Preached at St. Paul's Episcopal Cathedral, June 17, 2007
I once heard a professor of New Testament insist that two questions dominate the gospels: “Who is this guy … and what does he think he’s doing?” This professor suggested that the best image to hold in mind of Jesus as you read the gospels is of a man who is constantly rolling his eyes and banging his forehead in exasperation at his own disciples’ inability to understand what he is trying to tell them about himself.
In the gospel of Luke these questions of who Jesus is and what on earth he thinks he is doing are played out in dialogue with John the Baptist. Remember how the gospel starts with John telling all the people coming to him for baptism that there is someone coming after him. John says this one coming after “is mightier than I” and his “sandal strap I am not worthy to loose.” When John baptizes Jesus the skies open and a voice from heaven proclaims, “You are my beloved,” the voice says to Jesus, “with you I am well pleased.” You’d think this would have settled the matter, but just a few chapters later John is sending messengers to Jesus, expressing his confusion and doubt. “Are you the Coming One,” John has his followers query Jesus, “or do we look for another?”
This expression of doubt from John the Baptist immediately precedes the scene of Jesus dining with Simon the Pharisee, presented to us in this morning’s gospel lesson. An unnamed group of people – presumably other members of the Pharisaic sect of Judaism – are gathered for a meal at Simon’s house, when the meal is interrupted by a woman, a known sinner, who sets herself to washing Jesus’ feet with her tears, drying them with her hair and anointing them with fragrant oil.
Once again the central drama of the story is that of people – Simon and his dinner guests, in this case – trying to figure out who Jesus is. Note that after he allows the woman to wash his feet, Simon concludes that Jesus “must not be a Prophet, or he would know who this is who is touching him.” He next addresses Jesus as “Teacher.” By the end of the exchange, though, Jesus turned the tables on Simon, demonstrating that he knows exactly what Simon is thinking and arguing him back into a position of wondering whether Jesus really is a prophet after all. Jesus then declares to the woman “Your sins are forgiven” and Simon and the others are now completely flabbergasted. “Who is this who even forgives sins?” they ask.
“Who is this guy anyway? And what does he think he’s doing?”
*******
If you are like me, you will labor many years under the illusion that the answer to these questions can be found through intellectual inquiry.
I so identify with the New Testament Scholar Richard Hays, who says that after years of scholarship he would love to be able to travel back in time to learn exactly what the earliest gentile Christians understood themselves to be confessing when they declared that Jesus was the Christ.
Hays has written that for early Jewish Christians to declare that Jesus was the Messiah makes some sense because as Hebrew speakers they would have had some context for what the confession meant. The Hebrew word messiah means “anointed,” and it carries the connotation of King. Jesus was meant to be a King of some kind, though of course there was all kinds of debate about what kind of King he should be expected to be.
Now some Greek-speaking gentiles would have been familiar with the Hebrew scriptures, and they might know enough to know about the history of Israel and to know about this tradition of anointing Kings. But some Greek-speaking gentiles would have been entirely unfamiliar with this Hebrew tradition, so for them the Greek word for “anointed,” cristos, didn’t carry any specific connotation. So when Greek-speakers called Jesus “the Christ” – when they declared that he was “anointed” or “the anointed One,” what exactly did they mean?
I love this kind of historical inquiry, but at the end of the day I find it frustrating.
Another part of me has found the better answer to this question – the question of faith – by seeking out people who are commonly ignored and/or despised and/or overlooked by the rich and powerful. Jesus called them “the least of these,” and I have always loved the way that Spanish-speakers talk of them – los marginados, “the marginalized.”
Again and again I have found that when I allow myself to draw close to people living on the margins I learn something from them. All my years working as a pastor and the people I ended up enjoying the most were the people who were dying. Again and again I found that I learned something about living when I visited someone who was preparing to die.
And out of all the churches I served, including several fancy churches in nice neighborhoods, the one I enjoyed the most was the one in Calexico, where almost all of my parishioners were very poor, many barely literate. With all my education, again and again I found myself learning from these people, most of whom were barely high-school educated, some barely literate.
In my new work with the San Diego Foundation for Change I have the opportunity to work on giving small grants to grassroots groups that are working on the margins of society here in San Diego and Tijuana. Just last month I was privileged to visit with a group of women, sex-workers, who have organized themselves into a union in Tijuana’s red light district. They call themselves “El Proyecto Maria Magdalena,” and as the name suggests, they think of themselves as religious women, and they are committed to imbuing their work with a sense of morality. They will not wear certain kinds of clothes. They will not take clients after certain hours. They will not accept clients who are drunk, or who are down to their last dime, or who are known to have disrespected one of their companeras. They call themselves las Magdalenas.
I was most struck by one of the Magdalenas – I didn’t get her name – she wasn’t the youngest, but she couldn’t have been much older than 20. She was eager to speak, to tell those of us who were visiting about her life – how she was raised in a good family, how she came to Tijuana looking for work, how she chose this work because it paid better than the maquiladoras and because her family needed the money.
I was so struck by this young woman. What was most clear is that she was trying to do the best she could with her life. She was playing her hand as best she could with the cards that life had given her. She wasn’t presumptuous or haughty or arrogant, but neither was she apologetic or ashamed or beaten down.
I can’t help but wonder what this young woman would do if she heard that Jesus himself were dining in my fine house nearby. I imagine she would do exactly what the woman in the seventh chapter of Luke’s gospel chose to do. I imagine she would not hesitate to intrude on my pharisaic feast. I also imagine she would show far more to Jesus than she did to me of the pain and suffering that I know must be a part of her life.
I see her bending down before Jesus, offering him the very best of what she has to offer. I see her washing his feet with her tears and drying them with her hair. I see her taking precious oil – how much of her wages did she spend on it? – and I see her pouring out a small fortune to honor someone who is worthy of being honored.
And then – as I bring the story to life and imagine the woman as a real live human being with hopes and hurts as real as anybody else’s –then a very curious thing happens. It dawns on me suddenly what the notorious woman in Luke’s seventh chapter is actually doing – she is re-enacting the ritual of Jesus baptism. She bathes Jesus with the water of her tears, she lays hands on him and also her hair, and she anoints him with fragrant oil.
Without speaking a word she is declaring to the Pharisees that what they have heard about from John the Baptist’s people is true. Who is this man … and what does he think he’s doing? “Jesus is the anointed one. Jesus is the Messiah.” While the Pharisees sit around debating the finer points of prophethood and the legalities of forgiving sins, the woman gets down on her knees and washes Jesus’ feet. The woman gets it.
*****
And then I think of myself, and what I have to offer. There are times it doesn’t seem like much. But it dawns on me that if this woman can do this – if she can take the best of what she has, the best of who she is, and offer it in service to Jesus … why then I can, too. Can’t I? Can’t you?
We can lay down our lives for others because others have laid down their lives for us. This is what the woman is teaching Simon, is teaching me, is teaching you. She is teaching us that we can be a blessing to others. We can give the best of what we have, the best of who we are, in service to others.
It also dawns on me then that if we will do this, why then Jesus will accept our offerings as sure as he accepted hers. And it dawns on me that the words that Jesus spoke to her, I can also hear him speaking to me. Can you hear him speaking these words to you?
“Your sins are forgiven.”
Luke 7:36-49
36 Now one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, so he went to the Pharisee's house and reclined at the table. 37 When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee's house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume, 38 and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them. 39 When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is--that she is a sinner." 40 Jesus answered him, "Simon, I have something to tell you." "Tell me, teacher," he said. 41 "Two men owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. 42 Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he canceled the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?" 43 Simon replied, "I suppose the one who had the bigger debt canceled." "You have judged correctly," Jesus said. 44 Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, "Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. 45 You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. 46 You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. 47 Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven--for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little." 48 Then Jesus said to her, "Your sins are forgiven." 49 The other guests began to say among themselves, "Who is this who even forgives sins?" 50 Jesus said to the woman, "Your faith has saved you; go in peace."
I once heard a professor of New Testament insist that two questions dominate the gospels: “Who is this guy … and what does he think he’s doing?” This professor suggested that the best image to hold in mind of Jesus as you read the gospels is of a man who is constantly rolling his eyes and banging his forehead in exasperation at his own disciples’ inability to understand what he is trying to tell them about himself.
In the gospel of Luke these questions of who Jesus is and what on earth he thinks he is doing are played out in dialogue with John the Baptist. Remember how the gospel starts with John telling all the people coming to him for baptism that there is someone coming after him. John says this one coming after “is mightier than I” and his “sandal strap I am not worthy to loose.” When John baptizes Jesus the skies open and a voice from heaven proclaims, “You are my beloved,” the voice says to Jesus, “with you I am well pleased.” You’d think this would have settled the matter, but just a few chapters later John is sending messengers to Jesus, expressing his confusion and doubt. “Are you the Coming One,” John has his followers query Jesus, “or do we look for another?”
This expression of doubt from John the Baptist immediately precedes the scene of Jesus dining with Simon the Pharisee, presented to us in this morning’s gospel lesson. An unnamed group of people – presumably other members of the Pharisaic sect of Judaism – are gathered for a meal at Simon’s house, when the meal is interrupted by a woman, a known sinner, who sets herself to washing Jesus’ feet with her tears, drying them with her hair and anointing them with fragrant oil.
Once again the central drama of the story is that of people – Simon and his dinner guests, in this case – trying to figure out who Jesus is. Note that after he allows the woman to wash his feet, Simon concludes that Jesus “must not be a Prophet, or he would know who this is who is touching him.” He next addresses Jesus as “Teacher.” By the end of the exchange, though, Jesus turned the tables on Simon, demonstrating that he knows exactly what Simon is thinking and arguing him back into a position of wondering whether Jesus really is a prophet after all. Jesus then declares to the woman “Your sins are forgiven” and Simon and the others are now completely flabbergasted. “Who is this who even forgives sins?” they ask.
“Who is this guy anyway? And what does he think he’s doing?”
*******
If you are like me, you will labor many years under the illusion that the answer to these questions can be found through intellectual inquiry.
I so identify with the New Testament Scholar Richard Hays, who says that after years of scholarship he would love to be able to travel back in time to learn exactly what the earliest gentile Christians understood themselves to be confessing when they declared that Jesus was the Christ.
Hays has written that for early Jewish Christians to declare that Jesus was the Messiah makes some sense because as Hebrew speakers they would have had some context for what the confession meant. The Hebrew word messiah means “anointed,” and it carries the connotation of King. Jesus was meant to be a King of some kind, though of course there was all kinds of debate about what kind of King he should be expected to be.
Now some Greek-speaking gentiles would have been familiar with the Hebrew scriptures, and they might know enough to know about the history of Israel and to know about this tradition of anointing Kings. But some Greek-speaking gentiles would have been entirely unfamiliar with this Hebrew tradition, so for them the Greek word for “anointed,” cristos, didn’t carry any specific connotation. So when Greek-speakers called Jesus “the Christ” – when they declared that he was “anointed” or “the anointed One,” what exactly did they mean?
I love this kind of historical inquiry, but at the end of the day I find it frustrating.
Another part of me has found the better answer to this question – the question of faith – by seeking out people who are commonly ignored and/or despised and/or overlooked by the rich and powerful. Jesus called them “the least of these,” and I have always loved the way that Spanish-speakers talk of them – los marginados, “the marginalized.”
Again and again I have found that when I allow myself to draw close to people living on the margins I learn something from them. All my years working as a pastor and the people I ended up enjoying the most were the people who were dying. Again and again I found that I learned something about living when I visited someone who was preparing to die.
And out of all the churches I served, including several fancy churches in nice neighborhoods, the one I enjoyed the most was the one in Calexico, where almost all of my parishioners were very poor, many barely literate. With all my education, again and again I found myself learning from these people, most of whom were barely high-school educated, some barely literate.
In my new work with the San Diego Foundation for Change I have the opportunity to work on giving small grants to grassroots groups that are working on the margins of society here in San Diego and Tijuana. Just last month I was privileged to visit with a group of women, sex-workers, who have organized themselves into a union in Tijuana’s red light district. They call themselves “El Proyecto Maria Magdalena,” and as the name suggests, they think of themselves as religious women, and they are committed to imbuing their work with a sense of morality. They will not wear certain kinds of clothes. They will not take clients after certain hours. They will not accept clients who are drunk, or who are down to their last dime, or who are known to have disrespected one of their companeras. They call themselves las Magdalenas.
I was most struck by one of the Magdalenas – I didn’t get her name – she wasn’t the youngest, but she couldn’t have been much older than 20. She was eager to speak, to tell those of us who were visiting about her life – how she was raised in a good family, how she came to Tijuana looking for work, how she chose this work because it paid better than the maquiladoras and because her family needed the money.
I was so struck by this young woman. What was most clear is that she was trying to do the best she could with her life. She was playing her hand as best she could with the cards that life had given her. She wasn’t presumptuous or haughty or arrogant, but neither was she apologetic or ashamed or beaten down.
I can’t help but wonder what this young woman would do if she heard that Jesus himself were dining in my fine house nearby. I imagine she would do exactly what the woman in the seventh chapter of Luke’s gospel chose to do. I imagine she would not hesitate to intrude on my pharisaic feast. I also imagine she would show far more to Jesus than she did to me of the pain and suffering that I know must be a part of her life.
I see her bending down before Jesus, offering him the very best of what she has to offer. I see her washing his feet with her tears and drying them with her hair. I see her taking precious oil – how much of her wages did she spend on it? – and I see her pouring out a small fortune to honor someone who is worthy of being honored.
And then – as I bring the story to life and imagine the woman as a real live human being with hopes and hurts as real as anybody else’s –then a very curious thing happens. It dawns on me suddenly what the notorious woman in Luke’s seventh chapter is actually doing – she is re-enacting the ritual of Jesus baptism. She bathes Jesus with the water of her tears, she lays hands on him and also her hair, and she anoints him with fragrant oil.
Without speaking a word she is declaring to the Pharisees that what they have heard about from John the Baptist’s people is true. Who is this man … and what does he think he’s doing? “Jesus is the anointed one. Jesus is the Messiah.” While the Pharisees sit around debating the finer points of prophethood and the legalities of forgiving sins, the woman gets down on her knees and washes Jesus’ feet. The woman gets it.
*****
And then I think of myself, and what I have to offer. There are times it doesn’t seem like much. But it dawns on me that if this woman can do this – if she can take the best of what she has, the best of who she is, and offer it in service to Jesus … why then I can, too. Can’t I? Can’t you?
We can lay down our lives for others because others have laid down their lives for us. This is what the woman is teaching Simon, is teaching me, is teaching you. She is teaching us that we can be a blessing to others. We can give the best of what we have, the best of who we are, in service to others.
It also dawns on me then that if we will do this, why then Jesus will accept our offerings as sure as he accepted hers. And it dawns on me that the words that Jesus spoke to her, I can also hear him speaking to me. Can you hear him speaking these words to you?
“Your sins are forgiven.”
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