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The Rev. Laura Matarazzo
June 17, 2007 ---  Third Sunday after Pentecost

It is the season of school yearbooks, and I remember a popular feature of mine—one that was eagerly anticipated by the whole senior class. It was the “personality poll,” a somewhat tongue-in-cheek collection of “awards,” naming people by a dominant quality of theirs. (the teens tell me it’s called “Senior Superlatives” in the Summit High School yearbook.) I’m sure many of you remember something like this, with categories such as “chatterbox,” “friendliest,” or “class clowns.” Many of the categories had the word, “most” in them: “most dependable,” “done most for the school,” or “most likely to succeed.” It was always fun to see who was named and, of course, it was particularly fun to BE named. Really, any category would do, as all were flattering.  

It occurred to me, that today’s gospel story suggests two more categories of character: “Most Righteous” and “Most Forgiven.” If you were to choose, which one of these would you like your name to be attached to? Would you like to be honored for your uprightness, your adherence to the rules and your faithfulness to God; or would you rather have your peers recognize in you a redeemed sinner, one whose life, while marred by inevitable misdoings, has been graced with God’s unbounded mercy and transformed by God’s forgiveness? 

I ask because Jesus is making such a clear distinction between these two human conditions at Simon’s dinner party. Jesus has been invited to dine by an upstanding religious man, a Pharisee. And, although Pharisees are often criticized in our New Testament scripture, still Simon, no doubt, is a faithful man, following the commandments of God and living in right relationship with his creator. Furthermore, he may be exhibiting a generosity of spirit or an openness of mind here, to have invited this carpenter-turned- rabbi into his home.  The two of them present a stark contrast: a man regarded as a learned and respected leader in the religious community, and a man with barely any social or religious status except for what he has claimed for himself and what he has earned by his healings and authoritative teaching among the people. It is not hard to see who would have been awarded the “Most Righteous” prize in that neighborhood.! 

Then, in walks this “woman in the city,” one recognized as a “sinner.” She might be likened, I think, to that one in high school about whom the girls whispered and the boys snickered. You may remember her, or know someone like her today: she was the one who would “give out” to just about any boy. She had one girlfriend with whom she hovered at the periphery of every group—never included in any. No popular award for her; in fact, she was largely invisible to the rest of her class. 

Only, here she comes, drawn to Jesus. Fearlessly crashing the party with her outrageous love. With her she brings her tears, and her long, undone hair, her warm kisses, and her fragrant ointment. And what is to others a flagrant violation of every social propriety by a shameless, “soiled” creature becomes the model for love liberated by mercy. 

Simon, the “Most Righteous,” is appalled not so much by her actions but that Jesus receives her touch without offense. How could he permit such contact? Why, she contaminated the very air around herself. Her tears, her kisses, her voluminous hair—all of that rich, physical presence was violating the purity of his house. How dare she? And how dare Jesus receive her? 

Jesus wants to award her the prize for “Most Forgiven.” His use of the parable about the creditor and his debtors attempts to draw Simon into the reality that mercy breeds love and love transforms. Actually, the story Jesus tells is one that Simon can relate to: about a man of wealth and those who are indebted to him; it is about money and the power to distribute it. Simon judges rightly the question posed by Jesus, conceding that the one who is forgiven the greater debt will feel more gratitude and a deeper loyalty, even love, for the creditor who forgave him. Simon seems to get it. 

But Jesus has more to say. As he compares Simon’s lack of hospitality with the woman’s tender care of him, Jesus raises the woman, the sinner, the unwelcome guest, above the Pharisee—suggesting that she who has neither power nor status at that table—has compensated for Simon’s shortcoming. She is the one who has acted rightly…because, she has been forgiven. God’s love for her has taken away all her sin and freed her heart and soul to love without reserve. Simon exhibits no such capacity.  

This is something like a story I’ve often heard in discussions about church hospitality—about the priest who disguised himself as a homeless person and entered the church about 20 minutes prior to the start of the service. He wore ragged clothes, an old baseball cap, and his face was dirty. He smelled of sleep, mildew and his last meal. He took his place in a pew near the middle of the church while the ushers looked at each other and wondered what to do about him. No one greeted him and no one sat near him.  When the time came for the service to begin, he stood up, removed his cap and began to lead worship. And when it came time for the sermon, used their shared experience to reflect upon the way our judgment of one another separates us and how, time after time, we fail to love.  

When I began this sermon, I asked you how you would prefer to be recognized—as “Most Righteous” or “Most Forgiven.” Now, instead, I invite us all to see ourselves in both Simon the Pharisee and in the Tearful Woman.

First, Simon. Being upright and faithful are good things. Following the commandments of God, studying scripture for the wisdom it has to offer, and making prayer as regular an activity as eating and sleeping—these Pharisaic ways are to be commended in all of us. …As long as they don’t lead us to complacency. WE must be mindful that our own faith practice and our efforts to live a moral life can lead us to judge others as less worthy of God’s love than we. And if we become blind to our own sin, we close ourselves off from God’s forgiveness. I confess that I am like Simon—and I know it because when I read this story, I think to myself that I am not like him at all. That very attitude lets me know that there is pridefulness in my spirituality, a smugness that insulates me against “people like Simon.” We are all sinners, every one of us, even when we try to be good. Jesus teaches us that unless we know ourselves as sinners, we cannot know ourselves forgiven. And if we are not forgiven, we haven’t the capacity to love without reserve. 

Thankfully, we are forgiven, like the woman. And I wonder if this condition may be the more difficult of the two for us to accept because it is calls for us to be open to God’s never-failing love and it calls us to accept the redemption of our sin by a power that is not ours. Do we truly believe that when we are sorry, God forgives us? Many theologians would suggest that this story tells us we are forgiven before we even ask. Forgiven! God’s mercy swallows up all our guilt, our self-condemnation, our discouragement, our lack of faith in ourselves, and opens space in us for his love; and then God pours his love into us. Why do you think the woman in the story weeps? She is overcome with the love she has received. God’s forgiveness has created in her a wellspring of love that flows out of her and onto Jesus’ feet.  

Finally, these categories of “Most Righteous” and “Most Forgiven” are not part of some competitive personality poll in life, but real human conditions to be sorted out in prayer, confession, and absolution. Even as we seek the will of God and apply ourselves as best we can to the holiness to which we are called, we continue to fall short. And we continue to be forgiven every time we turn to God.  

Let us pray: Loving God, grant us a right awareness of our sin, the humility to confess it, and the grace to receive your never-failing mercy; that we may be freed to love and serve you all our days, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

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