Preaching to the choir
Commentary
We preachers are sometimes confused about our audience.
Sometimes we preach like frustrated columnists, as though our high calling is to change public opinion about current events. Or we preach as though we had the president or governor or congress in our congregation, proclaiming what we believe they need to hear, even though they are not there.
One preacher may have such a heart for lost souls of Generation X that she preaches for them, forgetting that her actual congregation is made up mostly of members over fifty years old who have been in church their whole lives. While another preacher may be so recently steeped in the world of seminarians that he preaches to a congregation bewildered by his frequent and familiar references to the Deuteronomist, the Q document, Athanasius, and the eschaton.
The most famous example of a preacher being confused about his audience, of course, is the idiomatic practice of "preaching to the choir." This is an easy thing to do. We preach what the people who are not in attendance need to hear, leaving the faithful to sit and listen to what they already know and live.
But this Sunday may be just the occasion to preach to the choir. This week's lections may feature precisely the truths that the choir needs to hear.
1 Kings 21:1-10 (11-14) 15-21a
The conventional wisdom in real estate is that the three most important factors for any piece of property are location, location, and location. That old saw proves to be unhappily true for poor Naboth. The Old Testament writer introduces us to him with this concise summary: "Naboth the Jezreelite had a vineyard in Jezreel, beside the palace of King Ahab of Samaria."
Naboth's location is marked in terms of two coordinates: "in Jezreel" and "beside the palace of King Ahab." Since he is identified as a Jezreelite, the first coordinate seems appropriate. Naboth is where he belongs. He is at home. And, we discover later, his vineyard is family land -- his "ancestral inheritance."
One might naturally suppose that living in the king's neighborhood would be advantageous. Is there any property in the land more valuable? More secure?
On the other hand, many of us have experienced, to one degree or another, the pain and difficulty that comes from having a bad neighbor. And if the bad neighbor is also king, the pain and difficulty is magnified that much more!
Naboth's neighbor, King Ahab, wants to obtain Naboth's land. Apparently it was a nice piece of property, and being just outside Ahab's door and window, the king no doubt saw it every day.
It is the things right under our noses that we are most likely to covet. Not that I don't crave things that are far off; but the good things right next door are the ones I see constantly, and so they are most likely to become an obsession. Perhaps that's why the commandment specifies "anything that belongs to your neighbor" (Exodus 20:17).
Having been denied the opportunity to purchase Naboth's property, Ahab goes home unhappy. Jezebel detects that Ahab is glum, and she inquires about the cause. Being a no- nonsense person, Jezebel is not one to wallow. If something is not to her liking, she will take action to correct it, like here, in the case of Naboth's vineyard.
While Ahab had broken the tenth commandment by coveting what belonged to his neighbor, Jezebel climbed up the list a notch, arranging for false witnesses against that neighbor (see Exodus 20:16; also Proverbs 3:29). And, in almost no time, Jezebel has solved the problem -- eliminated it, really -- and Ahab is free to take possession of the vineyard.
That's where Elijah finds him.
It is a poignant business for the man of God to find you at the very scene of the crime. Nathan famously confronted David, but not as he was in bed with Bathsheba. This prophet-king confrontation is more reminiscent of the condemnation of Jeroboam at the site of his newly constructed altar (1 Kings 13:1-6).
At first blush, Ahab's greeting to Elijah sounds just like good banter. We discover that a constant tension exists between these two men, with their different allegiances, and so the angry salutation fits the hostile relationship.
This king-and-prophet combo reminds me a bit of Herod and John the Baptist in the New Testament. The king is mixed: equal parts disapproval of the prophet and fear of the prophet. He is antagonistic to the man and his message, and yet reluctant to exercise his sovereignty against the man of God. The wife of the king in each case, however, has no such compunctions.
The way that Ahab addresses Elijah is more than just repartee, however. It is symptomatic and revealing. For what terrible thing does it say about Ahab that he regards the prophet -- the courier from God -- as his enemy? Call him "my critic," "my challenger," or "my nagging conscience." But "my enemy"? What a terrible, tragic thing to conclude: that the one who bears no weapon other than God's word is your enemy.
Galatians 2:15-21
I live on the south side of a little town in Wisconsin called Whitewater. I have a number of friends who live on the north side of town. I suppose that it would be accurate for me to say to them, "I live closer to Miami than you," but somehow I don't think that they would envy me my shorter walk to the beach.
It is true that I am closer to Miami. It is also true, however, that my friends on the north side of town and I are both very far away. Indeed, in the big scheme of things, we are almost equally far away. Neither of us is going to put on our swimsuits and sandals and walk to the beach from here. Both of us -- north side of town and south -- will have to drive or fly in order to get there.
In a high school science class, I once learned about "significant numbers." A tenth of a mile is a significant number when measuring how far it is from my house to my church. But a tenth of a mile is no longer a significant number when measuring how far it is from the earth to the sun, or from one galaxy to another.
Technically, I am closer to Palm Beach than my friends on the north side of town. But I am not significantly closer.
So, too, with the Jews and the Gentiles in this matter of salvation.
As the chosen people of God -- recipients of his law and his covenants -- the Jews were arguably closer to God than the "Gentile sinners." And yet the advantage was not significant, for both the Jews and the Gentiles alike need the same long-distance transport in order to be saved. The Jews' proximity is not such that they are somehow within "walking distance" from God. No, they must be "justified ... through faith in Jesus Christ," just like the "Gentile sinners."
Meanwhile, the role of Christ's death in our salvation is at issue here in an interesting way.
Some Christians have tended to ignore Christ's death altogether, thinking that any soteriology that requires his death is a bit primitive. They emphasize, instead, the example of his life. Others have sought to make Christ's death relevant for something other than salvation (an example of human injustice, of unjust suffering, of heroic martyrdom, and the like). Meanwhile, most Christians through the ages have understood that Christ's death was salvific, though the specific paradigms have been somewhat varied.
In this passage, meanwhile, Paul presents us with a truth about Christ's suffering and death that is seldom affirmed in American Christendom. Paul claims that he had been "crucified with Christ" (v. 19).
We are accustomed to the gospel that says that he died for us. We may not be so conversant, however, in the gospel that says that we died with him. My picture of the cross on Good Friday shows him, not me. But this passage from Galatians may make this Sunday a good opportunity to expand my picture -- and my congregation's picture, as well.
The great resulting truth to affirm, of course, is that "it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me" (v. 20). Here is a part of the gospel that seems to have been left out of the diet of so many of our churches. We are naturally I-centered, and we have let the gospel and the Christian life become I-centered as well. Perhaps a great many matters of morality, personal priorities, and sense of purpose would be clarified if we awakened to the notion that it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.
Finally, I am conscious that Paul's final line in this week's passage is a provocative one that so many church folks need to hear and understand.
In my years of local church ministry, I have so often encountered a "good Christian" mentality that, in its own subtle way, exalts the law over the grace of God. These are the folks (and I expect you've met them, too) who earnestly believe that their eternal reward in heaven is secured by the good life they've lived. Or they make that same affirmation on behalf of a friend and loved one who has recently died. "Well, you know, Bill wasn't a very religious person, but he was about the nicest person you'd ever care to meet."
The mentality does not wrestle with the rigors and specifics of God's whole law. Rather, some homespun revision of the law has been developed to identify what is a "good person," and it is that goodness -- rather than God's goodness -- that guarantees one's salvation. It's a common heresy, and Paul follows it through to its logical and startling conclusion: "then Christ died for nothing."
Luke 7:36--8:3
One of the hallmarks of Luke's gospel is the prominence of women in the story. From Mary and Elizabeth at the beginning of the gospel to the women who first bear witness to the resurrection at the end, women play a large role in Luke's account of Jesus. And this week's gospel lection is yet another example of that pattern.
In the main story of the selected passage, it is a woman who emerges as the unexpected paragon. We'll return to her story in a moment. Then, as a bookend to the passage, we meet several other exemplary women. Luke mentions "the twelve" -- a kind of impersonal reference to the disciples -- and then he goes on to call by name some women who were also part of Jesus' faithful contingent. There is Mary Magdalene, whom we know well. There is also Joanna and Susanna, plus "many others." These women are not merely tagging along with the men. Decidedly not. Rather, these women, it seems, are the ones whose significant generosity and resources provide for the needs of the entire group.
The real star of this passage, however, is the anonymous woman who anointed Jesus while he was in the home of Simon the Pharisee.
While Luke does not tell us her name, he does tell us one significant thing about her: She "was a sinner." No details, just a label, and the rest is left to our imaginations.
In the context of that culture, this unnamed woman and the named Pharisee were at opposite ends of the spectrum. Sinner and Pharisee. Righteous and unrighteous, with Jesus in between. The tableau is a powerful image as the two opposite characters are, for a moment, on either side of the Lord. The woman is prostrate, weeping at Jesus' feet. Simon is likely more elevated, probably face-to-face with Jesus as they reclined to eat. Yet, as in Jesus' parable (Luke 18:9-14), it is the humble and undeserving character who is truly right with God in the end.
Simon assumes that Jesus' status as a true prophet is at stake in this episode. After all, if he truly were a prophet, Simon reasons, he would know the kind of person with whom he was dealing.
Of course, Jesus did know. He knew the kind of woman who was touching and anointing him, and he also knew the kind of man who was hosting him. The woman's life and heart were not the only ones transparent to Jesus there at that table.
Jesus turns the tables on the scene and on Simon. Simon thinks that the issue is who is more sinful, and by that measure he comes out on top. But Jesus recasts the issue, asking who is more loving, and on that scale Simon is found wanting.
The paradigm shift is typical. It resonates with the God who "does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7). It is reminiscent of the God who surprises the self-satisfied religious people of the eighth century BC (Isaiah 1:11-17; Amos 5:21-24). It is consistent with the teacher who exalted the Samaritan over the priest and the Levite (Luke 10:30-37), the tax collector over the Pharisee (Luke 18:9-14), and the one lost sheep above the 99 in the fold (Luke 15:4- 7).
Simon reckoned that if Jesus knew who this woman was, he wouldn't let her touch him, but Simon had it backward. When Jesus is in our midst, the question is not whether he recognizes us; the real issue is whether we recognize him. That was a part of his point to the woman at the well (John 4:10), and that was certainly at the heart of the matter when he prayed for the forgiveness of his tormentors (Luke 23:34).
It is at this point that a surprising hero emerges from the scene. While conventional wisdom of that day would have put the white hat on the Pharisee and the black hat on the sinful woman, she is the one who comes out on top. For she seems really to recognize Jesus and to honor him appropriately, while Simon had missed it. The Lord himself was in Simon's home, but Simon's inadequate response shows that he didn't recognize the Lord.
Finally, it may be worth noting that the woman offers a picture of love that we may easily lose sight of. Because our conventional picture of Jesus is as the one who touches us, who heals us, who blesses us, we may have an underdeveloped picture of us touching him, of us blessing or caring for him. It is a picture implicit in Jesus' teaching about the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25:31-46). It is a picture tenderly portrayed in Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ in the characters of Mary, Simon, and Veronica along the Via Dolorosa. It is an image captured marvelously in Christina Rossetti's Christmas song, "In the Bleak Midwinter" -- "Angels and archangels may have gathered there, / Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air; / But His mother only, in her maiden bliss, / Worshipped the beloved with a kiss." And it is a picture offered us by this woman who, by what she did for Jesus, "has shown great love."
Application
Let us say that "the choir" represents a certain sort of people. They are faithful and reliable. They attend and they assist. You can count on them to be there, doing their part, week in and week out. They are the quintessential good church folks.
So when you're preaching to the choir, what should you preach? What does the choir -- the good church folks -- need to hear? Well, for starters, it is worth pointing out that the choir probably needs to hear the same things as the preachers. When we talk to them, we are talking also to ourselves. And they and we may need to hear two of the passages that we are assigned this week.
First, those of us who are so habitually and commendably law-abiding need to hear again that we are not justified by the law. In a manifestly bad world, it's easy to feel satisfied with our goodness. So we benefit from Paul's reminder that we are saved by God's goodness, not our own.
And then there is the other hazard of our human goodness. Not only that we may "nullify the grace of God" by some self-reliance, but also that we may be shallow in our love. This was the surprising fault of Simon.
Our natural ally in the gospel lection may be Simon the Pharisee. We are not much attracted to him, and we have inherited a very negative view of Pharisees. But the hard fact remains that he is the one most like "the choir." He is faithful, good, and religious. But he had not been forgiven much. Or at least he didn't recognize that he had. That is the natural plight of the good person, and so it may be our liability, too.
Preaching to the choir, therefore, may include the sober reminder that "the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little."
Alternative Application
Luke 7:36--8:3. "The Trouble with Jesus' Hosts." What an inconvenient place to have to find Jesus.
This woman, "who was a sinner," was apparently eager to find Jesus. She wanted, it seems, to express to him her love, her gratitude, perhaps even her worship. We don't know the details of her story leading up to this moment. Perhaps they would be unnecessarily salacious. It is sufficient to know that both Luke the narrator and Simon the Pharisee readily identify her as "a sinner."
We gather from the assorted accounts found in the four gospels that multitudes of people sought out Jesus. We see crowds pressing in on him personally, crowding the house where he stays, chasing the boat that he rides. And so we imagine the excitement certain individuals must have felt when they learned that Jesus was nearby.
This woman was one of those individuals. She learned that Jesus was in the neighborhood. She wanted to go to him. But then came the unhappy specifics of the situation: she "learned that he was eating in the Pharisee's house."
What kind of courage did it take for her to go there? To presume into the private space of Simon's home? To pass through the door into a place where she was neither one of the family members who belonged there nor one of the guests invited to be there? To go in and be noticed -- pointed at, whispered about? To go where she knew she would meet with disapproval, condemnation, and perhaps even outright rejection?
What kind of courage does it take for a sinner to have to find Jesus among the religious and righteous crowd? More courage, I suspect, than many other folks of that day had. More courage than many folks have today, as well: people who are understandably too afraid, too ashamed, and too guilty to come find Jesus in our churches. What an inconvenient place to have to find Jesus.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 5:1-8
Everyone knows what it's like to surrender in a long, collapsing sigh. There is no one who has lived who cannot summon up memories of times when adversaries or enemies seemed to be everywhere. Such struggles sap the soul and often leave us feeling as though there are no options; no place left to turn. It is this sense of powerlessness that comes through this psalm.
"Give heed to my sighing. Listen to the sound of my cry...." What poignant scenes enter the mind as the imagination conjures up the sounds of sighs and sobs, the spirit of despair.
Yet, it turns out that there is one place left to turn. There is one court of last resort, even when a host of enemies surrounds and threatens, there is one who does not fade away. God's faithfulness stands with arms outstretched to all generations. God's abundant and steadfast love does not go away.
It is this abundance that is nearly impossible to grasp. In a world of limitations where it seems that there is never enough, the notion of abundance feels foreign, strange. We learn through thorough acculturation that there is never enough love, never enough power, never enough hope, never enough ... stuff; and so our lives become a competitive struggle to gain and maintain a piece of the pie.
But in God there is abundance. That is to say, there is not merely enough to go around; there is more than plenty for everyone.
So it is that in desperation, when all else fails, we turn to God and God's steadfast and abundant love. One wonders, though, why it is that God seems to be the court of last resort rather than the first and immediate choice of the faithful. Perhaps it is that choice that calls us to prayer; that option that pulls us into community, and that possibility that launches us into ministry.
Could it be that the process of choosing God first in our lives is the one to which the church is called? Could it be that in this psalm can be discovered a focal point and challenge to each and every person? What would this world look like if faithful people chose God and God's way first? What would our congregations look like if prayer and surrender to the Holy were the first items on the agenda?
Sometimes we preach like frustrated columnists, as though our high calling is to change public opinion about current events. Or we preach as though we had the president or governor or congress in our congregation, proclaiming what we believe they need to hear, even though they are not there.
One preacher may have such a heart for lost souls of Generation X that she preaches for them, forgetting that her actual congregation is made up mostly of members over fifty years old who have been in church their whole lives. While another preacher may be so recently steeped in the world of seminarians that he preaches to a congregation bewildered by his frequent and familiar references to the Deuteronomist, the Q document, Athanasius, and the eschaton.
The most famous example of a preacher being confused about his audience, of course, is the idiomatic practice of "preaching to the choir." This is an easy thing to do. We preach what the people who are not in attendance need to hear, leaving the faithful to sit and listen to what they already know and live.
But this Sunday may be just the occasion to preach to the choir. This week's lections may feature precisely the truths that the choir needs to hear.
1 Kings 21:1-10 (11-14) 15-21a
The conventional wisdom in real estate is that the three most important factors for any piece of property are location, location, and location. That old saw proves to be unhappily true for poor Naboth. The Old Testament writer introduces us to him with this concise summary: "Naboth the Jezreelite had a vineyard in Jezreel, beside the palace of King Ahab of Samaria."
Naboth's location is marked in terms of two coordinates: "in Jezreel" and "beside the palace of King Ahab." Since he is identified as a Jezreelite, the first coordinate seems appropriate. Naboth is where he belongs. He is at home. And, we discover later, his vineyard is family land -- his "ancestral inheritance."
One might naturally suppose that living in the king's neighborhood would be advantageous. Is there any property in the land more valuable? More secure?
On the other hand, many of us have experienced, to one degree or another, the pain and difficulty that comes from having a bad neighbor. And if the bad neighbor is also king, the pain and difficulty is magnified that much more!
Naboth's neighbor, King Ahab, wants to obtain Naboth's land. Apparently it was a nice piece of property, and being just outside Ahab's door and window, the king no doubt saw it every day.
It is the things right under our noses that we are most likely to covet. Not that I don't crave things that are far off; but the good things right next door are the ones I see constantly, and so they are most likely to become an obsession. Perhaps that's why the commandment specifies "anything that belongs to your neighbor" (Exodus 20:17).
Having been denied the opportunity to purchase Naboth's property, Ahab goes home unhappy. Jezebel detects that Ahab is glum, and she inquires about the cause. Being a no- nonsense person, Jezebel is not one to wallow. If something is not to her liking, she will take action to correct it, like here, in the case of Naboth's vineyard.
While Ahab had broken the tenth commandment by coveting what belonged to his neighbor, Jezebel climbed up the list a notch, arranging for false witnesses against that neighbor (see Exodus 20:16; also Proverbs 3:29). And, in almost no time, Jezebel has solved the problem -- eliminated it, really -- and Ahab is free to take possession of the vineyard.
That's where Elijah finds him.
It is a poignant business for the man of God to find you at the very scene of the crime. Nathan famously confronted David, but not as he was in bed with Bathsheba. This prophet-king confrontation is more reminiscent of the condemnation of Jeroboam at the site of his newly constructed altar (1 Kings 13:1-6).
At first blush, Ahab's greeting to Elijah sounds just like good banter. We discover that a constant tension exists between these two men, with their different allegiances, and so the angry salutation fits the hostile relationship.
This king-and-prophet combo reminds me a bit of Herod and John the Baptist in the New Testament. The king is mixed: equal parts disapproval of the prophet and fear of the prophet. He is antagonistic to the man and his message, and yet reluctant to exercise his sovereignty against the man of God. The wife of the king in each case, however, has no such compunctions.
The way that Ahab addresses Elijah is more than just repartee, however. It is symptomatic and revealing. For what terrible thing does it say about Ahab that he regards the prophet -- the courier from God -- as his enemy? Call him "my critic," "my challenger," or "my nagging conscience." But "my enemy"? What a terrible, tragic thing to conclude: that the one who bears no weapon other than God's word is your enemy.
Galatians 2:15-21
I live on the south side of a little town in Wisconsin called Whitewater. I have a number of friends who live on the north side of town. I suppose that it would be accurate for me to say to them, "I live closer to Miami than you," but somehow I don't think that they would envy me my shorter walk to the beach.
It is true that I am closer to Miami. It is also true, however, that my friends on the north side of town and I are both very far away. Indeed, in the big scheme of things, we are almost equally far away. Neither of us is going to put on our swimsuits and sandals and walk to the beach from here. Both of us -- north side of town and south -- will have to drive or fly in order to get there.
In a high school science class, I once learned about "significant numbers." A tenth of a mile is a significant number when measuring how far it is from my house to my church. But a tenth of a mile is no longer a significant number when measuring how far it is from the earth to the sun, or from one galaxy to another.
Technically, I am closer to Palm Beach than my friends on the north side of town. But I am not significantly closer.
So, too, with the Jews and the Gentiles in this matter of salvation.
As the chosen people of God -- recipients of his law and his covenants -- the Jews were arguably closer to God than the "Gentile sinners." And yet the advantage was not significant, for both the Jews and the Gentiles alike need the same long-distance transport in order to be saved. The Jews' proximity is not such that they are somehow within "walking distance" from God. No, they must be "justified ... through faith in Jesus Christ," just like the "Gentile sinners."
Meanwhile, the role of Christ's death in our salvation is at issue here in an interesting way.
Some Christians have tended to ignore Christ's death altogether, thinking that any soteriology that requires his death is a bit primitive. They emphasize, instead, the example of his life. Others have sought to make Christ's death relevant for something other than salvation (an example of human injustice, of unjust suffering, of heroic martyrdom, and the like). Meanwhile, most Christians through the ages have understood that Christ's death was salvific, though the specific paradigms have been somewhat varied.
In this passage, meanwhile, Paul presents us with a truth about Christ's suffering and death that is seldom affirmed in American Christendom. Paul claims that he had been "crucified with Christ" (v. 19).
We are accustomed to the gospel that says that he died for us. We may not be so conversant, however, in the gospel that says that we died with him. My picture of the cross on Good Friday shows him, not me. But this passage from Galatians may make this Sunday a good opportunity to expand my picture -- and my congregation's picture, as well.
The great resulting truth to affirm, of course, is that "it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me" (v. 20). Here is a part of the gospel that seems to have been left out of the diet of so many of our churches. We are naturally I-centered, and we have let the gospel and the Christian life become I-centered as well. Perhaps a great many matters of morality, personal priorities, and sense of purpose would be clarified if we awakened to the notion that it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.
Finally, I am conscious that Paul's final line in this week's passage is a provocative one that so many church folks need to hear and understand.
In my years of local church ministry, I have so often encountered a "good Christian" mentality that, in its own subtle way, exalts the law over the grace of God. These are the folks (and I expect you've met them, too) who earnestly believe that their eternal reward in heaven is secured by the good life they've lived. Or they make that same affirmation on behalf of a friend and loved one who has recently died. "Well, you know, Bill wasn't a very religious person, but he was about the nicest person you'd ever care to meet."
The mentality does not wrestle with the rigors and specifics of God's whole law. Rather, some homespun revision of the law has been developed to identify what is a "good person," and it is that goodness -- rather than God's goodness -- that guarantees one's salvation. It's a common heresy, and Paul follows it through to its logical and startling conclusion: "then Christ died for nothing."
Luke 7:36--8:3
One of the hallmarks of Luke's gospel is the prominence of women in the story. From Mary and Elizabeth at the beginning of the gospel to the women who first bear witness to the resurrection at the end, women play a large role in Luke's account of Jesus. And this week's gospel lection is yet another example of that pattern.
In the main story of the selected passage, it is a woman who emerges as the unexpected paragon. We'll return to her story in a moment. Then, as a bookend to the passage, we meet several other exemplary women. Luke mentions "the twelve" -- a kind of impersonal reference to the disciples -- and then he goes on to call by name some women who were also part of Jesus' faithful contingent. There is Mary Magdalene, whom we know well. There is also Joanna and Susanna, plus "many others." These women are not merely tagging along with the men. Decidedly not. Rather, these women, it seems, are the ones whose significant generosity and resources provide for the needs of the entire group.
The real star of this passage, however, is the anonymous woman who anointed Jesus while he was in the home of Simon the Pharisee.
While Luke does not tell us her name, he does tell us one significant thing about her: She "was a sinner." No details, just a label, and the rest is left to our imaginations.
In the context of that culture, this unnamed woman and the named Pharisee were at opposite ends of the spectrum. Sinner and Pharisee. Righteous and unrighteous, with Jesus in between. The tableau is a powerful image as the two opposite characters are, for a moment, on either side of the Lord. The woman is prostrate, weeping at Jesus' feet. Simon is likely more elevated, probably face-to-face with Jesus as they reclined to eat. Yet, as in Jesus' parable (Luke 18:9-14), it is the humble and undeserving character who is truly right with God in the end.
Simon assumes that Jesus' status as a true prophet is at stake in this episode. After all, if he truly were a prophet, Simon reasons, he would know the kind of person with whom he was dealing.
Of course, Jesus did know. He knew the kind of woman who was touching and anointing him, and he also knew the kind of man who was hosting him. The woman's life and heart were not the only ones transparent to Jesus there at that table.
Jesus turns the tables on the scene and on Simon. Simon thinks that the issue is who is more sinful, and by that measure he comes out on top. But Jesus recasts the issue, asking who is more loving, and on that scale Simon is found wanting.
The paradigm shift is typical. It resonates with the God who "does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7). It is reminiscent of the God who surprises the self-satisfied religious people of the eighth century BC (Isaiah 1:11-17; Amos 5:21-24). It is consistent with the teacher who exalted the Samaritan over the priest and the Levite (Luke 10:30-37), the tax collector over the Pharisee (Luke 18:9-14), and the one lost sheep above the 99 in the fold (Luke 15:4- 7).
Simon reckoned that if Jesus knew who this woman was, he wouldn't let her touch him, but Simon had it backward. When Jesus is in our midst, the question is not whether he recognizes us; the real issue is whether we recognize him. That was a part of his point to the woman at the well (John 4:10), and that was certainly at the heart of the matter when he prayed for the forgiveness of his tormentors (Luke 23:34).
It is at this point that a surprising hero emerges from the scene. While conventional wisdom of that day would have put the white hat on the Pharisee and the black hat on the sinful woman, she is the one who comes out on top. For she seems really to recognize Jesus and to honor him appropriately, while Simon had missed it. The Lord himself was in Simon's home, but Simon's inadequate response shows that he didn't recognize the Lord.
Finally, it may be worth noting that the woman offers a picture of love that we may easily lose sight of. Because our conventional picture of Jesus is as the one who touches us, who heals us, who blesses us, we may have an underdeveloped picture of us touching him, of us blessing or caring for him. It is a picture implicit in Jesus' teaching about the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25:31-46). It is a picture tenderly portrayed in Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ in the characters of Mary, Simon, and Veronica along the Via Dolorosa. It is an image captured marvelously in Christina Rossetti's Christmas song, "In the Bleak Midwinter" -- "Angels and archangels may have gathered there, / Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air; / But His mother only, in her maiden bliss, / Worshipped the beloved with a kiss." And it is a picture offered us by this woman who, by what she did for Jesus, "has shown great love."
Application
Let us say that "the choir" represents a certain sort of people. They are faithful and reliable. They attend and they assist. You can count on them to be there, doing their part, week in and week out. They are the quintessential good church folks.
So when you're preaching to the choir, what should you preach? What does the choir -- the good church folks -- need to hear? Well, for starters, it is worth pointing out that the choir probably needs to hear the same things as the preachers. When we talk to them, we are talking also to ourselves. And they and we may need to hear two of the passages that we are assigned this week.
First, those of us who are so habitually and commendably law-abiding need to hear again that we are not justified by the law. In a manifestly bad world, it's easy to feel satisfied with our goodness. So we benefit from Paul's reminder that we are saved by God's goodness, not our own.
And then there is the other hazard of our human goodness. Not only that we may "nullify the grace of God" by some self-reliance, but also that we may be shallow in our love. This was the surprising fault of Simon.
Our natural ally in the gospel lection may be Simon the Pharisee. We are not much attracted to him, and we have inherited a very negative view of Pharisees. But the hard fact remains that he is the one most like "the choir." He is faithful, good, and religious. But he had not been forgiven much. Or at least he didn't recognize that he had. That is the natural plight of the good person, and so it may be our liability, too.
Preaching to the choir, therefore, may include the sober reminder that "the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little."
Alternative Application
Luke 7:36--8:3. "The Trouble with Jesus' Hosts." What an inconvenient place to have to find Jesus.
This woman, "who was a sinner," was apparently eager to find Jesus. She wanted, it seems, to express to him her love, her gratitude, perhaps even her worship. We don't know the details of her story leading up to this moment. Perhaps they would be unnecessarily salacious. It is sufficient to know that both Luke the narrator and Simon the Pharisee readily identify her as "a sinner."
We gather from the assorted accounts found in the four gospels that multitudes of people sought out Jesus. We see crowds pressing in on him personally, crowding the house where he stays, chasing the boat that he rides. And so we imagine the excitement certain individuals must have felt when they learned that Jesus was nearby.
This woman was one of those individuals. She learned that Jesus was in the neighborhood. She wanted to go to him. But then came the unhappy specifics of the situation: she "learned that he was eating in the Pharisee's house."
What kind of courage did it take for her to go there? To presume into the private space of Simon's home? To pass through the door into a place where she was neither one of the family members who belonged there nor one of the guests invited to be there? To go in and be noticed -- pointed at, whispered about? To go where she knew she would meet with disapproval, condemnation, and perhaps even outright rejection?
What kind of courage does it take for a sinner to have to find Jesus among the religious and righteous crowd? More courage, I suspect, than many other folks of that day had. More courage than many folks have today, as well: people who are understandably too afraid, too ashamed, and too guilty to come find Jesus in our churches. What an inconvenient place to have to find Jesus.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 5:1-8
Everyone knows what it's like to surrender in a long, collapsing sigh. There is no one who has lived who cannot summon up memories of times when adversaries or enemies seemed to be everywhere. Such struggles sap the soul and often leave us feeling as though there are no options; no place left to turn. It is this sense of powerlessness that comes through this psalm.
"Give heed to my sighing. Listen to the sound of my cry...." What poignant scenes enter the mind as the imagination conjures up the sounds of sighs and sobs, the spirit of despair.
Yet, it turns out that there is one place left to turn. There is one court of last resort, even when a host of enemies surrounds and threatens, there is one who does not fade away. God's faithfulness stands with arms outstretched to all generations. God's abundant and steadfast love does not go away.
It is this abundance that is nearly impossible to grasp. In a world of limitations where it seems that there is never enough, the notion of abundance feels foreign, strange. We learn through thorough acculturation that there is never enough love, never enough power, never enough hope, never enough ... stuff; and so our lives become a competitive struggle to gain and maintain a piece of the pie.
But in God there is abundance. That is to say, there is not merely enough to go around; there is more than plenty for everyone.
So it is that in desperation, when all else fails, we turn to God and God's steadfast and abundant love. One wonders, though, why it is that God seems to be the court of last resort rather than the first and immediate choice of the faithful. Perhaps it is that choice that calls us to prayer; that option that pulls us into community, and that possibility that launches us into ministry.
Could it be that the process of choosing God first in our lives is the one to which the church is called? Could it be that in this psalm can be discovered a focal point and challenge to each and every person? What would this world look like if faithful people chose God and God's way first? What would our congregations look like if prayer and surrender to the Holy were the first items on the agenda?
