She Loved

Paul Walton
15 June 2004

One day, you go out to get the post. There’s a card addressed to you, and when you read it you frown. It’s a card from your minister, asking if you wouldn’t mind inviting Jesus himself around on a particular day for a meal. Jesus has indicated that he would like to experience a real Aussie meal. Well, of course, you don’t refuse; how could you? So you put on a barbie. How more Aussie can you get than that? Some of your friends hear about the meal — I mean, how could you keep it a secret? So they are there too. There’s quite a crowd, but plenty of room. Things seem to be going well, very well indeed, though you’d rather that Jesus hadn’t brought a whole slab of XXXX. (You’d rather he turned your pool water into a nice Cab Sav!)

Then you notice a woman you only know vaguely, someone with a vaguely sleazy reputation who hasn’t come near the church in years. She’s wearing a rather skimpy little outfit. In fact, she’s leaving very little to the imagination. And the Lord appears to be showing quite an interest in her. Surely, he’s just being polite? Hold on — she looks like she’s crying; now, she’s holding on to him. What’s going on? How can you distract the Lord’s attention so you can get her to leave quietly?

That’s not quite the story in Luke’s gospel. But maybe we can identify a little more with Simon the Pharisee. He found his dinner party spoiled by an unwanted guest, too.

Jesus wasn’t the unwanted guest; Simon had sent an invitation. Yet he wasn’t a courteous host. He didn’t treat his guest in the usual way when Jesus arrived. In his commentary on Luke’s Gospel, William Barclay says that Jesus might expect his host to

1 put a hand on Jesus’ shoulder and give him the kiss of peace;
2 pour water over Jesus’ feet to cleanse and comfort them;
3 either burn a pinch of sweet-smelling incense, or place a drop of rose essence on Jesus’ head.

Three signs of common courtesy, all omitted. You might just bow your head or shake Jesus’ hand at your barbie — you might even wonder if you could give him a hug — but things were different then.

In those days, the houses of the well-to-do were built around a central courtyard. And when someone like Simon invited a rabbi to his house, all kinds of people were quite free to come in. It was an occasion when they too could hear the wisdom of the rabbi. So the woman, even though she was known as a sinner, would have attracted little attention by her presence. She wasn’t a gatecrasher.

In those days also, meals were eaten while guests reclined, resting on their left elbow, leaving the right hand free to get the food. So when this woman came to Jesus, she did not have to crouch under the table to get at Jesus’ feet; they were easy to get at. And it would have been easy for her to see that Simon had not arranged for his guest’s feet to be washed. The dust and dirt of the town would have been quite obvious.

I imagine that Simon was both horrified and relieved. His suspicions about Jesus were confirmed. If Jesus were a prophet, he would have realised that this woman was a sinner. If he had realised that, he would not have let her touch him. Since he had let her touch him, he didn’t know she was a sinner, and therefore was no prophet. Simon could now safely ignore Jesus.

So he was taken aback — severely — when Jesus got to the heart of the problem. The problem was a lack of love. On Simon’s part. The woman, notorious though she was, outrageous though her behaviour may have been, loved Jesus — because in him, she knew that she was in contact with the Source of forgiveness. And not just any forgiveness. She was forgiven sins which she thought were unforgivable. We might well suppose that she had thought that she was lost, that she was unlovable. Perhaps that men could only want her for one thing. And in Jesus she found hope. She heard that the good news of the forgiveness of God was available to her.

Poor Simon. He could only think about her reputation. And his. He hadn’t realised that he was loveless, and that he was carrying his sins around like a dead weight around his neck. He had thought that with his standing in church and community, with his wealth and his connections, he was all right, he was blessed by God. But this woman, whose name we don’t even know (there is no reason to suppose that she was Mary of Magdala), with no standing, had done for Jesus what Simon had not. She had kissed Jesus on the feet. She had washed Jesus’ feet — with her tears. She had anointed Jesus — not on the head, but again, on the feet. Her shocking behaviour had done for Jesus what the morally upright Simon refused to do.

The Apostle Paul had been a pharisee like Simon; like Simon, he had thought that he was right with God. But he discovered that his righteousness was a false righteousness, based on his zeal and desire to rid the world of God’s enemies, the followers of Jesus of Nazareth. Paul made a discovery that Simon failed to make: he found that Jesus, far from being a false prophet, was God’s anointed one, the Messiah. His death on the cross was not a sign that he was a sinner, but a sign that those who had crucified him were blind. Through him, Gentiles were now part of the family of God. The good news of the forgiveness of God was available to everyone. Jews and Gentiles, formerly enemies, were now equal partners in the family of God.

That poor woman could only dream of such an inclusive family. The last words of Jesus to her were, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” Where could she go? Whatever she had done before had cut her off from the companionship of the people of God. Would they now welcome her, would they love her, or would they remember her past? What would we do? She needed a family of faith; I hope she found it. And I hope that she would find it in our company today.

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