KCL Chapel
Luke 7:36-50
Spring term Sermon Series
15th February 2017
IN A PHARISEE’S HOUSE
*After an opening prayer I undid my hair and shook it out of its bun*
I wonder how many of you have just judged me - For the pause. For the hesitation.
For deciding to re-style my hair in the middle of a chapel service. You might not
think it was the time or the place for such an action, but I would hope that you
didn’t make a moral judgement.
Because that’s what Simon the Pharisee did. The woman (we don’t know her
name) comes in to the Pharisee’s house to see Jesus. It is a bold move. In itself this
would have been less surprising at the time compared to if someone tried it now –
houses would have been more like open complexes with servants hurrying from
building to building. But to go into a stranger’s house, moreover someone with
such obvious status within the community, would have been an unusual act even
then. Simon recognises her and knows her for her reputation as a sinner. This is
confirmed when she lets down her hair – a complete cultural and societal taboo,
especially in front of two male strangers. Women with loose hair in the Bible is
almost always a shorthand for immorality – and usually sexual immorality at that.
And Simon calls her out on it. Does Jesus not realise what kind of woman she is?
No matter that her tears are staining her cheeks.
No matter that there might be a bigger picture here.
She is a sinner. Everyone can see that.
This is one of my most prized possessions. When
someone asked the other day what I’d try and save from a
burning building, this is what sprang to mind. She is just a
statue from a garden centre – cheaply made and of brittle
pottery. She is not the work of some great artist, but she
was a gift from a friend when I was 16. She has travelled
around with me – away to university and to everywhere
I’ve ever lived. She is one of those objects that makes a
room feel like my home. About 4 years ago she was sat
on a book case in my flat whilst I was cooking dinner for
a friend. The wind caught the blind which knocked her
off the shelf. She smashed into tiny pieces. My friend saw
the look on my face and quietly picked the pieces up and
she sat, broken in a plastic box on the side for weeks. One
night I sat with superglue and painstakingly glued her back together, but the glaze
at the edge of the pieces had crumbled to dust and there were whole pieces
missing. She is in one piece, but just like the woman in the story, the cracks are
clearly visible. She no longer has the pristine brittle exterior hiding the fragility
beneath. This is not a perfect life. Her vulnerability shows.
Just as the statue seems to reach out in her vulnerability, so does the woman in the
Gospel. Coming into a place where she knows that her reputation precedes her and
acting in a way that is almost embarrassing in its extravagant excess. Her actions
speak of devotion, of deep gratitude, of adoration….of love.
What then, if as Jesus seems to suggest, we take the opportunity to compare her
expression of love to the actions of Simon the Pharisee?
Yesterday, as I’m sure none of you will have failed to realise, was the feast of St
Valentine. (Bear with me on this!). Far removed from the life of the 3rd century
martyr who gives the day its name, Valentine’s Day has become a commercialised
excuse to sell lots of heart themed merchandise to loved-up couples.
Over the last few weeks I have enjoyed perusing the valentine’s themed tat that has
appeared in the shops. The sprinkle-dipped pink marshmallow hearts on sticks, the
doe-eyed cuddly toys, and of course, nothing says ‘I love you’ more than a bunch
of dying flowers. My favourite item this year has been a mug bearing the
inscription ‘I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.’ Classy. And oh so
humble!
I’m not saying that if you were given a helium balloon with two love-struck
puppies on it yesterday that it wasn’t given out of the sincerest of affections, but all
too often I suspect that the commercialised valentine tat is more a gift of
convenience rather than a carefully thought-through gift. It is not representative of
depth of feeling; it is a shallow and superficial ‘show’. And as for that rather selfsatisfied mug? It feels like something that Simon the Pharisee would send.
In comparison to the woman with the oil, Simon’s actions are that of begrudged
and slightly condescending hospitality. He does the bare minimum to welcome his
guest – he feeds him but doesn’t greet him with the warmth of a friend (or even of
a respected equal), or offer water to wash before the meal. It’s the equivalent of
me inviting someone around and then only offering them Tesco value instant
coffee despite the jar full of expensive ground coffee that I would normally drink
sat on the shelf above the kettle.
He stands secure in self-satisfaction. He is a Pharisee. An important leader of the
community. He knows all the best people and is safe in the knowledge that
whatever he’s done wrong, it’s nothing in comparison to her. Any regrets for his
actions or recognition of his own sins are buried deep behind a glaze of brittle
invulnerability.
On the other hand the tears of this nameless woman show she is painfully aware of
her own shortcomings. She knows what she has done. And so she comes to Jesus
with her brokenness and remorse on display for all to see. She knows the extent to
which forgiveness has restored her. Her actions are an outpouring of gratitude and
love.
None of us have lived completely blameless lives. We have all done things that
have caused pain to others or our world or to God or to ourselves. But the question
is, are you more like Simon the Pharisee or the woman with the oil?
Sometimes it is difficult to be completely open. To own up to the times that we
have failed or the times when we have been less than the person that we (and God)
would like us to be. It might be comforting for a while to act like the Pharisee –
judging our actions against others and getting our sense of self-worth from the way
that other people view us; but surely, ultimately, it is better to be like the woman,
with eyes open to our faults, laying that vulnerability and brokenness at Jesus’ feet
and letting the one who can forgive to put us back together like the glue in my
broken angel.
Heavenly Father,
We come to you
Not in our defensiveness,
But in our vulnerability.
Burdened with our faults and failings.
Come to us in our brokenness,
Grant us forgiveness,
And make us whole again.
Amen.
Tansley Jordan,
Chaplaincy Assistant, Strand & Denmark Hill