Luke 7:36-50
It was an invitation that I couldn’t refuse. Oh, I had received lots of invitations in my lifetime; invitations to weddings, invitations to parties, invitations to fund raising gatherings for religious organizations and political parties. But never an invitation quite like this one. It was an invitation I couldn’t refuse.
You see being a religious leader in my day, I simply just could not refuse the opportunity to meet with a group of my peers; to sit down at a dinner that was designed just for us to get to know this religious leader that the whole community was talking about.
Oh, we had all heard of his demonstrations of power. There was no doubt in our minds of what he was supposedly doing. We had heard, some of us, by word of mouth, and some of us, by the writings of others, that he had demonstrated his power over disease. Yes, he had healed the Centurion’s slave at Capernaum. We had heard of his power over death, because news reached us that he raised the widow’s son at Nain.
Now we had an opportunity. Who wouldn’t welcome the opportunity to get to know Jesus? Who wouldn’t jump at the chance to sit down at a dinner with him, around a table with him, to talk with him, to watch him? Well, I had waited with anticipation, and a great deal of anxious excitement for such an opportunity to come, and then I realized it was mine.
You see Luke has let us in. Luke left the door of Simon’s house open for us to come in and have dinner with Jesus; to get to know him and to watch him, as perhaps in this experience, he deals most powerfully with one of the most profound needs that all of us feel.
We all come to the feast with our established agendas. We all have our set of expectations. Some of us are going to leave the dinner delighted. Some of us will leave disillusioned. Perhaps, when we get to know Jesus, he is not who we wanted him to be.
As we recline at the table, with all these religious leaders gathered around us, the first thing that our eyes fall upon is the feast that is spread before us; all of those delicacies, those foods that are there for us.
Our eyes glance back and forth at the eyes of the other people around the table. We see the same longing in their eyes that we have in ours; that is that all of those things that they are saying about Jesus are really true; that maybe he is the Messiah, maybe he is the one who has come to be the Saviour of the world.
Then as with a single glare, all of the eyes focused upon that woman, that sinful woman who came in.
Oh, one minute we heard the chatter of curious, inquisitive voices, asking their questions and bantering around their comments and observations. And then, in a moment, there was that chill of silence, when nobody spoke a word.
We had the smell of the aroma of the meats and the fruits and the breads filling the air. Then, all at once, that pungent odor of a sweet, strong perfume came to our nostrils, and it filled the room. And it didn’t go away.
But with all of that very vivid in my mind, what happened there is what I will never forget.
You see, we all felt very comfortable at Simon’s house. Even though there were some who felt Jesus was being put on the spot, we enjoyed each others company. We were all spiritually minded people. We all had a great deal of respectability.
And even though there were other invited guests who came in that day, and sat in their cushions around the wall, she had no place there. She had no right to be there. She was an unwelcome, uninvited, intruder, an outsider who didn’t belong.
Why, I can understand Simon’s displeasure. As a respected Pharisee, he wanted to impress his friends. And he was. But here she came and embarrassed him.
There is no place, among us spiritually minded people, for sinful women like that. You see, none of us, with our strong stance on moral, and religious, and ethical matters was at all prepared to welcome a woman who’s lifestyle was nothing like our own; and who’s lifestyle we just simply could not accept.
What she did was even more disgusting. She took a position behind Jesus, and she began to weep. And as the tears fell at his feet, she did what was the most dispicable, immodest thing that a woman would do. She took her hair down, and she began to wipe away the tear stains with her hair.
If it wasn’t enough, she took the jar of perfume and opened it, and anointed his feet. And to the embarrassment of us all she began to kiss his feet. And she did it again and again and again.
The emotion of that woman was apparently so overwhelming that she was oblivious to the outcome of her actions.
And at the time all of us were thinking the same thing, "If this man, Jesus, were a prophet, he would really know who is doing this, and what kind of women she is." But since he apparently didn’t know, or at least isn’t stopping her then that is proof that he is no prophet. A prophet would not allow such disgraceful behavior in public.
At the time, I didn’t think about it. However, later I have. "What if that had been me? What if I had been the object of her attention?" What if on some Sunday morning, as I was standing behind the pulpit, in my respectable suit, a woman like that walks through the door, and rather than coming down to the front, and being seated at the front, that woman, who everybody in the congregation would know her name, and her fame, she would come up to me, throw her arms around my neck, in public, and kiss me, and say, as she walks away, "I just wanted you to know that you have been a friend to me, like nobody else has ever been."
I would stand there with my mouth dropped open, my ears turning red, my lips quivering, my heart pounding, wondering, "How do you get out of this one? How do you explain this?"
And you guessed the reactions of the people. Oh, their nostrils began to quiver with anger. Their eyebrows were raised. They became angry and their tongues began to wag. And even some of the people gathered there hurriedly walked out of the room, and ran down the streets to spread the news of what was happening at Simon’s house with Jesus.
Would it have been my inclination to have scolded her; to have shamed her in some way by saying, "I don’t know who you are. Get away from me." And to have sent her away.
Not Jesus, no! He took the spotlight off of her, and he rescued her from what could have been her most embarrassing moment. And he speaks to the host.
Oh, I have to confess to you, I was upset. "Jesus, how could you turn on the host of the party. He’s been so kind to throw this party in your honor. Aren’t you appreciative?"
We hadn’t thought much about it. None of us had. But when Jesus entered the house, Simon didn’t extend the common courtesy of having a servant wash his feet. But we saw what this woman did. We watched her as she washed his feet with her tears, and wiped them dry unashamedly with her hair.
It hadn’t dawned on us that Simon didn’t give Jesus the customary kiss on his cheek or his forehead. That had really escaped our attention. However, we saw what she did. As embarrassing as it was for all of us, repeatedly she honored her teacher by kissing his feet.
We hadn’t noticed that Simon gave no ointment to Jesus to freshen up. But this woman had lavishly anointed him with her perfume.
I remember wondering at the time, as Jesus was speaking, "Why all of this preoccupation with his feet?" The woman who would wash his feet and kiss his feet and wipe his feet and perfume his feet.
However, it was sometime after that that it dawned on me. Perhaps this is the one who’s feet brought her good news. And maybe he was the one of whom Isaiah had spoken, "How beautiful are the feet of him who brings good news, who pronounces peace, who proclaims salvation."
It hadn’t dawned on us that is what he had done for her. That he had give her his grace, and what we witnessed was her gratitude. We were too much like Simon. In our own smug self-righteousness, we saw this as proof that Jesus could not have been a prophet. The sinful woman come in a demonstration of love, showing her sorrow.
There was a greater demonstration than that which we witnessed. And I guess that is what I have come to learn from this event. Because it wasn’t Simon or any of the rest of us who had the privilege of being there who recognized her repentance, and rewarded her with any word of reassurance or acceptance. It was Jesus, only Jesus, who with sensitivity, and with tenderness, and with gentleness, speaks the word, "Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you. Go on, go in peace."
With amazement and wonder, we sat looking at one another again wondering, "Who is this that forgives sins?"
It wasn’t until I was able to move beyond being critical of that sinful woman for her unashamed behavior; it wasn’t until I stopped being critical of Simon for his half-hearted attitude, and his less than gracious actions toward Jesus, that I really got to know him.
Left to my reflections, here is what I learned:
1) I am more like Simon than I want to be … that is I tend to be more critical and condemning of the sins of others than I am compassionate toward them, as Jesus was. And I tend not to have a consciousness of my own sin that I am quick to have of others.
You see in a society, like ours, that puts its premium on pride, promotes delusions of our performance, and our own perfection, I want you to know, I find it hard to say, "I am a sinner."
And in a culture where one of the myths of manhood is that men don’t make mistakes, and if they do they don’t admit them very quickly, I find it hard to say, "I am sorry!" When I do, I find it is easier to insert an empty apology than it is to demonstrate my sorrow with a real change of life.
I guess that is the point of what Jesus had to say about these two debtors. The real difference, is not really the amount of sin forgiven, as it is the awareness of sin forgiven; the willingness to acknowledge sin that expresses gratitude in a proper way.
Oh, I am too much like Simon that I want to be because I see all the sins of others, but not easily enough do I see my own. I spend my days, living by my own standards, supported by a loving community that shares my same convictions, assuming that I am living my life in a perfectly satisfactory way.
2) But, then it is when I am more like that sinful woman than I care to admit. When I sit down in the presence of Jesus, with his moral excellency, and his spiritual perfection, it takes some of the wind out of my sails, and helps me to see who I really am.
I confess to you that there are many times, in his presence I am uneasy. I am unsettled. I am unnerved. I’d rather not be there with him, unless I am honest with him and with myself.
3) And I guess, I, also, recognize, in myself, that I am not as much like that grateful woman as I want to be … because I tend to think the formal times are alright, that the impersonal ways to express my thankfulness to Jesus are good enough. I sometimes tend to like the distance that is allowed me sitting in a sea of faces, around a table with him. But that is not enough.
The formal times are not enough. They don’t allow me to get to know him enough, and for him to get to know me. I want to experience his grace and that measure of forgiveness to live my life uninhibited with free flowing gratitude that pours out of my life for him, when there is nothing left to do but to lovingly and lavishly please him, even though it may embarrass me.
The lesson I learned is this: My adoration of my Savior comes in direct proportion to my awareness of my sins, and my appreciation for my salvation.
This may take a lifetime for us to get there. But for us to get to know Jesus, we must. That our deep, devoted sacrificial adoration for him hinges on two things:
1) How aware am I of my sinfulness?, and
2) How appreciative am I of my salvation?
Two men owed money to a certain money-lender. One owed $500,000.00 (that one is me), and the other owed $5,000.00. Neither had the money to pay him back, so he freely cancelled the debt of both. Which of us would love him more?
I, too, stood at the feet of Jesus. Not feet stained with tears, but feet stained with blood. Not wiped away by anyone, but the sun that shone and the wind that blew. Feet that were anointed with the spices of burial.
Standing there, I am a sinner. I am sorry. I am forgiven. I am glad. I love you, and I’ll never be ashamed to show it.
That is an invitation we’d better not refuse.
