This Bible passage in Luke chapter 7 concerns a meeting between Jesus and two rather contrasting characters. The setting for it is a meal to which Jesus was invited by one of those characters. When, you think about it, we usually have a reason for inviting someone to a meal – even if it’s a slightly perverse one. Philip Yancey, in his great book What’s so Amazing about Grace? tells the story of a most unusual wedding banquet that was held in the Hyatt Hotel in Boston in June 1990.
A couple had planned and booked a $13,000 wedding reception there, paying a $6,500 deposit for it. But then, shortly before the wedding, the bridegroom backed out, and the bride found that the hotel would only give her a refund on that deposit of a mere $1,300. So, rather than waste the remaining $5,200 she decided she would go ahead with the party anyway. 10 years before, this same woman had been living in a homeless shelter. She had got back on her feet, found a good job, and now she had the wild notion of treating the down-and-outs of Boston to a night on the town. So she sent out invitations to rescue missions and homeless shelters. And then that warm June night 10 years ago, people who were used to peeling half-gnawed pizza off discarded cardboard cartons on the streets dined instead on chicken cordon bleu. Hyatt waiters in tuxedos served hors d’oeuvres to senior citizens propped up by crutches and zimmer frames. Bag ladies, vagrants and addicts took one night off from the hard life on the streets outside, and instead sipped champagne, ate chocolate wedding cake and danced to big-band melodies late into the night. The only change to the menu was that the hostess switched the main course to boneless chicken, “in honour,” she said, “of the bridegroom.”
Well, here too, in Luke 7 we have a meal with a meaning. There was a purpose, an agenda, underlying it – although in this case it probably did not turn out quite as the host intended it to. The guest he wanted was there, but so was someone else whom he did not want: a nameless woman of the streets. Let’s consider those two contrasting characters.
1) The Churchman and the Prostitute
. . . . or the Vicar and the Tart, as we might call them. Let’s look at how that little incident began: ‘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. 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, 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. 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.” ’
There was probably a bit of a personality difference between these two. The woman’s behaviour was emotional, demonstrative and extravagant. Simon the Pharisee, on the other hand, was polite, distant, restrained . . . probably British. But as far as Jesus was concerned, the significant distinction between the two did not concern their personalities nor their social positions. It was to do with how they understood their sin and their need for forgiveness.
2) The Necessity for Forgiveness
The woman’s sin is strongly emphasised in the passage: ‘When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town [ the expression means prostitution]…’ (v. 37a); the Pharisee’s verdict on her: “… who is touching him and what kind of a woman she is – that she is a sinner” (v. 39b): Jesus’ verdict agrees with the Pharisee’s: “Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven …” (v. 47a). It would probably help at this moment if we can rid ourselves of the myth of the ‘Happy Hooker’ as portrayed by Hollywood: attractive, warm-hearted, sympathetic, stable; and replace it with the more realistic image of the caked make-up and the tawdry jewellery, the syphilitic sores, the unstable personality and the haunting fear of AIDS, that actually characterise girls who take to walking the streets. Then we may sense the true embarrassment and scandal of this scene: ‘ … a women 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, and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping … ’ (vv. 37, 38a).
Such meals, held perhaps in a courtyard within the house, were semi-public affairs: people were allowed to come in and watch and listen (standing behind the diners) particularly if a religious teacher were present. The guests did not sit at a table, but stretched out more or less on the floor, reclining on their left side with their legs and their unshod feet spread out behind them. That’s what makes sense of verse 38: ‘ … 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.’
No doubt this woman planned just to slip in and anoint Jesus’ feet, but, overcome by emotion, she broke down in tears instead and found herself wetting his feet with those tears. She had inflicted an indignity where she meant to bestow an honour. Then with nothing to dry his feet with, she made matters worse by undoing her hair and using that. It was an act of the gravest immodesty in that culture. For a woman to have her hair loose then would not be far short of a woman going around topless today. It was a completely indecent approach to a member of the opposite sex, and Simon was rightly scandalised by it. So, ‘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 a woman she is – that she is a sinner” ’ (v. 39). Simon was not so much expecting Jesus to exercise some sort of supernatural knowledge of this woman’s background, he was expecting Him just to behave with normal human decency and recoil from her touch: as any upright religious person would do.
Notice that there is no implication in the passage that Simon thought of himself as sinless. No, the difference between them appears to be that Simon was more aware of her sin than he was of his own; whereas the woman was more aware of her own sin than of anybody else’s. There will be many of us here who have had sexual encounters of which we are ashamed. It may lie a long time in the past, it may be quite recent, it may be going on in our lives at the moment – with pornography, with masturbation (men and women), with members of the same sex, with members of the other sex. And if we have not done things, we have thought them, dreamed of them, fantasised about them. And they have left their imprint on us. Sexual sin has an extraordinary way of leaving its mark on us. Most of us carry a load of guilt about sex. But, strange as it may seem, that may not be such a bad thing: if it convinces us to think more like this woman thought, and less like Simon the Pharisee thought. You see, the Simons are in the greater danger. The ones who think: I’m not promiscuous, I’m still a virgin, I don’t sleep around. I’ve been faithful. I’ve never betrayed my wife/husband. I’m not going to – I am much more upright than the sort of person who does that. I’m not one of them. We see the sexual sins of others, but we never look honestly into our own hearts and admit our own self-righteousness, our selfish complacency, our moral vanity.
I guess that’s why we so like to read about sex offenders, isn’t it? (The papers would not be so full of them if we didn’t.) And I guess it’s because they play all the rest of us onside. When I read some sensational case of child abuse it makes my own little private lusts and sexual indulgences look so petty in comparison: I’m not as bad as that!
And how hard I find it to realise that paedophilia, prostitution, the most wild promiscuity, are no worse sins in God’s eyes than my sins – whether sexual indulgence or selfishness or hypocrisy (self-deceit) or spiritual pride – every time I act or think or speak as if there were no God: defying Him, disobeying Him, just ignoring Him.
Simon did not need to see this woman’s sin. He needed to see his own. At least sexual sin triggers guilt (which is why I said it may not necessarily be a bad thing). If you are burdened by that guilt today, be grateful that it points you to your need for forgiveness. But if you have no sense of guilt or shame (you think even as I’m speaking, Well, Mark’s not talking to me – there may be some people here he is talking to, but not to me) beware! You are in the greater danger. But our passage also deals with the reality of forgiveness, as well as the necessity for it.
3) The Reality of Forgiveness
In verse 39 Simon saw a sexually corrupt woman fondling Jesus, and he assumed that Jesus wasn’t aware of it. But Jesus’ response to Simon showed that He not only knew what was happening to the woman, but He knew also what was going on inside Simon the Pharisee. Let’s look at it together again: ‘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 a woman she is – that she is a sinner.” Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.” “Tell me, teacher,” he said. “Two men [in the Greek just ‘two’ – two debtors] owed money to a certain money-lender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he cancelled the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?” Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt cancelled.” “You have judged correctly,” Jesus said. Then he turned towards the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman?” (vv. 39-44a). Formally it was a question, but really it was a command – to see the woman properly. To realise that for her forgiveness was as real to her as her sin was. The trouble with forgiveness is that it’s invisible. We can only see its results. We saw them last week in the life of Zacchaeus, when that ‘rogue trader’ who had lived to make money suddenly started giving his money away like there was no tomorrow. So here Jesus is saying to Simon, “Simon, open your eyes! Look at this woman! We all know where she’s come from. We all know what she’s like. Now look at what is happening in her! You are looking at the results of forgiveness. She has encountered me. And for once in human life contamination has not flowed from her to me – healing has flowed from me to her.” Jesus is the only person who’s ever walked this earth of whom that was true.
“Then he turned towards 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. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven – for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little.” Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace” ’ (vv. 44-50).
Notice what Jesus was saying in verse 47, because we could misunderstand it. The greatness of her love showed just how much sin she had been forgiven, “Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven – for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little.” She wasn’t forgiven because she loved much. (That would make a nonsense of Jesus’ little story of the two debtors, back in verses 41 and 42, and of the second half of this verse (v. 47). Verse 50 makes clear that it is her faith, her trust in God, that saved her, not her love.) No: her love demonstrated her forgiveness – it didn’t cause it. The size of her debt meant that the removal of that debt led to an extravagant display of love and gratitude, in contrast to the cold welcome of the Pharisee. Where He would not provide water, she had given her own tears. While he would not give a kiss on Jesus’ cheek, she put her hair and her lips to Jesus’ feet. While he would not pour cheap oil on Jesus head, she poured expensive perfume on his feet.
It was gratitude incarnate. It was visible – what had happened to her sins. Our forgiveness will be as real to us as our sin is. No sense of sin: no sense of forgiveness. We must take sin seriously. And we must take forgiveness seriously.
I remember the time when we had a newish carpet in the vicarage, and a whole mug of coffee was spilt on it in a very visible spot. It caused great consternation and carpet mousse was applied in liberal quantities. To everyone’s delight it proved adequate to the task. The carpet cleaner triumphed and a large and unsightly stain disappeared. Well, it’s a banal illustration. But the Christian faith takes sin seriously, and it takes forgiveness seriously; and it rejoices in the triumph of forgiveness over sin. Look again at how our little passage ends: ‘Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” ’ The claim implicit in verse 48 was more scandalous than anything that had yet occurred at this dinner party – that the solution to this prostitute’s sins lay in her relationship with Jesus: what was going on between the two of them as she wept at His feet. Only God can deal with sin: and Jesus was acting as God – no wonder it upset His contemporaries.
And in Jesus God did deal with human sin once and for all. If you want to take just a few words from this passage, where I would point you is to the middle of verse 42 where it just says this: ‘ … so he cancelled the debts of both.’ That experience of forgiveness lies at the very heart of Christian faith – and it changes everything. There was a Victorian atheist called Charles Bradlaugh who back in the nineteenth century challenged a Christian minister whom he knew, Hugh Price Hughes, to a debate about faith. The Christian minister, Hughes, agreed on the condition that each of them brought to the debate one hundred people whose lives had been changed for the better by their commitment to their respective positions: either to Atheism or to Christianity. Hughes then lowered the requirement to 50, and then to 20, then to 10, and then to 1. But the debate never took place nonetheless. Bradlaugh could not bring one person with him. If I were to ask them, well over 100 people would get to their feet in this building now, to say that Jesus Christ has changed their lives for the better. And it is because we have experienced forgiveness: our debts have been cancelled, they’ve been wiped out by God. Some of us were Simons, many of us perhaps would have been the self-righteous, smug, complacent one. Some of us would have looked like this woman. But all came the same way – the debts of both were cancelled.
Please would you consider this sorry little object? It’s a very elderly, dirty and slightly septic soft toy. It’s lost its eyes and its nose. It’s been sewn up. It is almost unrecognisable. If you offered it for jumble, on health grounds they wouldn’t accept it. It is called Dogger, and there was a time in the life of one of my children when this little soft toy was worth more than all the world to that child. If it came to bedtime and Dogger couldn’t be found, it precipitated a crisis of almost international proportions. Some of you will remember not dissimilar scenes. It is another rather banal illustration, I know, but, you see, sometimes it is not the intrinsic worth of a thing, it is the estimate that is put upon it.
We will never take our sins as seriously as we should until we consider what it cost God to forgive them. If I’ve been promiscuous and come loaded with sexual guilt over the people I’ve hurt by my sexual self-indulgence, it cost the Cross. If I have been upright and moral and pure and always tried to do my best, it cost the Cross just the same. And we will never value ourselves as we should until we realise the estimate God put on us in sending Jesus to die for us. He didn’t make a distinction between the woman and Simon the Pharisee. To human regard one looked upright, worthy, respectable, godly, and the other looked more like Dogger. To God they were both sinners who needed to be restored to their Maker. And to both He sent Jesus, as He does to us today.
I wonder if I can ask if you have met Him. There is no other purpose to this gathering. There is no other purpose to St Andrew the Great. There is no other purpose to a single thing we do than to introduce people to Jesus and encourage them to get to know Him better. That’s the whole purpose of our life together as a church.
And we would love to help you. You can come back next week at this time. We’re going to be looking at somebody who was kept for a long time from meeting Jesus by his religion.
Next month we’ve got a whole week of events going on here, called Jesus Explained, which we’d love you to come to and participate in. We exist for the purpose that you, too, should come to know Jesus Christ: and we would love to help you with that in any way we can.