14 June 1998
Walking about in that part of the world was, and can still be, a hot, dusty, sandy business -- rather like walking off-road here. Hospitality in those circumstances had its accepted parameters. In his book on the Gospel of Luke, William Barclay sets the scene for today's Gospel story this way: The houses of well-to-do people were built round an open courtyard in the form of a hollow square. Often in the courtyard there would be a garden and a fountain; and there in the warm weather meals were eaten. It was the custom that when a Rabbi was at a meal in such a house, all kinds of people came in -- they were quite free to do so -- to listen to the pearls of wisdom which fell from his lips.... (but not to participate in the discussion at table).
When a guest entered a house three things were always done. The host placed his hand on the guest's shoulder and gave him the kiss of peace. That was a mark of respect which was never omitted in the case of a distinguished Rabbi... Always cool water was poured over the guest's feet to cleanse and comfort them. Either a pinch of sweet-smelling incense was burned or a drop of attar of roses was placed on the guest's head.
In the east, Barclay tells us, the guests did
not sit, but reclined, at table. They lay on low couches, resting
on the left elbow, leaving the right arm free, with the feet stretched
out behind; and during the meal the sandals were taken off.
Luke sets today's story early in Jesus' ministry, unlike Matthew and Mark, who set it (or a similar story) in Bethany at the home of a leper, almost at the end of Jesus' life. Here the host is a Pharisee, whose motives are not clear at the beginning. From what Jesus says to the host late in the story, we know that he did not offer the usual gestures of hospitality, whether through a lack of the social graces or deliberate rudeness. In any case, Jesus is reclining at the table when "a woman... who [is] a sinner" comes to stand behind him.
She bends over his unwashed feet, bathing them with her tears, wiping them with her unbound hair -- something no proper woman of the Pharisee's circle would ever do in public. And she anoints his feet from the alabaster jar of ointment she has brought with her. (In Mark's version of this story or a similar incident, we're told that the ointment was worth the equivalent of almost a year's wages for a laborer.) In several ways, she makes an extravagant, passionate outpouring of her love for him, coming to him with her need for, and acceptance of, forgiveness. She recognizes who she is, and who he is.
The Pharisee, busy with his own agenda, is quite ready to condemn both the woman and Jesus on short notice. He thinks, "If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him -- that she is a sinner."
But in fact, Jesus does know, deeply, who she is -- and who the Pharisee is, too. He responds, as he often does, with a story with a point unexpected by its recipient -- like the story Nathan tells David in the first reading today. Simon is about to fall headlong into a trap set by his own self-righteousness, which blinds him both to his own state and to the true identity of his guest.
Jesus calls him to attention: "Simon, I have something to say to you." Then he tells him the story of the two debtors; one forgiven the debt of five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. Simon is backed into a corner when Jesus asks which one of the debtors is likely to love the creditor more. And then the story turns the bend, when Jesus says to him, "Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little. Then he said to her, "Your sins are forgiven....go in peace."
Where are we in this story? Do we greet our Lord with a passionate response to the need for and gift of forgiven-ness? Do we "let it all hang out" in our prayer life, in our life of service -- or are we sitting back, missing the point of God's extravagant love for us and our opportunity to respond, not even offering the basic gifts of hospitality?
Not all the responses we may make are necessarily so public -- but have we noticed who comes to meet us at this table?
A few days ago, I went to my mailbox and found a copy of the latest TIME magazine. Perhaps because I'd just had a visit from my Hebrew professor, I started glancing through the magazine from the back instead of from the front! The first thing I saw was an essay by Charles Krauthammer, called "Will it be coffee, tea or He?" The subtitle said: "Religion was once a conviction. Now it is a taste." The essay is mostly about the relationship of religion and political life, some of it painted with a rather broad brush. But think about the Gospel story as you listen to some excerpts:
As I checked in for an outpatient test at a local hospital last week, the admissions lady asked for the usual name, rank, serial number, insurance and ailment. Then she inquired, "What is your religious preference?" I was tempted to say, "I think Buddhism is the coolest of all but I happen to be Jewish."
My second impulse was to repeat what Jonah said when asked by the shipmates of his foundering skiff to identify himself: "I am a Hebrew, ma'am. And I fear the Lord, The God of Heaven, who made the sea and the dry land." But that would surely have got me sent to psychiatry rather than X ray. So I desisted.
In ancient times, they asked, "Who is your God?" A generation ago, they asked your religion. Today your creed is a preference. Preference? "I take my coffee black, my wine red, ... and my shirts lightly starched. Oh yes, and put me down for Islam."...
According to Chesterton, tolerance is the virtue of people who do not believe in anything. Chesterton meant that as a critique of tolerance. But it captures nicely the upside of unbelief: where religion is trivialized, one is unlikely to find persecution. When it is believed that on your religion hangs the fate of your immortal soul, the Inquisition follows easily; when it is believed that religion is a breezy consumer preference, religious tolerance flourishes easily. After all, we don't persecute people for their taste in cars. Why for their taste in gods?
Oddly, though, in our thoroughly secularized culture, there is one form of religious intolerance that does survive. And that is the disdain bordering on contempt of the culture makers for the deeply religious, i.e., those for whom religion is not a preference but a conviction.
Yale law professor Stephen Carter calls this "the culture of disbelief," the oppressive assumption that no one of any learning or sophistication could possibly be a religious believer -- and the social penalties meted out to those who nonetheless are....
Krauthammer claims that At a time when religion is a preference and piety a form of eccentricity suggesting fanaticism, Chesterton needs revision: tolerance is not just the virtue of people who do not believe in anything; tolerance extends only to people who don't believe in anything. Believe in something, and beware, concludes the essayist.
Yes indeed, beware. It may turn your world upside down! Passion for God is much less predictable than preference for a religion du jour. It may take you to places you never expected. Challenging, stretching, difficult, wonderful, amazing places. Places where you may come to know deeply your need for forgiveness, and your forgiven-ness, and God's extravagant love. Places where you learn what it means to love boldly and to be told, go in peace -- a peace that is not as the world gives, but that is far more precious than the contents of any alabaster jar.
Is God your preference or your passion?
2 Samuel 11:26-12:10, 13-15; Psalm 32:1-8; Galatians 2:11-21; Luke 7:36-50
The Rev. Lois Hart
14 June 98