How many of you watched the memorial celebrations for President Reagan a few years ago? I was really impressed by a lot of things... the number of people who came, the quality of the speeches, the beauty of the pageantry. But of all the segments, the best, to my mind, was the private interment ceremony near his home in California. It was such a powerful statement of Reagan’s deep faith. And it was very Presbyterian, because even with all the memories of Reagan both as a man and as a world leader, the emphasis throughout was on the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
But the reason I’m bringing this up right now is because of an anecdote told by his close friend and advisor Michael Deaver which struck me very profoundly. It’s a story from the time President Reagan was shot by John Hinckley - you remember, the mentally ill young man who wanted to impress Jody Foster? At any rate, Mr. Deaver reported that when he visited Reagan shortly after he came out of surgery, Reagan said something to the effect that he couldn’t expect to be forgiven unless he could manage not to hate the man who had shot him. And so President Reagan told him that he had begun to pray for John Hinckley’s soul.
Wow. One expects that from the Pope. After all, it's his job, isn’t it. And though it’s admirable, it wasn’t really particularly surprising that Pope John Paul did exactly that - forgave - when the attempt on his life by Turkish gunman Mehmet Ali Agca failed. Interestingly enough, that assassination attempt took place just two months after President Reagan was shot.
But Reagan’s forgiveness wasn’t publicized. I suspect that he would have been terminally embarrassed if it had been, and of course since Deaver was his friend, and it was a private conversation, it was proper for him to wait to tell the story to the world. But the reason Reagan would have been embarrassed was that he didn’t do it for the publicity. He did it out of genuine concern and real humility. Deaver told another story of that same time, when Reagan was in the hospital and a vase of flowers had gotten knocked over and spilled water on the floor. He got out of the bed in his jammies and was wiping up the water himself when Deaver entered the room, and Reagan explained somewhat sheepishly that he didn’t want to get the nurses in trouble.
Now, in case you think I’m the political equivalent of a teenager swooning at a rock-star concert, let me say that although I admired Reagan, I’ve never been a particular fan... until I hear those stories. And I couldn’t help but contrast his behavior with that of Simon the Pharisee in the Scripture passage we’ve just heard.
One the one hand we see the most powerful man in the world on his knees, just to spare an ordinary young woman what would surely be only a minor rebuke, if anything. On the other hand, there is a minor local bigwig making a fuss because his dinner party is being disrupted by someone he wouldn’t ordinarily have let in his house.
In fact, all of the Scripture passages we’ve looked at today show us examples of how people in power behave. Queen Jezebel thinks she can get away with anything - including theft and murder - because of her position. Simon the Pharisee just looks down his nose at someone who doesn’t live up to his standards of behavior. But Paul the Apostle, who has been planting churches like crazy and has every reason to be proud of his heritage and his accomplishments, says of himself, “it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me.” [Gal 2:20] And later on in his letter to the Philippians, Paul says “If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more. Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ.” [Phil 3:4,7]
Jezebel the Queen and Simon the Pharisee compared themselves to the people around them - and were certain of their superiority. But Paul and the woman in today’s story compared themselves to Jesus Christ, and recognized his superiority.
What does it take, do you think, to get the kind of perspective that sees oneself in the light of Christ instead of the light of the world? Does it take being knocked of your high horse, like Paul on the road to Damascus? What did it take you, to know yourself as a sinner in need of God’s grace?
Simon clearly did not recognize Jesus for who he was. He probably had a glimmer that this was some sort of holy - or at least learned - man, otherwise he certainly wouldn’t have invited him over for dinner. But it seems that Simon still thought he was doing Jesus a favor. Why else would he have ignored the customary acts of grace that a host would offer to an important guest? Where was the kiss of welcome, the clean water for his dusty feet, the perfume for his head? Shoot, Jesus should have just been grateful to get a free meal, right?
And the nerve of that woman coming right into his house like that! Clearly if Jesus had any proper sense of Simon’s importance, if not of his own, he wouldn’t have let this - this - sinner make such a public fuss over him. But Simon doesn’t challenge Jesus to his face. Oh, no. That would be too honest. Instead, you can practically hear the hidden sneer as he says 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.” [v. 39] He’s no doubt relishing the moment when he tells his friends of how this so-called prophet let himself be defiled by contact with a prostitute. But Jesus - being Jesus - knows what’s in Simon’s heart. And he tells a little parable. “A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?” [v. 41-42] Well, Simon gets the point of the story in the abstract, but still can’t apply it to himself.
"Well," Jesus continues, "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.” [v. 47] And no doubt Simon got this part, too. Of course this woman ought to be grateful to Jesus! After all, how many rabbis would even talk to a woman, let alone let them paw him and fawn over him like that? But what does it have to do with him, Simon, the Pharisee? He’s probably just like the man in another story Jesus told who went up to the temple to pray, saying ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector." [Lk 18:11] Of course, Simon would be saying “I thank you that I am not like this prostitute” instead, but he still would be thinking smugly, how nice it was not to have to be forgiven for such enormous transgressions.
Now, one thing that I used to ask myself about this passage was, does this mean that people who have generally behaved themselves for most of their lives can’t love God with all their hearts, like the woman in the story? Does it mean that in order to love Jesus like that you have to be a social pariah, a known offender, the kind of person that decent, law-abiding people wouldn’t have in their homes on a bet? Before I became a Christian, I used to think that Christianity was all very well for drug addicts and other losers, but why on earth did I need the gospel? After all, I was well educated, prosperous, healthy, reasonably good-looking and had all my marbles. What do you think? Do you think that Simon the Pharisee was forever doomed to a lukewarm relationship with God because he was respectable?
The answer is, of course not.
Isaiah tells us that “all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth,” while Paul says, “there is no one who is righteous, not even one ... all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” [Ro 3:10,23] In God’s eyes we are all the same, all equally far from the sinless perfection of Jesus Christ. The woman who anointed Jesus’ feet with expensive oil, washed them with her tears and dried them with her hair, loved much because she had been forgiven much. But Simon had as much to be forgiven for as the woman. He just didn’t know it. It’s hard to think of ourselves in this way. As a matter of fact, I don’t think it’s possible to recognize how much God has to forgive us for until we are in Christ, and he begins to open our eyes.
John Wesley, talking of the conversion process, said that “the new believer will often rest for days or months in the peace which follows the initial decision, but after a while they begin to become aware of “the ground of their heart, which God before would not disclose unto them lest the soul should fail before Him, and the spirit which He had made. Now they see...the depths of [their] pride and self will ...”
Admitting that we are sinners in need of grace is hard. It takes seeing ourselves truly. It takes humility and gratitude. It takes recognizing that entrance into the presence of God is not something we can take for granted, or earn by our own efforts, or inherit from our parents.
The price of our admission is comparing ourselves to Jesus Christ, instead of to the people around us. We can all find someone who is more selfish, more hot-tempered, less honest, less kind than we are. The price of our admission is giving up the luxury of thinking we’re better than our friends and neighbors, our co-workers or the people who wait on us in stores or bring us the bedpan when we’re in the hospital. The price of admission into the kingdom of God is our pride. But it’s cheap at the price. Go for it.
