Frankly, I like things cool, calm, and collected. This business of lavish public display has always bothered me. It’s just bad taste, that’s what it is, when people feel they have to hang all over each other in public. Great day, what you do see down at the market sometimes, young people so entwined you’d think it was one body with two heads and four feet! Just tasteless.
Tasteless, and so unnecessary. What is the point of getting so gushy? What does it do for these people, to be touching and handling each other like that?
I just don’t like to wear my heart on my sleeve. I always say, let the heart stay in the chest and pump blood like it’s supposed to, out of sight, doing its job. You don’t have to wear your heart on your sleeve; that’s not what it’s for.
The other day, now, for example, I invited this fellow Jesus to my house for a little food and some conversation. I just felt I needed to do a little something, because some were saying the man was a prophet and a healer. As a leading Pharisee, I make it my business to keep tabs on such things. You never know when somebody is going to sweep these people off their feet with some ridiculous religious frenzy, so I wanted to hear him for myself.
And then, too, it is at least barely possible that he really might be some kind of prophet. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob does some unusual things sometimes. And if he is sent from God, well, it would pay to be on his good side. I doubt that he really is; but let’ s give him a quick chance to prove himself.
And so I invited Jesus for a quiet lunch -- just a simple thing -- at my house. No big deal, didn’t want to bother with all the amenities you bring out for important guests, because I didn’t know yet whether he really was important.
No perfume for his hair; I don’t think these religious nuts care about that, and it’s too expensive if he isn’t really anybody.
And no foot-washing; the servants were off duty, and I didn’t think he’d stay long anyway. My guess was I’d size him up and send him packing before the fruit course; his feet would hardly even be dry before he’d be using them again. No, no foot-washing. .
And certainly no hug and kiss; in my country you might greet a relative or an old friend with an embrace and a kiss on each cheek. And some people do that for others who are in the same social station as they are. But you know what I’ve said about myself: I’m just not geared that way. Not at least for some pale peasant with a Galilean accent and a reputation for telling embarrassing stories! What is it with these people who wear their hearts on their sleeves? Let the heart pump blood, quietly, inside, as it should! Don’t expect a hug or a kiss from me!
Simon -- that’s me -- is not about to let go of his dignity or of his resources too easily.
But I need to tell you that in my country it is the custom that when you have someone in your home for a meal, you leave the courtyard open so that the beggars can come in and pick up scraps. We don’t eat in private when we have guests; the Law says you are to leave open the gate so that the poor can come in and get something. I don’t really like it, but it is the Law, so of course I do it.
By the way, I have found out something interesting. I’ve found out that when these human animals slink in, if you ignore them, they’ll go away. Just leave them alone and let them pick up a few crumbs from the table … sometimes you can even sweep a few off so that they will get what they came for quickly, and then they’ll just leave and you won’t be bothered any more.
I’ve also learned that whatever you do, don’t look them in the eye. Once they catch your attention, they will bother you to distraction.
And so this day with Jesus brought the usual crop of ne’er-do-wells into my courtyard. Somebody told me that Amnon the beggar was there for a couple of minutes; I didn’t see him. And my nose told me that Zedekiah the fisherman was not far away; I don’t know why they call him a fisherman; he just sits around in a battered old boat and never catches anything but a cold.
In other words, the old regulars came to scavenge from my table, but I didn’t see her until I was forced to look up from my plate to find out who was sending up this awful wail. And there she was; how dare she -- Miriam! Miriam, of all people, at my table! I was shocked!
The thing is, Miriam didn’t need to be there to beg scraps. Miriam had plenty of money, and everybody knew how she got it. Everybody knew how Miriam got her money because nearly everybody knew Miriam – I mean, really knew Miriam ... if you get my drift. So, since Miriam could have bought and sold a good many of the townspeople several times over, why would she have drifted into my little luncheon?
What I heard and saw astounded me and disgusted me. I saw that woman, standing at the end of the couch on which Jesus was reclining, and she had set up such a wail as you have never heard. Something about being sorry and feeling so different and never being touched like that before; humph, do you suppose that even this prophet, this so-called holy man had been one of Miriam’s "customers"?
But this wailing, this weeping, this gnashing of teeth. I never saw anyone cry such buckets of tears. Her tears literally dribbled all over the feet of my guest, and I think she was a little ashamed. She tried to dry them with the edge of her dress, but it wasn’t enough. And so … you’re really not going to believe this … she unbound her hair and let it all hang down, every last long, silky strand of it. I mean, you could see everything! In my country, only one kind of woman lets her hair down in public, and, well, as I’ve said, everybody knew about Miriam. Because nearly everybody knew Miriam. But to be that brazen about it … if my wife should see her coming out of the courtyard …!
Well, she used that hair to dry the teacher’s feet, and he didn’t say a word. He didn’t rebuke her, he didn’t challenge her, he didn’t draw his feet up, he just waited and let her stroke his feet, wipe his feet … great day, even kiss his feet!
I thought, well, that can only mean one thing. It can only mean that Jesus is a fake -- a big, big fake. If he is a holy man, if he is a prophet, he would know what kind of woman this is and he would take steps to distance himself. Can’t be God’s man and consort with evil. The Bible clearly says, "Come out from among them and be ye separate." You know what they say, "A lying tongue and praying lips don’t grow on the same mouth." He is a fake, he’s no prophet.
And sure enough, it was confirmed for me by what happened next. She drew from inside her robe a jar of perfume. Expensive stuff, too. And she poured it out, I mean all of it, not just a few drops, all of it, on Jesus’ feet. And he didn’t do a thing. He just sat and took it.
Tasteless, just tasteless. These people just throw all caution to the winds. They’re so lavish. I hate it, I just hate it. Wearing her heart on her sleeve. You know what I always say: let the heart stay in the chest, pumping the blood, out of sight and out of mind. That’s what it’s for. Shouldn’t wear your heart on your sleeve. Ought to keep those emotions under control.
And by the way, did you ever stop to calculate what that ointment was worth? Couple hundred at least. Seeing that poured out and wasted – I think I could get emotional about that!
Up to this point, Jesus had been silent. I was waiting for him to send her away or say the ritual prayer of purification or at the very least to pull his feet around so that this creature would not be touching him. But all he did was to look across the table at me and begin to tell me one of his countless stories … parables, I think they call them.
The story went like this: "A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed fifty thousand dollars and the other five hundred dollars. When neither one of them could pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?"
Well, that was easy, although it is a ridiculous story. No one is going to cancel a five hundred dollar debt, let alone a fifty thousand dollar debt. But in order to humor the teacher, and because I guessed there was going to be some sort of punch line to this, I gave him the obvious answer, "I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt."
I waited far a minute for the other shoe to drop. Jesus turned and faced Miriam but he kept on speaking to me, "Simon, do you see this woman?" What a question? Of course I saw her. Couldn’t get her out of my face!
"Simon, do you see this woman?" I think maybe he meant something a little more than whether my eyes could picture her. And then he went on, and what he said next stabbed my heart more than any sharp sword could have done. He cut me to the quick and he embarrassed me, because he had found me out.
Oh, did I say it stabbed my heart? Well, yes, but I do want you to know that I didn’t show it. I didn’t let on. I just don’t like these public displays of emotion. You know what I always say – did I tell you what I always say? That you shouldn’t wear your heart on your sleeve and you shouldn’t let your feelings out, that the heart should stay safely inside the chest, pumping blood, that is what it is for.
He said, "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. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. "
Oh, no. He knows. He knows how cheap I am. He knows how I hate to part with more than a dime or two. He knows that I just can’t get into this giving business. But surely he doesn’t like this lavish stuff. Surely he can’t go for this woman’s extravagance. Going overboard like this. If she wanted to be nice to him, a smile, a handshake, a copper coin – that would have been enough. I always say …
Wait, he’s saying something more. He’s not finished. What is it? Will he rebuke her this time? Will he put her in her place and remind her of the law of God? Will he at last act like the prophet and teacher he is supposed to be? Let’s listen:
"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."
Great day, it’s a rebuke, all right, but he’s rebuking me! He’s putting me down. He’s saying I don’t show much love. And he’s saying I don’t show much love because I haven’t been forgiven of very much.
Now that’s a fine how-do-you-do! Who does he think he is, suggesting that I need to be forgiven? Where does he come off, proposing that I have a debt to be canceled?
Look here, she’s done all the sinning around here. Not only is her life and her profession thoroughly dishonorable, but just look at the last ten minutes! She touched you, teacher; she actually reached out and touched you, woman to man. She unbound her hair and publicly displayed herself. She interrupted our meal; if it was begging she was here for, she is supposed to do that quietly and then just leave. And worst of all, this caterwauling, this falling all over you with her repentance and with her gift of ointment.
Why does it have to be so much? Why does it have to be so extravagant? She acts like a relationship with you really matters to her! She acts as though she actually loves you and that you love her too! She’s just wearing her heart on her sleeve. And you know what I always say …
Still, I grant you, there are times I’d like to feel more. There are moments I’d like to open up more. There are even times when I’ve felt a surge of generosity and love and wanted to give to somebody. There are those times when I’m tempted to forget what I always say and to think that the heart might be forgiving, for giving.
Her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love.
I invited Jesus casually, she embraced him intensely. I viewed him with suspicion, she looked at him with faith. I came to dine, proud of my goodness; she came to beg, aware of her need. I presumed to judge his fitness; she brought her own unfitness. I was upright and therefore uptight; she loosed her hair and surrendered her heart.
And I saved both my money and my dignity, but she gave up her possessions and her pride and saved her soul.
The one to whom little is forgiven, loves little. The one who loves little … and enjoys little … and feels little … and sings little … and shouts little … and hopes little … can it be that I am forgiven little too?
I always have said that the heart should stay in the chest and pump blood, that’s what it’s for. I always have said that you shouldn’t wear your heart on your sleeve, you shouldn’t let your emotions be expressed, you shouldn’t give too much. But I wonder – I wonder, teacher. Can it be that the heart is forgiving, for giving?
