A Surprising Family of Faith: The Unnamed Woman

Luke 7:36-50
July 28, 2019
Matt Goodale

Most of us grew up, as most kids do, wanting to touch everything. Anything we could get our hands on, we wanted to touch. We quickly learned what is good and what is not good to touch. Some of us learned what not to touch, because we were well-behaved kids and listened to our parents’ advice, and others of us had to learn through trial and error. We learned, again some of us through trial and error, not to touch the stove because it’ll burn you; we learn not to touch fire, electrical sockets. We learned not to wipe our grubby hands on the new clothes mom just bought us. We learn not to touch museum exhibits, as tempting as it often is! We learn to avoid touching gum stuck underneath chairs, desks and on railings. We learn not to touch dad’s bacon unless you want to make him angry. 

Touch is an integral part of a child’s experience of the world. Not only is it important for children to experience the world through touch, learning as they go, but it is essential for children to be touched; to grow up being held, cradled, hugged, kissed—this is essential for children to form healthy relationships. We as humans are embodied beings, and so we experience the world through our bodies—through the ways we see and are seen, the ways we hear and are heard, and the ways we touch and are touched by others. Touch is essential to how we develop into healthy human beings; and touch remains essential to how we give and receive love and to how we interact with the world.

Our Scripture passage for today centers on this theme of touch. Jewish laws and customs had very strict guidelines on what and who you could and could not touch. There were certain foods, certain types of people, certain bodily fluids and certain animals that you could not touch because they were considered unclean. And in early Jewish thinking, uncleanliness was something that could be transmitted; it was like a communicable disease. If you happened to touch anything or anyone who was considered ritually unclean, then you too became unclean and had to go through a process of becoming ritually clean once again. 

In our story today, Jesus violates these rules of ritual cleanliness and uncleanliness. In this story as in many other gospel stories, we find Jesus being touched by people he’s not supposed to be touched by, and we find him touching people he’s not supposed to touch! We find a woman—labeled a sinner—touching Jesus, who according to the laws and customs of the time, was not allowed to touch Jesus because she was unclean. We find a man—a strict and devoted religious observant—who would try to prevent the woman from touching Jesus. This is a story which throws our neat and facile categories of “godly” and “sinner” into a muddled mess. This is a story which can comfort those of us in need of Jesus’ forgiving and healing touch. And this is a story which can afflict those of us who are too comfortable pointing the finger at others, labeling them sinners and trying to prevent them from touching Jesus. This is the story of one woman’s encounter with Jesus:

I set the table with the other servants as my master Simon had asked us to. We set the table for what would indeed be a large feast. Word had already spread around town that Simon was hosting an extravagant banquet this evening in order to invite Jesus, the itinerant preacher who was the talk of the whole town. I had heard much about this man whom they called Jesus of Nazareth, but all of the stories seemed to conflict. Some spoke of him as a miracle worker and a saint. Others spoke of him as a lawbreaker; apparently he was always coming into contact with unclean people—lepers, women who bled, Gentiles, tax collectors and sinners who had not yet paid the right burnt offering at Temple. If he was as well-versed in Torah law as the rumors said, then he should know better than to touch and allow himself to be touched by unclean people—it jeopardizes his own purity! Every Jew knew that. But most of all I had heard that Jesus and the Pharisees didn’t get along. Which made the upcoming dinner party at Simon’s house all the more intriguing. I wondered why Simon, a Pharisee, would invite Jesus in the first place. But then again, Simon was the type of person who always wanted to impress whoever came through town with some popularity attached to their name.

The table was set, the meal prepared and Jesus arrived and was followed in by a cadre of Pharisees, scribes and the town’s elite—all invited by Simon, of course. Simon greeted Jesus first, then the others, and they all took their place at the table, reclining on their sides, feet facing outwards, as was customary. I took my spot at the edge of the room, vigilant and ready to serve the needs of those reclining. 

Then, suddenly a woman appeared at the open doorway, seemed to pause as if to consider what she was about to do, and then she ran towards Jesus and fell at his feet. She carried nothing with her except an alabaster flask of oil—probably her inheritance—and as she kneeled at Jesus’ feet, she began to cry, letting her tears fall on his feet. Her hair was down—a sign of shame and humiliation. Jesus did not remove his feet from the flood of tears now falling from the woman’s eyes, but he seemed to regard the woman with a tender curiosity. 

The others at the table began whispering among themselves, shooting furtive glances towards Jesus, eager to see how he would respond. Those who watched the woman seemed to have looks of contempt on their faces. This did not surprise me. I had heard rumors about this woman. She was labeled a woman of the city—a derogatory term. She was clearly a sinner, but I had heard varying rumors about what had branded her with this impurity. Some gossiped that she was a prostitute, others a thief, while still others whispered about how she worked for the hated Roman tax system. Whatever she did, I knew that she was avoided by most in town out of fear that her moral filth and uncleanliness would get passed on through touch. 

And now Jesus teetered on the edge as the woman continued to wet his feet with her tears. One wrong movement and he would come into contact with the woman—a big taboo which would make him unfit to continue dining with the rest of the guests. The other guests had already scooted their bodies and mats a few inches further from where the woman kneeled. The whole room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of what was going to happen.

And then, I stood, watching in complete dumbfounded amazement as the woman took Jesus’ feet in her hands and began wiping them dry with her hair! And Jesus just continued to recline there! What was happening!? I heard a couple audible gasps from other servants and guests in the room; some of the Pharisees wore expressions of shock. 

And all became still in the room, as everyone’s stares centered on the encounter taking place in front of them. And now the woman began to kiss Jesus’ feet, tenderly as a child might try to kiss a friend’s bruise better. And then she broke the alabaster jar, worth quite more than a pittance, and let the oil flow onto Jesus’ feet, anointing them. I still stood there dumbstruck. What was happening?? I had never seen such a thing before! 

And Jesus just continued to recline, letting the woman carry on. I had expected Jesus would look at least a little embarrassed, but he did not. He had not shifted his eyes from the woman this entire time. He did not seem to care that everyone was watching him. Instead, it was as if the woman was the only person in the room with him. His eyes shone with that tender curiosity; it was not a look of pity, but of compassion—I could tell that Jesus cared deeply for this woman. Perhaps he had met her before? That would be odd indeed.

When the woman seemed to have finished anointing Jesus’ feet, Jesus spoke for the first time: “Simon, I have something to say to you.” I’m sure Jesus knew exactly what everyone in this room was thinking: if this man is such a great prophet, then why does he let this sinner touch him? He should know who she is and should know better! Simon invited Jesus to speak, clearly curious to see what he was about to say.

But Jesus did not comment directly on the situation; he shared a parable instead. I had heard he often spoke only in parables. Here we go, I thought. I wonder how he’ll get himself out of this predicament. And Jesus shared the story of two debtors whose debts were forgiven by a moneylender. One person’s debt was about two months wages and the other’s was two years’ worth of wages. “Which of the two debtors will love the moneylender more?” Jesus asked Simon. 

Simon responded tentatively, perhaps unsure of the point of this story: “The one, I suppose, for whom he cancelled the larger debt.” 

“You have judged correctly,” Jesus said. There was no hint of condescension in his voice. Then, turning to face the woman, Jesus continued to speak to Simon: “Simon, do you see this woman? Do you really see her for who she is? Or will you continue to regard her as nothing more than a sinner? I came to your house and you gave me no water for my feet, no kiss and no anointing oil, but this woman has offered far greater hospitality to me: she has wet my feet with her own tears, dried them with her own hair, she has kissed my feet with her lips and anointed me with her own oil. Therefore, her sins, which are indeed many, have been completely forgiven—for she has so much love to give. The one who is forgiven little, loves little.”

Then Jesus turned and spoke directly to the woman: “Your sins are forgiven, for your faith has saved you. Go in peace.” What was happening?? This man not only just told Simon off in front of everyone else, but he had forgiven someone’s sins?! Was that even possible? Only God could forgive sins! I could see the others whispering among themselves about exactly this. Who is this man who thinks he has the power to forgive sin? Who is this man who holds sinners, tax-collectors and the sick in higher regard than the Pharisees, scribes and the city’s elite? Who is this who touches and allows himself to be touched by sinners?

This story, much like our story of Hagar from last week, is chalked full of surprises at every turn. Interacting with Jesus, there are two main characters in this story who occupy opposite ends of the social ladder and are placed in stark contrast to one another. Simon, a man, is described as a Pharisee, an expert in Jewish law, who is hosting Jesus for a banquet. The woman, unnamed, is described as a sinner, who is crashing the banquet. The author, Luke, intentionally contrasts these two characters to show two opposing responses to sin and forgiveness. We are invited into the narrative to find which character’s role we are currently playing.

Simon has checked all the boxes of what would be considered a good Jew. As a Pharisee, he would’ve kept the law to an immaculate degree (and there were 613 laws, so it’s not easy). And he would’ve done everything necessary to remain ritually pure. Here he hosts a large banquet and hosting these banquets were not without their own rules and customs to be followed. Simon seems to do everything right, he follows all the rules, but he never touches Jesus; he misses the fact that he is in the presence of God.

I wonder how often we, like Simon, are so focused on doing all the right things, avoiding all the wrong sins, that we miss Jesus right in front of us. We miss an opportunity to come into touch with something holy and sacred, because we are too concerned with checking all the right boxes. We care more to impress God with our pious living than we care to actually touch and be touched by Jesus.

Now the biggest mistake that Simon makes is not that he missed an opportunity to touch Jesus, but it’s that he tried to prevent someone else from touching Jesus. Simon, as a Pharisee, has put conditions on who is allowed to touch Jesus and who is allowed to be touched by Jesus: if Jesus only knew what sort of woman was touching him, then he wouldn’t allow it. 

I wonder how often we put conditions on who is allowed to touch and be touched by Jesus; I wonder if we ever intentionally or unintentionally prevent others from coming into contact with Jesus. Now Simon had good reason to think the woman shouldn’t be allowed to touch Jesus—his laws said so! But Simon was so focused on his precious laws that he completely missed what was going on in front of him; he looked past the humanity of the woman in front of him and she was labeled as nothing other than “sinner” in his mind. Jesus asks Simon: “Do you see this woman?” And I don’t think Jesus meant “are you looking at her”, but have you really taken the time to see this woman, the way I see her. Simon saw labels: sinner, unclean, unworthy. But Jesus looked beyond these labels and saw a woman who showed greater love, offered greater hospitality and touched Jesus more than Simon ever had by fulfilling all the laws and customs. 

Do we see beyond the labels? Or do we, like Simon and many others, choose to wield sin as a weapon against others? Do we choose to label the sin in others in hurtful ways, putting conditions on which people are and aren’t allowed to have real encounters with Jesus? Or are we willing to be surprised by who Jesus is at work in—even if it’s people we would rather write off as “sinner” and move on with our day? 

The best definition I have ever heard of sin is that it is broken relationship. Sin is broken relationship with each other, with God and with ourselves. And I think we can all admit that intentionally and unintentionally break relationship with others, with ourselves and with God. We do not treat others or ourselves with the love and respect deserved. I love this definition of sin because it levels the playing field. All of us sin; all of us break relationship, intentionally and unintentionally. We all act out of self-interest. But unfortunately, the idea is still floating around nowadays as it was in Simon’s day, that sin is some sort of communicable disease that some people have and others don’t have. The problem with this is: 1, it’s not true, especially if we understand sin as broken relationship, and 2, it allows us to label who is in and who is out. We can distinguish the sinners from the godly. It becomes too easy to see ourselves as something better, more worthy than “those people” over there.

You see, Simon operated under this wrong assumption that “godly” and “sinner” are completely separate categories and that encountering God meant moving from one category to the other, as if keeping all t he laws had put Simon in a wholly different and more righteous category. Jesus’ encounter with the woman shows otherwise. The unnamed woman, though her sins are many, touches Jesus in an act of love and hospitality. By the end of the story, our neat categories of “sinner” and “godly” have broken down. The woman, though a sinner, responds to Jesus with more love and more hospitality than Simon, the man who was supposed to be “godly”, who followed all the rules. The sinner touches Jesus and the godly man remains at arm’s length.

This story reminds us that the life of faith is not primarily a life of moving from the category of sinner to the category of saint, but the life of faith is first and foremost about touching and being touched by Jesus. The life of faith is about coming into contact with Jesus, even and especially with all the mess and broken pieces of our lives. Martin Luther, the great church Reformer, was famous for saying that Christians are simultaneously sinners and saints. When we encounter Jesus, all the categories break. Sin, forgiveness, love and brokenness all come together into a holy crucible called the life of faith. The categories of clean and unclean are wiped away because contact with Jesus makes all things clean; all things and all people become sacred when touched by Jesus. 

Jesus’ encounter with the unnamed woman affirms that forgiveness is the beginning of love. The one who is forgiven little, loves little. But the one who is forgiven much, loves much. And I wonder if the reason why there seems to be so little genuine love among Christians nowadays is because we haven’t allowed ourselves to be truly forgiven. It seems that we as Christians are more often in the business of condemnation and finger-pointing, than we are in the business of introspection and bringing our own faults and brokenness to be touched by Jesus. This, I think, is because it’s so much easier to point out the brokenness in someone else than it is to come to grips with the mess inside our own souls. Asking for forgiveness as well as offering forgiveness is an act of giving up power and control; this is difficult to do in a culture built upon ideals of power and control.

Too often, like Simon, we settle for pointing the finger because it feels good, because it feels safer, and because we don’t have to let Jesus touch our brokenness. And so we label others to hide behind our own finger. We all point the finger and in doing so we prevent others and ourselves from touching Jesus. We send the message that Jesus is more about judgment than mercy. When we have not experienced the fullness of God’s grace and forgiveness in our own lives, then it is hard for us to forgive others. I think many of us have a hard time admitting our faults, admitting the ways we hurt others and ourselves, because we are afraid of God and we are possibly afraid of the mess in our own souls. We assume God is more about judgment than mercy and we assume that God can’t possibly have enough grace to forgive the mess in my soul.

What’s most extraordinary about this banquet scene is that there is no judgment from Jesus towards either the woman or Simon. Though Jesus acknowledges the woman’s sins are many, does not speak a single word of judgment or contempt; he praises her act of penitence and hospitality, and he welcomes her touch and offers grace upon grace. Jesus reprimands Simon for assuming he is better than the woman, but there is no condescension and no judgment in his words; we see Jesus trying to teach Simon through parable, and ultimately the story does not tell us how Simon responded to Jesus, but leaves it open to the possibility that Simon too responded positively to Jesus’ grace. 

In fourth grade I cheated my way through a reading contest we were having as a class. We had to read a book from each genre, write a book report and then we would get a prize. I wanted all the prizes. So I pretended to read all the books, writing fake book reports in order to get the prizes and become the first in the class to complete all the books. I was so proud of myself.

About a year later, I attended a church service with my dad and the topic of the sermon was on lying. By the end of the sermon I felt convicted to my core. As we left the service, I confessed to my dad through teary eyes what I had done the previous year; I told him how I had lied and cheated to get all the prizes. I expected judgment, punishment, retribution. But instead, do you know what my dad did? He told me how much he loved me. He forgave me and then he took me out to McDonalds for lunch. To this day I still remember being dumbstruck by my dad’s response. I deserved punishment, but instead, I got McDonalds. 

My dad’s gracious response to me has always stuck with me as what I imagine God’s grace for us to be. We deserve punishment, condemnation and retribution, but instead God buys us McDonalds, metaphorically speaking. (If you don’t like McDonalds then you can fill in the blank with your own favorite fast food restaurant). But I think many of us are still afraid of God’s judgment; we are still afraid to admit the brokenness inside of us out of fear for how God will regard us. Perhaps we grew up hearing this message of judgment and fear. But when we look at Jesus, the fullest representation of God, we do not find judgment, but we find grace upon grace. God has welcomed and invited us all into a surprising family of faith, in which we are all sinners and all saints. There are no distinctions, no hierarchies. We are all invited to touch Jesus and to experience his healing and forgiving touch. We are invited to follow the lead of the unnamed woman.

As a church, we are called not to be a house for the righteous, but we are called to be a hospital for sinners—a place where all of us are welcome to come as we are, with all of our baggage, our mess and our brokenness, and we are all invited to touch Jesus and to experience Jesus’ healing and forgiving touch. This can be a place where we a free to acknowledge our sin—our broken relationships with others, with ourselves and with God—and where we can experience the redeeming and forgiving touch of Jesus, through one another. Church, let us strive to be a surprising community of inclusivity where no one is prevented from touching Jesus and where all can come to be redeemed by Jesus’ loving touch.