The groom was a little nervous when he heard this. He thought she might lose it during the ceremony - or more likely, that he might. These would be some powerful words. She assured him that they would be just fine. I assured them they would probably not be, but it would be worth it.

I don't know what Jesus means about the Advocate. I do know some of the words of Jesus were actually words they believe he spoke, and some of the words were added later to describe their shared experience of Jesus after his death. They grew in understanding after he died. He somehow continued to teach them. And he continues to teach us now. Tradition, mystery, faith and sometimes apathetic community all have a hand in it.

Peace Be With You

The lectionary reading this week is John 20:19-31. It begins: "When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came in and stood among them and said, 'Peace be with you.' After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord."

The disciples have shut themselves in a room and locked the door. Note John's nonsensical little dig, 'against the Jews'; all of these fellows are also Jews. The community for whom this gospel was written, and in whose shared worship these stories were recited, was being evicted for following the wrong rabbi. They were mad. And they were lost and confused, just as they describe the disciples at this moment. What else do you do, but lock the door?

And Jesus stood among them, and said, 'Peace be with you.' I think of worship services, where we say "Peace be with you" in such pious, church-lady tones. Given this story, maybe it means more than, "Love your hat." The context is terror. The door is locked, John takes pains to say; Jesus doesn't just casually stroll in. There isn't some mistake about whether or not he really died, or perhaps they got the wrong guy. Walking through a locked door is magic. It's a miracle. It is terrifying.

And then he showed them his hands and his side. A real, human, wounded body. He returned from the dead, walked through a locked door, and he was no ghost. He was the one they loved, but he had died. The text says, "They rejoiced," but not without some struggle, I have to think. I am reminded of a documentary in which an Israeli filmmaker crosses into Palestine, and in the course of filming, befriends a Palestinian boy. They are holding hands. The boy is crazy about him. He tells him, "I am an Israeli." "No you're not," says the boy. "Yes, I am." "But you're not a REAL Israeli," he insists. "Yes," the young man says, still holding fast to the boy's hands. "I am really a real Israeli". The astonishment on the boy's face, trying to hold "love" and "Israeli" in one sentence, is sweet.

All these things at once - grief, disbelief, fear, joy, hatred - sometimes are rolled together in a sentence or two. You get them all at once - you have no choice. Peace be with you. You're going to need it.

Going to the Dogs

In my Bible discussion group yesterday, we meditated and discussed the story of the Syro-Phoenician woman and Jesus. Here's my rough paraphrase...

As usual, our man is dead tired. He just had a major scrap with the Pharisees about hand-washing, and is so sick of those hypocrites. He goes someplace where he thinks nobody will find him, somebody's house.

Well, you just know that means someone is going to show up with a problem. She barges in and starts in on her daughter being demon-possessed and all. He has seen so many of these and he's a little bit bored with it, I think. And she's Greek, to boot. Is there really any decision to make here? There's only so much of him to go around. Pull down the shade, closed for the day, nobody home. Didn't need to say the thing about the dogs, though. Even it's TRUE you can't go feeding dogs before you make sure your own kids are fed. True, if not exactly on message. And she says, Even dogs can lie under the table and catch the crumbs from the children. Not bad, not bad. You got to give the blessing for that kind of balls, especially on a woman. How she must love that kid. He does it, he gives the blessing. He's got to.

Q: When am I so tired I forget my decision to love people, I get stingy with my blessing?
A: Several times a week.

Q: What do I love so much that I would go to any lengths for a blessing? Look like a fool, trash my reputation, grovel at someone's feet?
A: Almost nothing.

Lord, Hear my prayer.

Jumping Around

After preaching and the intensity of coffee hour, where I am very tired and concentrating hard on what people are saying to me because it's my one chance to connect with a lot of my folks, and it's a dear opportunity. I am wiped out but also jacked up from all that human energy whinging around me. I've been slugging around the house, not good for much. My new vice is Facebook, which is bad, bad, bad for someone with ADD. It's also an excellent procrastination tool. One plus: someone from my high school class "friended" me and I saw where she had posted this goofy YouTube clip of the Archies. Suddenly, it was Sixth Grade Slumber Party Time. It was the Archies playing their seminal works, "Sugar, Sugar" and "Shang-A-Lang". It was the Bay City Rollers playing"Saturday Night" and "I Only Want To Be With You". It was the Jacksons, Tommy James, the Partridge Family. I could remember dancing in my girlfriends' basements, squealing when my fave "Roller", Les, appeared on Merv Griffin. (Now he looks a bit stuck on himself, if you asked me.) But more than specific memories, I just felt excited all over again. No pretense of taste, here; none required. I was dancing like an idiot. Actually, I'm a good dancer. But I doubt the neighbors would have noted the quality as much as the simple fact of their 48-year-old neighbor jumping around in her bedroom. Hope I don't show up on YouTube.

I've often pooh-poohed nostalgia. Explore new things, I say. Engage your brain with new information. But this sure was fun. I recently heard someone on NPR recall the sensation of listening to the radio and hearing your favorite song, shouting, "It's on! It's on! They're playing it!" Or walking down the beach and hearing the same song on everyone's radio. That experience is gone. There were fewer choices, then. But maybe music was more exciting because more people shared it with you. It wasn't your special little ipod playlist plugged into your private ear. Or maybe I'm just tired.

where your treasure is

Matthew 6:19-21

.19."Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal, 6.20 but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. 6.21 For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

This teaching has always had a pious ring to it, telling us to be good, to think more of "heaven" than having that lovely thing at ______ (name of store that makes you insane with desire). Certainly the plainest meaning seems to be that possessions and wealth are vulnerable to theft and decay. I've experienced it. Seeing delicate little holes in my favorite sweater after stuffing it in a cardboard box for the summer, or reduced to a doll sweater after my boyfriend put it in the washer by mistake; being obsessed to have a new Blackberry which will be obsolete in 5 months - I well understand. And yet I've found these experiences of emptiness and disappointment do quite little to quench the fever when it comes upon me. I confess that the notion of 'treasure', still sounds rather exciting. I picture running my hands through a pile of shimmering gold coins and cackling, "I'm rich, rich, rich!" I think of waltzing into Macy's and shooting the works on Any Thing I Damn Well Want. I think Jesus knew how alluring all this was to people, even in a culture that couldn't have been as consumer-crazed as ours. Maybe it made them curious about heaven, and what could possibly be more compelling about it than the stuff they lusted for. And so you have to ask, what is heaven? It's 11:00 pm and I have to go to bed. Maybe I'll dream the answer. Or maybe you'll tell me.