A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, June 17, 2007
Luke 7:36-8:3
“Do you see this woman?” Simon the Pharisee boldly asks his dinner guest. Do you see this woman? Perhaps he asks this question because he is a Pharisee. After all, they were the “spiritual fathers of modern Judaism.” Simon would have been concerned about what was written in the Torah and how this Oral Law impacted daily life. We already know what he is thinking. But, Simon says it first. This woman is a sinner. And if Jesus really were a prophet, he would have seen what she was: a sinner.
She was a sinner. But, surely, Jesus would have seen this even before Simon spoke these words. Jesus would have seen this even before this woman arrived at their dinner party. So, perhaps we should be brave enough to put Simon’s question on our own lips: Do you see this woman?
Do you see her? Do you see this woman bent over the feet of the reclining Jesus? Can you see how her body trembles with each long sob? Do you look away as she tenderly kisses the feet of the prophet? Or do you dare to blink as you watch her anoint these same feet with oil from a golden jar? Do you see this woman?
Paul Tillich, a father of the Reformed and Evangelical tradition in the United Church of Christ, reminds us that no matter what we have learned about “psychological and sociological factors which determine human existence,” we must remember that in our Biblical accounts “in story and parable the sinners are seriously called sinners.” And as you know, Father knows best. So, I echo our denominational father by reminding each of us that this woman is seriously a sinner.
And yet, this is all that we know about her. We don’t know her name. We don’t know where she comes from. We don’t know how she arrived at the party. We only know that somewhere in her past, this woman has seriously sinned. Our ancient church father Augustine has determined how most of us understand her sinful state. Augustine has taught us that sin is an act of willful pride – the kind of pride that causes human beings to turn away from their dependence upon God to themselves.
Do you see this woman? Is this a woman filled with willful pride? Do you see this woman that is seriously a sinner? She looks like a woman in pain. She looks like a woman that has hit rock bottom. She looks like a woman without a friend to share her burden, not even the shoulder of God. Do you see this woman? Has she turned away? Is that really pride you see on her tear-streaked face? Or instead, do you see something broken?
My father could point to that brokenness rolling down her face like tears. He might not know how to fix it. But, he would get out his tool belt and give it a try anyway.
He would see that it is just broken. He would know that it’s not pride that turned this woman away. It’s something else. Something else that his tool belt could not fix. That brokenness that we see has been caused by a “breach in interpersonal relationships.” We don’t know what happened. We don’t know what caused this breach. We only know that somehow this breach brought this woman wailing upon Jesus’ feet. “Do you see this woman?” Simon asks. Do you see her?
I imagine her wails to be like the ones that I heard in the Emergency Room. These were not cries that I heard on one of my weekly pastoral visits to Mercy or Maine Med. Instead, I was on my first weekend away since I arrived in Maine. I was in New York staying with friends when I was awoken at 4 am to discover that one of my dearest friends was having heart palpations. We didn’t pause to question anything. We went straight to the ER.
As my friend and I waited for x-ray technician, we heard echoes of the word trauma. We saw the step-father being questioned. And then we saw a gurney covered in a blanket with the tiniest mound wheeled into the next room. A few moments later, the mother arrived. And the wails started.
I could see the nurses standing nearby, looking like startled dinner guests. Not sure what to do with what had just happened. They seemed ready to ask each other, Do you see this woman?
Like this unnamed woman in Luke’s gospel her wailing overwhelms us. We don’t know if we should turn away or look in our tool belt for something to fix it. We hesitate to react, but her wailing arrests us. We cannot quite look away. And yet, we know that we cannot know what she is feeling. We don’t know what emotions she might have. We cannot know what happened in her past that brought this woman to the bedside of her dead daughter anymore than we can understand what brought this woman filled with kisses and tears to the feet of Christ.
In the other three gospels, a similar story is told about a similar woman. A similar woman who interrupts a dinner party with her kisses and tears. Except that there are no tears. Instead, there is perfume used to anoint the feet of Christ. Those stories happen later. They happen as Jesus’ death is approaching. And the actions of these similar women prepare Jesus for death.
The unnamed woman in Luke’s gospel is not focused on this ritual of anointing. Her actions are not about death. Something else is happening here. Something else that our tool box cannot fix.
“Do you see this woman?” Simon the Pharisee had asked his dinner guest. Maybe. Maybe we see her in the same way that we see the three women named in the end of this account – Mary Magdalene, Joanna and Susanna. These are women that we know little or nothing about. And yet, these were the women that accompanied Jesus as “he went through cities and villages, proclaiming and bring the good news of the realm of God.” These are “the type of woman who became part of Jesus’ entourage.” And these women are seriously sinners. They have lost connection. Their interpersonal relationships have been broken.
Maybe we saw it in their kisses and tears. But, even if we didn’t, we have seen our own. We too have lost connection. We too have been broken. We have seen the tears that have poured out of our own eyes. And we have gently kissed foreheads and cheeks, hands and even feet to try to repair the hole in our own heart. We know who these women are because we are part of Jesus’ entourage.
We are just the type of women and men that Jesus invites to “proclaim and bring the good news of the realm of God.” All of us. Right here. But, there are more of us. There are others that have been invited. Others that we have not yet met. Others whose stories we don’t know. Others whose brokenness we can’t imagine. Others who have lost their connection.
There are others. There are others that are just like us. There are others that are just the type of women and men that Jesus invites to “proclaim and bring the good news of the realm of God.” And they are the reason that I am so excited to make my journey through cities and villages to Hartford this week. I will be one of the thousands going to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the United Church of Christ. We will gather on Friday to begin the celebration that will last an entire week. I wish you could be there to experience the wonder of this gathering. The whole city is going to explode with the vibrancy of our faith. The traditions of our fathers and mothers will be proclaimed as we bring the good news that God has shared with us.
In the United Church of Christ, we have tried to be the hands of Christ. We have tried to reach out. We have tried to provide the space for kisses and tears. And like our fathers and mothers, we have sometimes failed.
But, our hands have always reached out to the broken. We have reached out to all that are seriously sinners and those without connection– because we are all part of Jesus’ entourage.
Our Congregational fathers offered a home to pilgrims in a strange land. We advocated for justice for the captured slaves on the Amistad schooner. Even if we didn’t agree, we understood that women – and not only men – are called to be preachers and teachers when we ordained Antoinette Brown. We recognized that mission was about truly listening to the people we long to serve, and continue to struggle to honor this conviction. And we were prophetic for our lesbian, gay, transgender and bisexual members when they pushed us toward marriage equality.
We did all of this and more because we all part of Jesus’ entourage. And we have found a family to call our own. No matter who we are or where we are on life’s journey. We have found a space to belong. We have each found a place for our kisses and tears. On our 50th anniversary of the United Church of Christ, we celebrate all of our attempts and even our failures to be the hands of Christ to “proclaim and bring the good news of the realm of God.” We have tried to provide the space for kisses and tears. Even when there is nothing in our tool box to fix it, we listen. And as we listen, we find Jesus’ voice, “Your faith has made you well. Go in peace.”