Jesus was invited to a party. No surprise there. Jesus was often invited to parties. (Could that be why many people don't understand him very well?)
Jesus was partial to dining with "sinners." Which is code for people who are inferior, less than, marginalized, dishonorable, shameful... people not of our caliber. While sinners may have been Jesus' preference or kinship, he was no respecter of invitations. For this particular party, his host was Simon, a Pharisee--a member of the religious elite--who was no doubt curious about this infamous Rabbi Jesus.
Dinner parties in the first century Middle East were fueled by hospitality (similar to a parties South Carolina, only without the mint julep and southern accent). A basin would be provided so guests could wash the dust of the road from their feet. Often, scented olive oil would be made available to anoint a guest's hair. And beloved guests would be kissed as they were greeted. For whatever reason, it appears that Simon offered none of these.
Here's where the story gets interesting. A woman crashes the party. Literally. We do know that she wasn't invited. And you could tell by what she was wearing that she didn't do "church work," if you know what I mean. A prostitute? We don't know, save that she was most assuredly looked down upon. (The story tells us only that she "had lived a sinful life.") The fact that she was allowed to enter the house is not unusual. In that time, followers of Rabbis were often given an opportunity to be near their teacher, even though the event may be "private."
The shameless intimacy (and "incaution") of her care--especially given her reputation--would have been scandalous to any guest of propriety.
"How dare she!"
Indubitably, Simon got the drift. He says (at least to himself), "If this man (Jesus) were really a prophet, he'd know who this woman is." And he begins to rifle through the litany of labels--"she's a sinner, prostitute, single, divorced, from a dysfunctional family, not of the true faith, and no doubt, Methodist."
I can easily blame Simon. But if I'm honest, labeling others is natural. And at times, comforting to base our morality over and against anyone who is different. But we must remember this; whenever we label someone, we dismiss him or her.
This story affects me, because I try to put myself in the woman's place.
We know that she lives in a world where she is shunned, criticized and belittled.
A world where she is the brunt of jokes and held up as an example by mothers who wish to "warn" their daughters.
For much of her life she has felt wounded, broken and tattered.
And she is looking for hope.
She is looking for grace.
She is looking for rest.
Lay down the song you strum
And rest yourself 'neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum
Bob Dylan
Jesus is aware of Simon's judgment. And he turns the tables.
"Do you see this woman? I come 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 his woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she poured perfume on my feet."
Notice this: Jesus didn't try to shame her or change her or convert her.
In a homily, Fr. Cyprian Consiglio, OSB, refers to an Indian chant,
The root of meditation is the image of the guru,
the root of worship is the feet of the guru;
the root of mantra is the world of the guru;
the root of salvation is the grace of the guru.
He talks about a comment he heard regarding this guru principle. "How do you know who is to be your guru (teacher)?"
The answer, "Because you fall in love."
Wait just a minute...
This goes against our grain.
In our culture we believe.
We assent.
We recite creeds.
We affirm.
What is certain is that we discourage indiscriminate desire.
And this woman finds herself--her equilibrium, her salvation, her healing and her wholeness--by falling in love. That place of absolute vulnerability, when all of our boundaries--of control or answers or solutions or theological and religious piety--melt away, and we see who we are and what we want and who we can be and who we have pretended to be all along.
We don't teach this one much do we?
Here is a woman, marginalized by her society, who seeks love by bestowing love through an act of extraordinary vulnerability.
She didn't learn this from a book or a seminar or a sermon.
She knew this to be true in her heart.
A woman who seeks out grace, fueled by gratitude.
A woman willing to lead with her heart, without knowing the outcome.
If I'm honest, I have to say that I'm not sure I have been able to live this way. . .
But here's the deal:
Grace is abundant...
When I no longer fear judgment.
When I am able to pay no heed to public opinion.
When I let go of whatever confines or restricts my heart.
Jesus sends the woman on her way, and lets the whole household know, "She has been forgiven because she loved much."
I am writing this in the desert, at
The Casa in Scottsdale, AZ where I just finished a weekend retreat with a group of men. The heat index has been around 130. (Okay, so I exaggerate. More like 120. Whatever the number, still toasty for a Seattle boy.) It's our second year here, a lot of new friends, and a message with stickum:
Everybody is a little broken. And that's okay. Because it is from our brokenness that we love and learn and become healers and take another step with indiscriminate desire. The sun is setting and the mountains are lucid, almost surreal. I sit in alone in the evening silence. I am grateful for the gifts of today. And it is enough.
Notes: -- The party story is told in the Gospel of Luke.
This is a special love song
for all the young people in the world,
here's hoping someone kind
watches over each and every one,
because in every young face,
no matter how angry or sad,
lies the blossom of a pure hear,
not evil wrong or bad.
Misty River (Heather's Song)
Stay connected:
