By Linda Goodman
(From Luke 7:36-50)
Good
morning. My name is Rachel and I am the daughter of Simon the Pharisee. My
father is a well respected man, who often invites other important men to be
guests at our table. Last night, however, was different.
The word Pharisee means separate.
The name serves us well, as Pharisees to not like to keep company with people
who are not Jewish, or Jews who do not follow the same practices that we do.
That is why I was surprised when my father announced that Jesus would be a
guest in our home.
Jesus
of Nazareth... .have you heard of him? He is a vagabond who keeps company with
the rabble; the peasants, tax collectors and women of ill repute. Our guests
are usually great men who wear the finest clothes and have servants to attend
their every need.
When
Jesus entered our home he was dressed in the garb of a simple peasant. I
expected that, but he was not even clean! He was covered with dust from his
head to his filthy feet! He looked as though he had walked miles through the
wilderness without bathing for days.
My
father was so disgusted that he refused to offer Jesus the simple courtesies
that were normally afforded our honored guests. He did not have Jesus’ feet
washed, as was the custom. Neither did he give him the expected kiss of welcome
that would have been followed by the anointing of Jesus head with olive oil. My
father merely said, “This is Jesus of Nazareth, who has gained quite a
reputation of late. Let us sit down at the table.”
The
servants were just beginning to bring us our meal, when a strange woman walked
through the front door. Many of the lower class pass our home when we have
important, or, in this case, infamous, guests. None, however, would dare to
enter our home without an invitation.
My
mother gasped when she saw the woman, and when I looked at the woman’s face I
understood why. This woman was the town harlot! Whenever I saw this woman
walking down the road, I would cross to the other side and look away. One must
not keep company with, or even acknowledge, such a vile being!
No doubt she did very well plying her chosen
trade, for she wore scarlet robes made of the finest silk, and her sandals were
studded with pearls and rubies. In her arms she carried an exquisite alabaster jar
that was filled with sweet perfume. She must have paid a fortune for it!
She
took no note of my family. She ran straight to Jesus, where she knelt at his
feet and began sobbing. She cried so hard that her tears, like rain, washed
over Jesus feet, turning the dirt to mud. Horrified, she undid her long hair, all
the while begging, “Please forgive me, Lord. Please forgive.” She wiped Jesus’ feet clean with her own
hair! Then she kissed his feet and
poured the perfume from the jar on to them, gently massaging it into his skin.
And Jesus let her do these things!
My
horrified father muttered under his breath, “And I thought this man might be a
prophet! He does not even know what this woman is!”
Jesus
must have excellent hearing, for he heard every word that my father said.
“Simon,
I wish to tell you a story,” Jesus announced.
“I
know a banker,” Jesus continued, “who was owed money by two men. One owed him
fifty silver coins. The other owed him 500 silver coins. Neither could pay his
debt, and the banker decided to forgive the debts of both men. Which of these
men, Simon, do you think was more grateful to the banker?”
“I
do not see what that has to do with anything,” my father retorted, “but I would
judge that the man who owed the banker 500 coins would have been the more
grateful of the two.”
“You
are correct,” Jesus told him. “Those who have been forgiven more are more
grateful than those who have been forgiven little.”
Jesus
turned back to the woman and placed his hand on her head as he continued
speaking to my father. "Simon, I am a guest in your home, yet you did not wash
my feet. You did not welcome me with a kiss or anoint my head with olive oil.
This woman, on the other hand, has washed my feet with her tears and dried them
with her hair. She has kissed my feet
and anointed them with sweet perfume.”
I
could see my father’s face turning red with rage as Jesus told him, “This woman
has sinned much, and she will be forgiven much. She will be more grateful for
that forgiveness than any Pharisee would be.” Then Jesus said to the woman,
“Go, woman. Your sins are forgiven.”
After
Jesus left our home, my father and the others laughed. “What makes him think
that he has the power to forgive a woman like that?” they roared. “He must
think he is God!”
I
did not join in the laughter. I did not laugh because I had seen that woman’s
face as she left our home. I saw serenity there, and a peace that I cannot begin
to understand in one so damaged.
I
want that peace. Tomorrow I will go find
this man Jesus. You are welcome to come with me if you like.
