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
This passage comes from one of Jesus’ scandalous meals He’s eating with a Pharisee, which was simply a group of orthodox and devout Jews of Jesus’ time. A woman who is identified as a ‘sinner’, heard he was there, and came to the meal, and washed his feet from her tears, dried them with her hair, and anointed Jesus’ feet with oil from her alabaster jar.
To our modern ears, it’s an odd story. Washed with tears. Dried with hair. Anointed with oil. None of these are common. We listen, knowing she was doing something wonderful, without the awe that probably occurred at the time.
Here’s a woman identified as a sinner. I’m not sure what she’d done to achieve that title. It’s likely more than a simple sin or two; everyone did that. No, she had accumulated enough little one-off sins that she’d achieved the status of ‘sinner’, likely branded for life. As a woman, as a sinner, she’s not got much positional power, if any at all. Against all social norms and perceived religious appropriateness, she enters this supper, goes right to Jesus and cries, dries and anoints.
As the Pharisees express their shock and indignation, Jesus tells the story about two debtors, one who owed 500 denarii, the other 50. For comparison, it’s estimated that one denarius is about one day’s wage, so the difference is between $1,000 and $10,000. If the creditor cancelled the debts of both, who would love the creditor more? His point is that those who have more forgiven debts are likely to be more grateful. After this parable lesson, he turns to the woman forgives her sins. The Pharisees responded with shock. Who does he think he is??
I’d love to think that we’ve gotten past this. We church folk wouldn’t scoff at the modern day sinner-woman and her offering of tears and oil. I’d like to think we’d welcome her in to Jesus’ table, to Jesus’ grace. But I’m not sure.
Some years ago, I was serving a wealthy parish. A single mom, rough around the edges, started coming to church with her three small kids in ill-fitting cheap clothes. They’d up close enough for the kids to see, while folks tried to be welcoming, all the while stealing glances at this modern-day sinner. Single mom. Poor. Imperfect children. Sitting too close. The kids weren’t any more well behaved than mine would have been. She’d bring the gaggle up to the communion rail, and she took communion, while indicating that they shouldn’t as they hadn’t been baptized. Clearly she had been an insider at some point.
One Sunday, they came in late, as I was in the midst of proclaiming the Gospel from the middle of the gathered people, in the center aisle. She walked up the aisle towards me as I’m reading, and took her regular seat, just a few rows from where I’m reading. It was a genuine challenge for me to continue reading, and not 1) try to help them in to their seat or 2) stop impatiently wait for them to finish interrupting ME. I’d like to believe I would have tried to help them.
After several weeks of trying to connect with Jesus, to seek his love and grace at our table, they stopped coming. The Pharisees in the room knew she did not belong at their table. I can only imagine that the Pharisees’ judgment in the room was louder than Jesus’ grace.
This morning I’m thinking about all the ways I walk around like the Pharisees, deciding who’s worthy of God’s love. Legislators who enact laws I feel are barbaric. Mean people. Lying people. Mentally Ill. Drug dependent. Violent criminals. Why would I ever want to be echoing the Pharisees? Why would I want to sound as stupid as the Pharisees? Why should I care how far or broad God’s love reaches? If God’s love, mercy, and forgiveness is so life altering to me, how much greater to those who owe 500 denarii. Today, I pray that I recognize when I’m sounding like those Pharisees and just stop.
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