June 17, 2007
The Third Sunday after Pentecost (Year C)
1 Kings 21:1-10, (11-14), 15-21a; Psalm 5:1-8; Galatians 2:15-21; Luke 7:36-8:3
Some of you know that I attended an all girls’ Episcopal school from first grade through high school. Every week, at least three times per week for twelve years, I was exposed to some aspect of faith, either through bible class or chapel. I heard the stories of the Old and New Testament repeatedly. It was a long time ago, and though I’m sure my memory is somewhat flawed, it seemed like we repeatedly looked at the same old stories, same rote interpretation, same surface message, over and over and over. I remember sort of tuning it out after a while. One benefit to be sure is that I have a catalog of these stories in my memory, and I can call them up fairly easily. But there was no delving deeper, no personal involvement.
Then as I got older, I mentioned this to a mentor of mine, who told me that he had learned that you only really even begin to unearth the deep lessons of the bible when you put yourself into the story, repeatedly, until you spend time living the story from every point of view. And because we live and grow and change, he said, every time you do this you will see the story in a new and deeper way. This was a turning point for me. No one had ever invited me to bring myself, my whole, real, changing imperfect self, to the study of the bible and to find my own meaning there. Seems obvious now, but not so much to a young girl growing up in the 60’s.
And so I put myself into the gospel story today. Simon was a Pharisee, a learned man, who knew the law and the custom and how to behave and how not behave. He invited Jesus to dinner. I imagine he invited his friends and prominent members of the society. It was likely quite an event that took planning and preparation, and I’m sure he wanted it to go well. How embarrassing then it must have been to have his party interrupted by this uninvited guest, an outcast, a woman of low morals, making a scene and disrupting this meal. I don’t think he was a bad guy, but maybe a bit self-righteous. He was proud of his position and his adherence to the law and he was pretty sure he knew what was right. He must have been taken aback then, when Jesus not only didn’t get upset with the woman, but took the opportunity to teach him a deeper lesson in what faith is and in how God welcomes us in our sin and weakness. How his sense of righteousness must have been turned upside down, when Jesus’ response to the woman was one of welcoming and hospitality rather than judgment and condemnation.
And what about this woman? Clearly she has come into this place emboldened; she came to the home of a Pharisee, where in this society she would never be welcomed. And she came overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude. We can only imagine the previous encounter she must have had with Jesus, maybe a personal conversation, maybe something he said that she heard from afar – something; something that touched her so deeply, moved her so completely that she was overcome, pouring out her heart in gratitude and humility and ministering to Jesus by kneeling at his feet and anointing him with ointment. Jesus saw past her history and past behavior and saw into her heart, and he envisioned the possibilities there.
This story tells us so much about the hospitality of God. It tells about the coming to God not just with our sense of goodness, our sense of righteousness and obligation, but it invites us to come from a deeper place, a place of vulnerability and brokenness and sin. Sin: that’s a hard word to wrap our minds around. I admit I still feel a little threatened and uncomfortable with it. It cuts sort of close and makes us squirm a bit. We say in our liturgy that we are all sinners and we ask for forgiveness, but how often do we let that word penetrate, really get past our protective armor and touch us? How often are we really able to be that open, that naked if you will, before God and before each other and before ourselves? It’s scary. It’s a risk to be that open, that exposed, that vulnerable. I’m convinced that much of what is wrong in our world, in our communities, in our families and in our own lives is because of fear, fear of being exposed, ridiculed, taken advantage of, threatened. And so we wrap ourselves in the armor of things, material goods, achievements, social standing, proper behavior, righteousness. And then something happens, and we realize that we cannot protect ourselves from life, from illness or tragedy or disappointment or loss, or even bad choices, because we are human and we are vulnerable.
This story always reminds me of the familiar story of the prodigal son, another story that gives us a glimpse into the hospitality of God; the invitation to come, whatever the situation, whatever the circumstance, whatever we have done or left undone, and be transformed. Like Jesus in the story today, the father in that story could have reacted to his son’s return in so many ways. He would have been within his rights to rebuff and exclude him, to condemn him and shut him out; but in a model of fatherly love that points to the abiding love of God, he welcomes his son home, rejoicing with acceptance, and love. We all have that need, don’t we? That need for acceptance and inclusion. In the family of God, the prodigal son can always return, is always welcome, is always accepted. That promise of acceptance can change us, transform us. If we are able to take the risk to be vulnerable, to come in repentance, God’s answer will always be “yes.” Isn’t that what we all want, in our heart of hearts, to know that wherever we are on this journey of life, someone understands how we have gotten to that place and that we can be forgiven? And out of that forgiveness we can respond, we can turn away from our sin and live lives of humility and thankfulness and generosity.
Today is Father’s Day. It seems to me Father’s Day doesn’t get the same sentimental attention that Mother’s Day does, and I think that’s too bad. Scripture is full of glimpses into the centrality of fathers. One of the joys of my work is that I get to see so many different faces of love that fathers bring to their relationships with their children. And God has expectations for all you fathers out there. For as we begin this journey as children, when the stories we listen to are heard with hearts ripe for learning, but without the abstract understanding we will later develop, we need parents, and parental figures, to model for us, to be for us the steadfast presence, the deep involvement and the faithful bearers of acceptance and unconditional love. How else, in those fragile years of formation, do we learn what God is like? How will we come to know in our hearts that unconditional love waits, even when we stumble and fall; unconditional love waits, no matter how long it takes and whatever the sin, to welcome us home with joy and open arms and forgiveness?
And so, you fathers out there, for all of you on this journey of life, I leave you with this. If you knew without question how completely you have already been forgiven, imagine what you could do with your life.
And, set free with the knowledge of that unconditional love, envision how you have the power to touch the future beyond your own life.
Amen.
The Rev. Maggie Geller
Church of the Good Shepherd