MUCH LOVEReading: Luke 7: 36-40
One of the things that deeply impresses me about Jesus is his quiet but enormous courage. He had this courage, which I know came from his relationship with his Father, to speak out and to stand up for what was right and true no matter what. He confronted the evil systems of his day as they were manifested through the human faces of the institutions of religion, politics, culture, tradition, business and commerce and he did so, not by shouting or by going on a protest march or planting a bomb, but simply by stating the truth in his person, through his words and his actions.
Picture the scene if you can – all these respectable men reclining around the dinner table, probably women serving food, others from the community loitering to hear the conversation between the rabbi and the religious notables. Into the midst of all of this came the woman with her hair hanging loose, an absolute no-no in the society of that day, holding a jar of very expensive perfume. She totally disregarded the gasps, the whisperings, the drawing back of those who felt they would be polluted by her presence. She had eyes for nobody but Jesus only. She cast herself on her knees behind him, weeping. Her tears, and how many there must have been, washed his feet and she dried them with her beautiful hair. She then kissed his feet repeatedly and anointed them with the precious perfume. She actually performed the three acts of hospitality that Simon had neglected to do for Jesus, only she confined her actions to his feet, the ‘beautiful feet’ of the one who was bringing the good news of peace and forgiveness and healing for such as she. She maybe didn’t hear all that he was saying when he began to address his host and the others, but in the wonder of being near to him and knowing, in some mysterious way, that she was accepted because he had accepted her action, it was as if in all the world there were just two people, Jesus and her. This was her moment of complete surrender and new beginnings. The words of Jesus reached her through her tears, “I tell you, her sins – and they are many – have been forgiven, so she has shown me much love.” Then he spoke directly to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” She didn’t hear the mutterings and the outrage all around her, “Who does this man think he is, going around forgiving sins?” All she heard, all she saw was Jesus. And in this eternity moment, all he saw was her, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” His final word was not for the ‘important people’, but for her!
She loves much because she has been forgiven much. That was what Simon and the others did not understand. They obeyed all the religious rules and regulations. They had long theological discussions and debates about the law. They thought they knew how God acted and whom he would accept. They were self-righteous and so were blind to their own failings and deaf to any word that would have gone counter to their belief system, but, again, they were not bad men; and that is the scary thing. What Simon could not countenance was the idea that this woman might be welcomed into the kingdom before him, nor that the qualifications of entry to that kingdom were not the observance of religious rules and regulations, doing the ‘right’ things in the eyes of the world, but, rather, knowing one’s need, one’s shortcomings, even one’s desperation, and that the only way was to cast oneself upon the love and the mercy of God. I have no doubt whatsoever that Jesus loved Simon as deeply as he loved the woman but his love could not reach Simon because he could not acknowledge that he had any need either for forgiveness or for healing. Simon was a man desperately stunted in the whole area of love and of heart knowledge. He had not allowed his heart to be broken, or if it had been he had anaesthetised the pain and would not acknowledge it. He therefore missed out on the knowledge that he was special, a knowledge that could not be gained from the futile, superficial approval of other human beings, but from the healing knowledge deep within his being that he had been forgiven much.
It’s sad, isn’t it? Here was Jesus, embodying in himself all the love, the mercy, the forgiveness, the healing of God, and one could recognise it and one couldn’t. The God of surprises does it again and leaves behind him a trail of outrage and rejection as well as one of wonder, gratitude and love. If you think about it, part of the woman’s healing was that Jesus allowed her to do something for him. He knew that for him to be open to receiving ministry, receiving love from her would contribute to the massive transformation in her life. But I like to think also that, on the night before he died, when he washed his disciples’ feet, there would have slipped into his memory the time when this woman had done the same for him with such love and devotion and that that reminder would have brought him a little comfort as he faced the stark reality of what lay ahead.
We have our own stories and brokenness. We carry with us, too, the pain of others’ stories. And as a community of faith, we also bear the stories of those we don’t know but whom we pass every day, those who have been marginalised by society, those who have lost the respect of others and for themselves. In some mysterious way, too, we bear the burden of a broken community and a wounded world that, at times, seems hell bent on destruction. We also bring those whom it is almost harder to acknowledge have need, those who think they’ve got it all together, who believe they are right and everybody else is wrong, those who dare not look at themselves or admit to their own pain and brokenness because they might fall apart. In ourselves we probably embody strands of all of these. One thing we can be assured of – we can bring our tears, hidden or obvious and Jesus will not turn us away. The perfume that we bring is our worship and our love. He will receive it; and the greater the forgiveness, the deeper the peace and the more overwhelming the love.