Found in Christ

Now all the tax-collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. ²And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’ 3 So he told them this parable: ⁴‘Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? ⁵When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. ⁶And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbours, saying to them, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.” ⁷Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance. 8 ‘Or what woman having ten silver coins,^* if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? ⁹When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbours, saying, “Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.” ¹⁰Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.’

Luke 15:1-10

“Found in Christ”

On July 5^th this past summer, I was in Birmingham at Independent Presbyterian Church for a presbytery personnel committee meeting. I was excited to see a dear friend, Catherine Bonner Goudreau, who was supposed to begin her first day as Independent’s youth director that day. Catherine and her brother, Drew, were both very active in our college ministry and church family while they were students here. They both worked with our youth groups, and they are part of a wonderful, faithful family with four children. As we were beginning the meeting, one of Independent’s ministers pulled me aside to share the awful news with me that Catherine and Drew’s brother had taken his life the night before. He had just finished his freshman year at Ole Miss and had so much life to live ahead of him, but he was also lost in the illness of depression, depression that robbed him of his sense of self, that robbed him of his life. Since that terrible day, and the many days in between, Catherine, Drew, and their amazing family have been lifting each other up in love. They have been sharing stories of faith in their sermons and writings and prayers, sharing stories about the illness of depression and sharing stories of suicide awareness on social media. They are doing everything they can to celebrate Michael’s too short life with other people, hoping to keep any other parent from losing their child or any other brother or sister from losing their sibling. Through this family and their witness over the past several months, I have learned a lot about more about grieving, and much about the rejoicing that comes through faith.

As one of our ruling elders, Anne Leader, reminded us as last week as we entered our tie together in our prayers of the people, September is suicide awareness month. To honor her brother this week and to further our awareness of suicide and depression on social media, our friend Catherine shared a beautiful blog post written by a Yale Divinity student after she also lost her brother to suicide. In the post, Ellen Koneck shares about the nature of depression, the nature of grief and loss, and the nature of her Yale divinity community who rallied around her just when she needed it most. Ellen writes this about her conversation with the dean as he figured out a way to share the awful news about her brother’s death with their seminary community. She writes:

Walking barefoot around the circle driveway of my parents’ home, I cried as [the dean] expressed his quiet sorrow and asked me gently whether I might return to classes, assuring me that I could, even with a few absences. He asked if I wanted to send an email to my classmates. I told him I didn’t know; that I wanted the prayers and the support of my spiritual and academic community but I didn’t know how to gather words for the task. So Dean Lewis sent me a draft… so that I could approve the language and prepare myself before it went out to the hundreds of students and faculty on the listserv. The email reflected what we had spoken about, saying that my brother’s life “was lost to suicide” rather than the alternative—because there is a long history of violence and condemnation in the language of “killing himself,” and because depression and alcoholism are diseases, just like cancer, that can diminish the will to live and can cause death, just like cancer.

What Ellen Koneck writes here is hard and beautiful, and she goes on to share how her community of family and friends, how her community of faith found her in deep grief and saved her when she felt so lost. Our friend Catherine and her family have expressed the same thing in the last two months—they have lost so, so much in the loss of Michael to suicide, but have found so much love and support in their community of faith, found love and solace in a God who has sought them out in great love and shared with them in grief. And they have found solace in Christ, who has welcomed their son and brother home.

These stories about loss, combined with our text from Luke this week, have helped shed some new light for me on the meaning and nature of being lost. The text finds us in the middle of several healing stories and parables, stories about Jesus’ healing of folks at different times and in different places—healing in the temple, healing on the Sabbath when no work is supposed to be done, healing those who are so lost and in need of help, in need of being found, in need of some kind of salvation. Jesus is being watched closely by the scribes and religious leaders of the temple. They are nervously watching him break the Sabbath laws, nervously watching him reach out to the folks whom they have deemed unworthy of Jesus’ healing. Christ knows they are watching him and judging him, but he doesn’t let that stop him from doing what is right. The only thing that matters to him is helping people to a new life, calling them to a new life--that people are lost in a world of illness, of depression and sadness, that people are lost to the world because they don’t fit into a certain social class and are unnoticeable and easy to ignore, that people like the religious leaders are lost because the only thing they know how to do is judge without any sense of empathy. He knows the rulers and religious leaders are judging, but he heals the folks who need it most. He sustains them and offers them hope once again. He finds them and brings them back to life.

In our Gospel text this morning, the scribes and religious leaders are beginning to close in, beginning to speak in louder tones, beginning to judge him more harshly for helping the ones who are lost. So Jesus begins talking, sharing a parable with them: “Which one of you, if you have a hundred sheep, wouldn’t leave the rest behind to go find one who was lost? And which woman, having lost one coin out of ten, wouldn’t turn the house upside down to find it? That is what the kingdom of God is like—in God’s kingdom, we look for the ones who are lost, the ones who can be found. And most importantly, we rejoice and celebrate and dance and sing when they are found.” And in the story that follows our today’s text, Jesus goes on to explain this idea of being lost and found again as he tells the story of a son who has wasted his life and his inheritance and his hope away, a son who is lost, a prodigal son who is welcomed home at last by a rejoicing father who sees him coming down the road and runs to hug him and welcome him home with joy—reminding us all that this is what God does for every single one of us.

We are reminded here in this 15^th chapter of Luke, reminded every day in our lives, that we all can be lost in so many different ways. Some of us are lost because we think we follow every religious law to the t, causing us to judge those who can’t or don’t perfectly follow the law. Others of us are lost because we simply lose our way like a single sheep and can’t find the road back to our flock, even as hard as we try. Some of us are lost because we are lost in a sea of illness, be it cancer or depression or a disorder or an addiction. Others of us are lost because we are so broken that we don’t know how to help or love our sisters and brothers enough to help them back to health. Some of us are lost because we can’t afford to lose one simple coin out of ten, forced to turn over sofa cushions to find every last coin. Others of us are lost because we have too many coins that we don’t know what to do with them all and will never notice that one single coin is missing. And, yes, some of us are lost because we have done so much we don’t even know how to begin to repent even though we know we need to do so, and some of us are lost because we are so arrogant and misguided and judgmental that we think everyone needs to repent but ourselves.

The story tells us so much about the nature of being lost, and challenges us to think about our own stories of feeling lost in the world, of being separated from our flock, of being dropped like a coin, of being alienated from our families and loved ones. These stories help us know, if we don’t already, that feeling lost to the world is a pretty brutal thing to deal with. But the good news for us to hear today is that, as much as these stories tell us about the nature of being lost, they tell us even more about a God who does everything possible to make sure we are found. This gospel reassures us, promises us, that just as easy as it is for us to get lost, or feel lost, and to be lost, Christ finds us, loves us, and is with us all along the way. Our God who loves us leaves 99 other sheep in the pasture to come and brings us home. Our God turns over every sofa cushion and looks under every chair to find us like a coin. And our God runs down the driveway to greet us and throw a big party for us as we return home from being lost. And the gospel also reminds us that being found in Christ also means being found in the community of Christ, in a community of believers, a community who sings with joy. “Rejoice with me,” Jesus says, “for I have found my sheep that was lost…there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents that over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance…Just so, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God.”

Through these parables, we are reminded by Christ that the community is not complete if one of us is missing. I love how Helen Debevoise paints a picture of this community and this rejoicing in her commentary on the 15^th chapter of Luke:

These parables call the community to open its doors and rejoice. This call is repeated again and again. Sinners and tax collectors gather at the table with the Christ? Rejoice! Laugh! Be glad! They have returned home and now sit in the presence of God. The sheep who wandered off from the rest of the flock, lost in the thicket, is now safe and sound! Hallelujah! Worry no more! The coin that fell through the cracks was easily forgotten but is blessedly retrieved. We can feast! Hope is restored! When one in our community goes missing, we are all affected. When one is restored, we are all better off for it. That is how it is in the household of God. (from Feasting on the Word)

Yes, the community of God is called to rejoice, and that community is not complete until every person whom God has created is found—because we are all affected when someone is lost. When the community is restored, and only then, can we rejoice with cries of “Hallelujah,” with shouts of “Welcome home!”

No matter how we are lost, we are found in Christ, found in the community of Christ. Sometimes that community is complete here on earth as we welcome and love all whom God welcomes and loves. And other times, when our time here on Earth has ended, that community is complete in heaven as God welcomes the lost home and invites them to rejoice in the grace and gift of salvation. Thanks be to God for that mystery. And thanks be to Christ for the gift of being found. Amen.

The hymn "A Woman and a Coin" was sung after the sermon. Too beautiful not to include!

A woman and a coin: the coin is lost!

How much it means to her, what time and toil,

what part it was to play in her bright dreams!

Am I that treasured coin worth searching for?

I'm found, and you rejoice! What love! What love!

A shepherd and a sheep: the sheep is lost!

Far from the flock, the one in hundred cries,

then, risking life, the shepherd's voice and staff!

Am I that treasured sheep worth dying for?

I live, and you rejoice! What love! What love!

A parent and a child: the child is lost!

The parent feeds on memories and hope,

the prodigal on husks and one last chance.

Am I that treasured child worth waiting for?

I'm home, and you rejoice! What love! What love!

Dear God, you sought us when the world was lost;

You gave your only son at what a cost;

your Spirit welcomes home the tempest tossed:

now we can be all you were dreaming of.

We're safe, and you rejoice! What love! What love!

Set Free

Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” But the Lord answered him and said, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?” When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing.

Luke 13:10-17

"Set Free"

When I came into the office on Monday of last week, I had several things to do in a short time—emails to send and return, a list of items to purchase for our UKirk kick off, a few phone calls to make, the liturgy to write for today’s bulletin, just to name a few. I had a short time to get all of this done because I was about to head to Birmingham with my mom to go into the hospital for a week of medical tests to see why I’ve been struggling so much physically for the last couple of years. I was dreading the tests because I sensed it would not be an easy few days in the hospital (and it wasn’t), but I was also hoping at the same time for some answers—answers that would lead me to understanding, answers that would lead me to some sort of healing. So, as I turned to our lectionary Gospel reading for today so I could plan our liturgy, I read through the Scripture and just looked up to the heavens and laughed. There’s nothing quite like having prayed for some type of healing for the past two years, nothing quite like knowing you’re about to go into the hospital for several days because there hasn’t been much healing to be found—and then reading through a Scripture that’s all about healing and knowing you have to preach on a few days after you get out of the hospital. Proof indeed that God does have a divine sense of humor.

So, here I am. I am still wrapping my head around the last years and days of my life, struggling with the fact that I have a disorder that will be with me for the rest of my life—struggling with what healing looks like in the face of that reality. I freely admit that, as I preach from this passage today, I’m wondering about the nature of healing, struggling with whether God and I have different definitions of what healing is, trying to understand what all is happening. I imagine that I’ll be asking questions to God about healing for a long time to come, so I can’t promise you any definitive answers today—all I can promise you is that I’ll share with you where I am today, and what I think this Scripture is telling me, telling us, in this moment.

Our Scripture from Luke’s gospel finds us in the synagogue, following Jesus as he is teaching and preaching there. It is the Sabbath day, a day in which the customs and traditions and rules tell us, tell those gathered there, that only teaching and listening is to be done—no work, no labor, nothing that turns our attention elsewhere, nothing that keeps us away from learning about God. Jesus is teaching, and there are many gathered around him who are listening and learning and watching. The leaders of the synagogue are also gathered there, watching everyone around them, making sure no one is breaking any rules, ensuring no work is being done that might distract the folks gathered from learning more about God.

As the people are gathered around listening, a woman comes in. The gospel writer describes the woman for us—she has a spirit that has left her crippled and bent over, bound, unable to stand up straight for 18 years. It is an awful description, one that tells us that her life must be almost impossible. Although she doesn’t intentionally say anything or do anything that would draw attention to herself and away from Jesus, he sees her anyway and knows that she must be in desperate need of healing, that she has come seeking any help or relief she can find. This woman is bound, as the text tells us, and she needs some shelter, some relief from her pain, from her loneliness and suffering. Although she doesn’t say a word herself, she clearly needs a word of hope. Jesus sees her and turns his attention to her: “’Woman, you are set free from your ailment.’” He lays his hands on her and she stands up straight to walk again for the first time in years. She is set free. She is set free from bondage. She is set free with healing. She is set free for new life.

It is a beautiful sight of grace, a stunning scene of hope. But the leader of the synagogue is not happy, not happy with this woman who has been set free, not happy that the rules he has clearly set forth are being broken, not happy with Christ who has set this woman free. He looks at the crowd, pleading with them, trying to discount Jesus, saying cruelly to the woman: “’There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the Sabbath day.’” Can you imagine what she must have been feeling—just as she finally felt some relief, some wholeness, as this leader of the church said something so cruel? The leader of the synagogue is so bound by the law that he can’t see the grace, the healing, the wholeness that is standing right in front of him, right in front of them all. He is so bound by the letter of the law that he refuses to see what the Spirit has done for this woman who now stands upright and whole.

Jesus, indignant and angry with the synagogue leader as he should be, responds by calling him a hypocrite: “’Does not each of you on the Sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the Sabbath day?’” Each of you, he says, gives your animals, the ones you take care of, your loved ones, what they need to survive, Sabbath day or not. Should I, should we, not do the same for this woman? She needs help. She needs wholeness. She needs to be set free. And it’s up to me, as your teacher and leader, to set her free. And in doing so, he teaches all of us that it will soon be up to us to do the same for each other—to help set each other free from being bent over, to help set each other free from our struggles, to help set each other free from what keeps us bound.

What better time is there to set someone free, Jesus asks, than the Sabbath day? We are told in the rules set forth for us in the 10 Commandments to remember the Sabbath day and to keep it holy—we are called to gather together and sanctify the Lord’s day as we sing and pray and baptize laugh and eat and listen and learn. But that is only the beginning of how we observe the Sabbath day. We can’t simply come here and stay. We are called to gather together to listen, to learn, to pray, but we can’t stay in this place. Jesus was in the synagogue that day, like so many others, teaching and preaching—and he was also there healing, fighting for the wholeness of God’s creation. If we are to be Christ’s people, we are called to remember the Sabbath day and make it holy, and we are called to turn that holiness into wholeness for the world and for each other—called to set each other free just as we have been set free.

One of my favorite books is called “Practicing our Faith.” It is a book of essays about how we who call ourselves followers of Christ are to act and love in the world, and I have used it so often in my own preaching, teaching, and devotional time. In his essay about healing in the book, John Koenig writes:

…healing is an indispensable part of the coming wholeness that God intends for all creation. This means that the practice of healing is a central part of the reconciling activity of God in the world…For Christians, it is particularly the One we name as Messiah who in his many acts of healing discloses God’s passionate love for our flesh and blood. Moreover, from the earliest days of the church, believers have insisted that everyone baptized into Jesus’ name is called to share in the spreading of that very specific compassion. When we act in communion with God to bring about healing, or when we ourselves receive it, we participate directly in the divine restoration of the material order…When we embody God’s healing presence to others through touch, concern, or liturgy, we take part in God’s activity of healing the world. This is something we want to offer to others, almost as much as we want to be healed ourselves. And it is one of the basic things we do with and for one another. It happens as one spouse helps another through cancer, as a friend prepares special foods and offers fervent prayers, or as a parent comforts a child with a fever….For us, as for our Master, preaching, teaching, and healing must combine to form a seamless garment.

I love the image he uses here—that, if we are truly in communion with the God who created us, and in communion with one another, that healing must be done on the Sabbath. Healing must be combined in our and through our Sabbath practice of preaching and teaching and listening to come together to form a seamless garment. That is how we honor God. That is how we observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy. In Christ, we have been baptized and set free, so we are called to do the same for others. In Christ, we have been unbound, so we are called to do the same for others. In Christ, we have been set free in so many different ways, so we are called to set others free. We are called to heal the world, on every Sabbath day and every day in between. Thanks be to God.

Go In Peace

One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table. ³⁷And a woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment. ³⁸She stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her hair. Then she continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment. ³⁹Now when the Pharisee who had invited him saw it, he said to himself, “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.” ⁴⁰Jesus spoke up and said to him, “Simon, I have something to say to you.” “Teacher,” he replied, “Speak.” ⁴¹“A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. ⁴²When they could not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?” ⁴³Simon answered, “I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt.” And Jesus said to him, “You have judged rightly.” ⁴⁴Then turning toward the woman, he said to Simon, “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. ⁴⁵You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. ⁴⁶You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. ⁴⁷Therefore, 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.” ⁴⁸Then he said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” ⁴⁹But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” ⁵⁰And he said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Luke 7:36-8:3

“Go In Peace”

If you’re my friend on Facebook, you might have noticed that most of my posts over the last two weeks have either been pictures about my dg or posts about our Auburn women’s softball team—this is for two reasons: number 1. I am so proud of these amazing young women who have been tough and fun and fierce, women who have fought their tails off and made us all so proud; and 2. For a very different reason—the news of the world over the last two weeks has been so overwhelming and depressing that I’d rather focus on something happy and joyful. In the past two weeks, our news has been overtaken by some very hard, sad, and challenging stories, stories which have prompted much-needed conversation and thought, stories which have also left us trying to discern when it is appropriate to call another person out gently as opposed to leaving another person bent over with shame and oppression, stories which have prompted folks to be incredibly judgmental of each other and others’ motives, stories which have encouraged to call out another person’s sin without realizing our own. And then there are stories like ours today of 50 people slaughtered in Orlando, stories that leave us simply stunned and heartbroken.

There was the little one who somehow got away from his mom at the Cincinnati Zoo, either climbing over or falling through the gorilla exhibit. Folks all over the internet quickly blamed his mother, saying she had not paying enough attention, sending her death threats, forgetting the time they had spent with children, forgetting how easy it is for a child to let go of your grasp. People blamed the zoo folks, cursing them for their action of killing the gorilla, not even stopping to think about what an awful decision it must have been for the staff that loves their animals so much.

Two other stories about violence and sexual assault by college athletes have also dominated our news stories over the last two weeks, stories which caused collective anger and frustration—the story of a football player at another SEC school who will only sit out one game even though he violently assaulted a woman; the story of a swimmer in California who will only serve a few short months after sexually assaulting a classmate of his, and of his father who seemed to only care about the damage caused to his son instead of the life-long damage caused by his son to a young woman who may never be able to sleep a whole night again because of the assault she relives over and over again. I am heartbroken for these women, who won’t see much justice for the awful things done to them. I felt myself angry with the older men and institutions that are very guilty of enabling these younger men to hurt again. And I felt myself angry with the young men for being so stupid and thoughtless and violent, for forever changing another person’s life. But I also found myself hoping that somehow they are able to realize what they did, the damage it has caused, found myself hoping that they will find a way to seek redemption and forgiveness.

And I probably shouldn’t get started too much about our presidential election—about the hateful words used and the insults being hurled, about the tirades being thrown, about the violence that has erupted at rallies on both sides of the aisle, about the awful things we say on social media about the folks who dare disagree with us because of course we think we are right and everyone who doesn’t agree with us is wrong. Here’s what I inevitably end up thinking: “Our children are watching us. And what they are seeing is not good.”

All of this has left me wondering about the nature of sin. It has left me asking questions about shame—when shame is good and helpful, and when it is so overwhelming that it leaves us only with tears and desperation. It has left me wondering how to call out the racism and sexism and the violence of the world while also recognizing and acknowledging that I am just as prone to sin as the people and institutions causing these things. And all of this has left me pondering the very perplexing nature of God’s grace given to us in Jesus Christ. I have come with all of these questions to our Gospel lectionary reading for today, and I’m honestly still thinking about what it says to us about sin and shame and grace and love. This is one of my favorite passages of Scripture, and one that is challenging for us all. Please know that, as I attempt to muddle my way through this reading today, I’m still thinking, pondering, wondering what it means for us all. And I fully recognize that my interpretations will change as I fully take in what has happened in our country over the last few hours-the worst mass shooting in our history.

But here’s what I do think for this moment, for this day. This story tells us so much about the nature of sin and the affect it has on our lives, tells us about how much forgiveness granted can do for us. We are told from the second line of this story that this woman is a sinner. Can you imagine that being your name and identity, imagine what your life must be like if that’s how everyone knows you, if that’s what they call you? Sinner. Can you imagine the shame this woman must carry? The story doesn’t tell us what sins she has committed, but they are what identify her, and Jesus tells us that she has many. It is obvious that this woman, whatever she has done, is weighed down by her sin, brought down by constantly being called “sinner.” Whatever she has done, whatever sins she has committed and the way those sins wear on her and cause the community to react to her and shun her—all of those things have broken her, broken her to the point of desperation. She has no choice but to find Christ wherever he is, to take her chance and come into a dinner party to which she is clearly not invited, to kneel down in tears and cry onto Christ’s feet, crying so much that her tears clean the dirt off of them, drying those tears with her hair, begging for help. She asks for forgiveness with her actions as she cleanses Christ’s feet. Just as the waters of baptism claim us with the promise that we are cleansed, her actions are a plea for that same cleansing. No words are needed as her actions reflect her desire to be cleansed, to be redeemed, to be free and forgiven. And Christ grants her all of those. She has so often been named as a sinner, and now she is named as faithful. Named as forgiven. Can you imagine how freeing that must be for her? This woman is given new life by Christ, and she is a new creation who can now go in peace.

We also learn a great deal about judgment in this story, both our own judgment and Christ’s. We are told from the very beginning of the story that the dinner party is being held at the home of a Pharisee, the temple leaders who are known to strictly observe the law, the ones who are quick to call out others when they are not, the ones known to be self-righteous and sanctimonious. Simon sets the table for the people gathered and invites Christ to join them, which is lovely. He never expects a sinner to join them, a woman who has broken many of the religious laws, so much so that Simon judges her and would never even think about inviting her in. But she comes anyway, and Jesus welcomes her. Instead of recognizing this woman and celebrating the fact that this might be her only chance for redemption, Simon judges her instead—and in doing so, judges Christ: “’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.’” In one fell swoop, Simon proclaims judgment not just on the woman, but also on Jesus for even acknowledging her. I think it’s important to note here that Jesus doesn’t walk into the house and immediately call Simon out for the sin of not extending hospitality to him. Instead, Jesus waits for Simon to commit the sin of being judgmental all on his own. And then Jesus proclaims judgment—he says,

Simon…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.

In saying this, Christ reminds Simon the Pharisee, who deems himself to be the most righteous one around, that judgment and the lack of hospitality are just as much of a sin as any sin the woman has committed. Jesus waits for Simon to commit a sin, then for Simon to make it worse for himself as he calls out someone else for her sin before he ever proclaims a word of judgment on Simon. And Simon never gets it. The woman does, but Simon does not. She knows she has done something wrong and she acts for forgiveness, but Simon doesn’t. He never understands the need to ask or act for forgiveness. And the woman is the one who is proclaimed as faithful, the one who is given peace. Jesus reminds us here to be slow to judge, to recognize our own sin, to be quick to open our hearts and minds and homes to those who are weighed down and shameful and heavy and desperate as they recognize their own sin, as well.

Finally, I don’t think it’s an accident that this story places us around a table, around a feast where folks are invited to eat and drink. Although we are never told who else besides Christ is invited to Simon’s table, we can imagine that it’s the religious leaders like Simon who are invited, the ones who dress like him and speak like him and believe like him. We might imagine that Simon doesn’t invite much dissension or disagreement or diversity to the table. Simon doesn’t want his dinner party to be open and accessible, and he would never take the opportunity to invite those who have been deemed by their community as “sinners” to the feast. And I imagine that most of us, if not all of us, in this room would feel the same way. When I think about the news stories of our last two weeks, I think—I know—I would have a very hard time inviting men who are guilty of violent assault and sexual violence to sit next to me at the table, next to any woman I love at the table, certainly next to my niece at the table. And I certainly couldn’t invite someone who takes his anger our with an assault rifle at my table. I have to acknowledge that my dinner party might look very much like Simon’s because I don’t want to admit that I am a sinner, too. And I certainly don’t want to admit that God’s forgiveness probably extends to the very folks for whom it would be impossible for me to forgive. In a few minutes, we will sing the words, “For everyone born, a place at the table, abuser, abused, with need to forgive.” Those are some pretty tough words to sing.

But, friends, the wonderful, challenging, and awe-inspiring lesson that we learn from our Scripture today is that Christ’s table will always look very different from what our own might look like. As hard as that is to hear, it is very good news for us to hear. The woman knows she has sinned, and sinned greatly, but Christ still welcomes her and welcomes her need for forgiveness and grace. She falls to his feet and weeps on them and cleans them with love, with desperation, with hope-and out of great faith. And she is saved and forgiven, made well and made whole. She is given a new way to live, as our hymn says. She is forgiven and invited to Christ’s table. And so are we. Thanks be to God.