Twice Jesus was anointed as he sat at meat. The first occasion is recorded in Luke 7. The episode followed the healing of the centurion’s servant, the raising of the son of the widow woman of Nain and the meeting with the disciples of John the Baptist.
“And one of the Pharisees desired him that he would eat with him. And he went into the Pharisee’s house, and sat down to meat.” (Luke 7:36). The Pharisees sometimes invited Jesus home for a meal presumably to discuss his teaching in greater detail. Although others were present (verse 49), only two characters aside from Jesus played a part —Simon the Pharisee host, and a woman of the city — an acknowledged sinner. The record invites us to compare ourselves with these two characters, to see which we are more nearly like, and to draw appropriate conclusions from the comparison.
“And, behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment.” (Luke 7:37, 38).
What Is Important Is. . . She was Bitterly Repentant
This is a remarkable story. Not only is there no other exactly like it, but even the record points it out as remarkable—”And behold . . .”. The city was probably Nain (verse 11). Her sin may be guessed, but nothing is served by doing What is important is that it was a sin of which she was evidently aware, and of which she was bitterly repentant.
She was only in the house of Simon the Pharisee because Jesus was there, and because of the curious custom by which uninvited witnesses might attend private meals held in honour of distinguished guests. The record says, “when she knew that Jesus sat at meat . . .”. So she had come to be where he was. We may wonder why. Evidently she had had some earlier experience of Jesus. Perhaps she had heard him speaking to the crowd about John the Baptist, perhaps she had witnessed the raising of the widow’s son. Neither of these events, remarkable as they were, would seem sufficient to elicit the spontaneous remorse and pitiful worship that we see here. Maybe she had been one of those who, “in that same hour,” were “cured of their infirmities and plagues and of evil spirits” (Luke 7:21). In a sense, sin is all of these. Perhaps, earlier, Jesus had released her from some compelling weakness as Paul later delivered the demented girl at Phillipi (Acts 16:18); and she had come out of deep and urgent gratitude for the release. If this is so, and something of the sort seems to be necessary to explain her presence and her actions, she stood to gain something far more valuable than mere release from sin’s bondage. Whether or not she was consciously seeking it, she gained from Jesus that which made her newfound freedom complete — forgiveness of sins past. The mighty thing about the Lord is that he alone can both release from bondage to sin, and then forgive the sins committed while under that bondage. Only thus is the deliverance complete.
Standing at the feet of Jesus she is caused to contemplate her own miserable condition in comparison with his manifest purity and to weep at the reflection. It is helpful to examine our own attitude when in Jesus’ presence. With whom do we more nearly identify — with the weeping, contrite sinner moved to inexpressible sorrow and joy by a contemplation of the majestic purity of the Lord — or with the sophisticated Pharisee, quite unconscious of any shortcoming in his character and recoiling from the embarrassing spectacle before him? Where do we stand? With the woman, or with the cool and detached Pharisee?
It seems unlikely that the ointment had been brought to be actually used on Jesus. More probably its use was spontaneous — suggested by the depth of her encounter with the Lord. Rather like a soft white marble, alabaster was fashioned, in ancient times, into ornamental containers. Such containers were themselves valuable, their contents even more so. Although Luke does not say that the ointment was precious, the later event (eg John 12:3) did involve expensive ointment. So it is likely to be the case here.
In polite society it was customary to wash the feet of guests, then anoint the head with a cone of fragrant ointment which would melt and trickle down, perfuming the guest’s body and garments. Such ointments were extremely expensive. Quite probably this jar and its contents were the sinner woman’s most precious possession and she brought it to Jesus that he might sell it and so support himself. It was readily saleable, to judge from the comments of those present when Mary later anointed Jesus (eg John 12:5). If she had purchased it from the proceeds of her sinful past, giving it to Jesus at this point might be construed as a renunciation of all that in the past had been important to her, and a declaration that in future she would devote herself to the Lord.
She brought her most treasured possession and wanted Jesus to have it!
Perhaps even more significantly, she had evidently brought her most treasured possession and wanted Jesus to have it. Here is reason again for us to examine ourselves. The question is, do we know what we treasure most? And would we dare present it to Jesus? Or do we hoard some parts of ourselves, or what we have, just for our own use? It is valuable to measure ourselves against the spirit of this miserable woman, abjectly standing at Jesus’ feet, washing them with contrite tears.
Seeing that her tears were washing Jesus’ feet, and having nothing with which to wipe them, she used the hairs of her head. The phrase is interesting. Why “hairs of her head” when “hair” would have been sufficient? Well, perhaps we are to see how emancipation from sin is a process by which our head –as the organ of sense — must embrace (kiss) the feet of Jesus — representative of the purity of his walk. This idea is strengthened by the fact that she wiped his feet with that which Paul calls a woman’s glory (1 Cor. 11:15 ) .
Her actions implied a willingness to serve Jesus
Her actions implied a willingness to serve Jesus too. Later, at the end of the last supper, Jesus himself taught this when he laid aside his garment, girded himself with a towel, and washed the feet of the disciples, showing that we must serve each other if we are to serve the Lord (John 13:3 – 16). But what Jesus found it necessary to teach his disciples verbally and by example, this woman did instinctively, feeling and knowing the fitness of her actions in spite of the censorious Pharisee across the table from her. Her worship of Jesus was now complete.
But what of Simon the Pharisee? When he “saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner” (Luke 7:39). The mind of a Pharisee is interesting. Presumably it was just because Simon had seen something of the events of that day — the raising of the widow’s son, the demonstrations of Jesus’ power for the disciples of John, or the discussion of John’s place in the scheme of things —that he had invited him home in the first place. How could he, then, simply disregard the evidence of the day’s events? There is a lesson here. It is in the nature of the Pharisee that he will overlook the evidence of great demonstrations in favor of doubtful arguments. Look at the way Simon thought:
- Physical contact with sinners is defiling.
- Prophets know everything.
- Jesus allowed this sinner to touch him.
- Therefore Jesus is no prophet.
The logic is as sound as the premises. But while the basic premise (physical contact with sin is defiling) may generally be true (see for example, Haggai 2:11 ff), it is not always true, as Jesus had shown by healing lepers by touch, for example. The argument which looks so sound is badly flawed.
Simon made a specialty of negative arguments
But we often proceed in a similar way. A proposition was once before an ecclesial meeting that a sister, separated for some time, be restored to fellowship. After much discussion during which every imaginable positive reason for her restoration was put, the matter was only resolved at last by one who said, “But we often proceed in a similar way. A proposition was once before an ecclesial meeting that a sister, separated for some time, be restored to fellowship. have thought carefully and cannot recall a single scripture which would preclude her from our fellowship.” Although in this example a good result was achieved, it is nevertheless true that very often no amount of positive testimony can prevail if even one counter example can be found, and there are often those who, like Simon, make a specialty of negative arguments. And, to be honest, don’t we usually feel relief if we can find reason to reject a proposition that seems to threaten the status quo? We should therefore be able to understand Simon’s thoughts, even if we know he was wrong, for honesty compels us to admit that we sometimes act in a similar way. And Jesus knows, just as he knew what Simon was thinking.
There followed the parable of the two debtors. “There was a certain creditor who had two debtors: the one owned him five hundred pence; and the other fifty. And when they had nothing to pay he frankly forgave them both. Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most?” (Luke 7:41, 42).
The important thing here is not that Simon should recognize himself in the debtor owing fifty pence. What is significant is that both debtors were on an exactly equal footing — “they (both) had nothing to pay,” and ‘both received the same gift — forgiveness of their debt. The woman was fully conscious not only of the magnitude of her debt but also of her powerlessness to pay. Simon seemed quite unaware of his debt, still less of his inability to repay. But he was awake to the face value meaning of the parable. At least he knew the value of money and could understand that one might expect that the love of a forgiven debtor for his creditor would be in proportion to the size of the debt. This is important and comes up later. But to the real point of the parable he was evidently quite blind.
Seest thou this woman?
Simon had another kind of ‘blindness too. Turning to the woman, Jesus said to Simon, “Seest thou this woman?” How challenging are these words. Consider how easy it is, as we try to maintain a proper separation from sin, to stop seeing sinners as people in need of compassion. Simon saw the sin and rightly deplored it. Now Jesus challenged him to see the sinner also, and to honestly face the questions raised by the difference between her repentant worship and his own rather censorious attitude. Far from being unworthy as Simon supposed, this woman had acted in a way that he should have, and hadn’t: “I entered your house. You didn’t wash my feet, but she has washed my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair! You didn’t give me a kiss of greeting, but she has not ceased to kiss my feet since she came in! You didn’t anoint my head with oil, but she anointed my feet with ointment!” Not only was Simon’s service entirely lacking, but even if offered, it would have been of a lower quality than hers. No water, so she offered tears. No towel, so she offered her hair. No kiss on the face, so she kissed his feet. No olive oil (Greek: elation for the head, so she offered ointment (Greek: muron-perfumed oil) for his feet. And who would waste expensive muron on feet?! At every point her worship was of a higher quality than the bare minimum which he ought to have offered — and hadn’t. How dare he censor Jesus for allowing her to touch him? And, to be honest, do we not recognize something of the Pharisee in our own heart when we meet one who has perhaps not been as fortunate, and bears some of the more obvious signs of a dissipated life? Let us beware lest an awareness of the sins stops us seeing the sinner. If the woman’s salvation had depended on Simon’s compassion she would evidently still be in want of it.
Jesus Inverts the order
Fortunately, however, this was not the case. Because of the depth of her repentance, and the warmth of her worship, her sins were forgiven. It is important to read the rebuke of Luke 7:47 carefully. It is addressed to Simon, although it involved her forgiveness. “Therefore I say unto thee, her sins which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much . . .”. This is a most significant inversion of Simon’s interpretation of Jesus’ parable. There he had said, rightly enough, that the one who was forgiven more would love the forgiving creditor more. Here Jesus inverts the order. The forgiveness follows the love. This woman loved before she was forgiven. Simon could understand that it would be reasonable to love one who forgave a debt. The love, in that case, would be a sort of payment for the forgiveness. In contrast to this, the woman had come to love Jesus because she knew, somehow, that she must; and received forgiveness of her sins in consequence of her love. Incredibly, in her extremity, she had entered into the spirit of the love of God shown to us in Christ: “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins” (1 John 4:10). “God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). Similarly the sinner woman loved Jesus before there was any certainty, or even question, of forgiveness. Again, what is the spirit of our love for God and our Lord? Do we love Jesus because we know he has forgiven us? Or do we love Jesus unreservedly, wholeheartedly, not daring to hope for anything in return? In fact, are we Pharisees, or miserable sinners as the woman in this story?
Jesus recognized Simon’s rather mercenary assessment of service by saying, “but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little” (Luke 7:49). There are, then, two kinds of love for the Lord; the kind that is truly sacrificial and seeks nothing in return, and the kind that follows out of a reasonable response to privilege granted. In each case the Greek word is agapeo, but there seems to be a vast difference between the quality of the one as compared with the other. With this reproach Jesus turned his attention away from Simon, at last to address the one whose sins, though many, were forgiven because she loved much.
Jesus went right to the heart of the woman’s need!
And he said to her, Thy sins are forgiven. Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.” (Luke 7:48, 50). There are three statements here. With startling economy of phrase Jesus went right to the heart of the woman’s need—”Thy sins are forgiven.” It is likely that she was not even properly aware that sins could be forgiven. Generally Jews thought that sins required expiation, that is, removal by sacrifice. The idea of sins being expunged by divine declaration was taught in parts of the law and prophets (eg Ps. 32, Isa. 44, Jer. 50 etc.) and was also taught by John the Baptist (eg Luke 3:3), but it had been swamped, in Simon’s generation, by a preoccupation with redemption by works (eg Rom. 10:3). So it is hard to determine whether she had a clear idea of forgiveness of sins as being available to her. But she was acutely aware of her sin and that ordinary remedies were ineffective, for otherwise she would not be in Jesus’ presence. Furthermore it is clear that she fully believed that somehow Jesus could do what she desperately needed — remove the dreadful burden of a life devoted to sin.
Is our faith sufficient to save us?
This is the faith that saves. It is not, mark you, belief of carefully defined doctrines set out in a statement of faith, necessary and all as such statements are to the proper running of religious communities. Rather it is the personal conviction that Jesus can somehow fix what is desperately wrong with “me” as the individual before him. Such a faith can only be born out of a burning realization of our need for the solution that only Jesus can provide. But it is easy for us to be so familiar with the idea of forgiveness that we cease to properly appreciate how great is this greatest of gifts of God. Could we, right now, confidently expect that our faith, as measured against the backdrop of this episode, is sufficient to save us? And if it isn’t, why isn’t it?
Jesus’ last statement is in some ways the most important. “Go in peace.” Of what use is our faith if we cannot accept its corollary—that our sins really are forgiven ? What point is there in torturing ourselves over mistakes of the past after approaching Jesus to have these sins removed ? Worse yet, to act as though past sins are still to be reckoned with is to imply that the Lord has not really forgiven them, which is another way of saying that we haven’t faith in him at all! So, to “go in peace” is a necessary adjunct to a life of faith, and the forgiveness of our sins. Conversely, a life that lacks the peace which only Jesus can offer (eg John 14:27) should be examined carefully because such a life must to some extent lack the faith that saves.
The human mind is able to flit off and explore the possibilities of what is coming next
If we look again we will see that Jesus’ three short statements to the woman were interrupted, at Luke 7:49, by the thoughts of the Pharisee at the table. The human mind is able, sometimes between one word and the next, to flit off to some recess of its own, sift through the implications of what has just been heard, and explore the possibilities of what is coming. We have such a case here. The question is a fair one: “Who is this, who even forgives sins?” (Luke 7:49, R.S.V.). On quite another occasion “there were certain of the scribes sitting there and reasoning in their hearts, Why doth this man thus speak blasphemies ? Who can forgive sins but God only?” (Mark 2:7). There are only two possible conclusions to draw about a man who claims to forgive sins. Either he is, as the scribes supposed, a blasphemous charlatan who ought to be discredited, or he is the Son of God, speaking God’s words, working God’s works and empowered to bring salvation to all who come to God through him—God with us, in fact. There is no middle ground between these positions.
We don’t agree with the Pharisees’ assessment of our Lord. Let us therefore, like the woman in the Pharisee’s house, “go in peace” because we are certain that we have been in the presence of one who can even forgive our sins.
The Origin of the Organic World – Part One