Love And Forgiveness
Sermon
Some friends of mine had a nasty accident recently. They were buying garden furniture from a DIY yard, and strolling back to the car when one of the party caught her foot and tumbled headfirst into an open tank of wood dye, which happened to be at ankle height. But although the outside was at ankle height, the tank was sunk into the ground and turned out to be over six feet deep. Another member of the party jumped into the tank to rescue her friend, only to discover that the tank was extremely deep and she couldn't get any purchase for her feet. So there were two of them in danger of drowning. Meanwhile the third member of the party tried desperately to drag them both out, putting himself at grave risk of another heart attack - he'd already had several in the past.
Fortunately all ended well. The ladies were rescued, and none the worse for their experience apart from ruined clothes, dyed hair and nightmares for a week or two. But all of them immediately came in for quite a lot of advice from their friends, almost all of whom suggested they should sue the DIY firm for negligence. But my friends were reluctant to do that, because it was only a small family firm who immediately accepted all responsibility for the accident, apologised profusely and couldn't have been more concerned or kinder. The tank was covered within minutes, and by the time my friends returned a week later, the tank had been filled in, so there was no danger of any similar accidents.
But that quick acceptance of responsibility and reluctance to sue was unusual. On the whole, accepting responsibility for our own shortcomings seems to have become a lost art. Insurance company files are full of letters from clients with exotic and bizarre excuses for their motor accidents. Like, "I was driving along the road and a tree came out and hit me." Denial is now the expected response to any car accident - it wasn't my fault. And if it wasn't my fault, then it must have been somebody else's fault, his fault or her fault or their fault or God's fault.
We live in a society which seems to have a need to apportion blame and to act on the consequences. Someone must be blamed and pay the penalty. Then everyone else can feel virtuous and stand on high moral ground. So that, for instance, the person who is made redundant is often also made to feel it's his or her fault in some way. Then those responsible for the sacking don't need to feel any blame or any guilt.
Litigation is big business because even for unintentional accidents and mistakes, someone must pay. If you trip on the pavement in Norwich, then sue the Council. It must be their fault.
The problem with this mentality which we've created for ourselves, is that many people are now so afraid of being sued or losing their job, that they spend their lives looking over their shoulders and sticking rigidly to the letter of the law. There's no room for creativity when you pay dearly for the slightest error.
And for many people, the thought of being wrong in any circumstances, even in some slight way at home, is so terrifying that even the mildest criticism can cause uproar and is met by instant denial: "It wasn't me. I didn't leave the lid off the toothpaste." "Who's moved my glasses? I know I left them on the table." "Of course I didn't buy any butter, nobody told me we'd run out. Who finished the tub?" And so on!
Confession of sins in a general sense, acknowledging that I'm not perfect and that I might have made a few minor mistakes, is easy. Even going to confession and reeling off a list of mild failings is relatively easy. But looking deep within the heart, facing up to real sin and then confessing it, is far from easy. It hurts. It can hurt very deeply. Tears often accompany the peeling away of layers of self-deception, and that process leads to real remorse. And once that level of remorse is felt, there's no particular need to confess sin, for the confession has already happened. And God who knows our innermost thoughts and feelings, is always there with his forgiveness.
Simon the Pharisee in today's gospel story was a good man, a religious man. A church-goer! He was open-minded enough to invite Jesus, that nuisance of a barefoot preacher, to supper. Not all Pharisees would have stooped quite so low.
Simon enjoyed religion so much that he set himself high standards of morality. As a Pharisee he did his best to keep God's law, and no doubt he confessed his sins when he fell short. But he had no self-awareness. He was unable and unwilling to peel away any layers, and so he didn't know anything about his own innermost being. By concentrating on the surface, and measuring all responses against the religious rules and regulations, he avoided looking inwards. He avoided the depths of his own being.
And so, working according to the rules and regulations, he condemned the woman who gate-crashed his supper party and anointed Jesus' feet with oil.
Sinners and other lowly people were allowed to stand reverently behind the guests at a meal of this sort, listening to the conversation. So it was no particular surprise that the woman was there. Simon probably awarded himself Brownie points for the number of sinners who attended his meals. He was, perhaps, quite a benefactor in this way.
But according to the rules and regulations, he condemned the woman because she was a prostitute. He condemned her for her flagrant and embarrassing display of emotion. And he condemned her for wasting so much money with the ointment. And by association he condemned Jesus as well, for Jesus should have known this woman was the scum of the earth and kicked her out.
But Jesus turned all Simon's religious assumptions on their head. He did so very gently with a little story, so that Simon couldn't help but agree that those who are forgiven much, love greatly. Then he pointed out the signs of Simon's lack of love. Simon hadn't broken any rules. He'd done all the religious law required him to do, and probably more. But it was all surface stuff. None of it touched Simon's heart. He didn't love.
But the woman was so full of remorse for what she was and what she had been, that she wept great tears over Jesus' feet. She had reached the moment of forgiveness. She was forgiven because she was aware of her inner self. She saw the chasm between herself and Jesus, and she couldn't bear it. And Jesus said, "It's alright. Forgiveness is always there, waiting for you. Now you know yourself enough to be so aware of your sin, you're forgiven."
It takes a lot of love to reach that point. It takes enough love to overcome pride, to face self-deception, and to accept pain. It takes enough love to go past the blind spot and down into the depths. Anyone who can love like that, can't help but receive overwhelming forgiveness.
I wonder what happened to Simon the Pharisee after this meal with Jesus. I wonder whether he was suddenly able to see himself as Jesus saw him, and repented, and followed Jesus. That's the happy ending!
But I suspect he was outraged by Jesus' words. I suspect he was furiously angry, and denied the truth. I suspect his blind spot grew even larger, as he continued to worship regularly in the Temple and to confess his sins.
And so I find I must ask myself: When I confess my sins in church, am I simply mouthing apologies to God for minor mistakes which are totally unimportant? Or am I suddenly aware of the chasm between myself and Jesus, and am therefore full of genuine remorse? Because it's only those who love much, who are able to receive much forgiveness.
Fortunately all ended well. The ladies were rescued, and none the worse for their experience apart from ruined clothes, dyed hair and nightmares for a week or two. But all of them immediately came in for quite a lot of advice from their friends, almost all of whom suggested they should sue the DIY firm for negligence. But my friends were reluctant to do that, because it was only a small family firm who immediately accepted all responsibility for the accident, apologised profusely and couldn't have been more concerned or kinder. The tank was covered within minutes, and by the time my friends returned a week later, the tank had been filled in, so there was no danger of any similar accidents.
But that quick acceptance of responsibility and reluctance to sue was unusual. On the whole, accepting responsibility for our own shortcomings seems to have become a lost art. Insurance company files are full of letters from clients with exotic and bizarre excuses for their motor accidents. Like, "I was driving along the road and a tree came out and hit me." Denial is now the expected response to any car accident - it wasn't my fault. And if it wasn't my fault, then it must have been somebody else's fault, his fault or her fault or their fault or God's fault.
We live in a society which seems to have a need to apportion blame and to act on the consequences. Someone must be blamed and pay the penalty. Then everyone else can feel virtuous and stand on high moral ground. So that, for instance, the person who is made redundant is often also made to feel it's his or her fault in some way. Then those responsible for the sacking don't need to feel any blame or any guilt.
Litigation is big business because even for unintentional accidents and mistakes, someone must pay. If you trip on the pavement in Norwich, then sue the Council. It must be their fault.
The problem with this mentality which we've created for ourselves, is that many people are now so afraid of being sued or losing their job, that they spend their lives looking over their shoulders and sticking rigidly to the letter of the law. There's no room for creativity when you pay dearly for the slightest error.
And for many people, the thought of being wrong in any circumstances, even in some slight way at home, is so terrifying that even the mildest criticism can cause uproar and is met by instant denial: "It wasn't me. I didn't leave the lid off the toothpaste." "Who's moved my glasses? I know I left them on the table." "Of course I didn't buy any butter, nobody told me we'd run out. Who finished the tub?" And so on!
Confession of sins in a general sense, acknowledging that I'm not perfect and that I might have made a few minor mistakes, is easy. Even going to confession and reeling off a list of mild failings is relatively easy. But looking deep within the heart, facing up to real sin and then confessing it, is far from easy. It hurts. It can hurt very deeply. Tears often accompany the peeling away of layers of self-deception, and that process leads to real remorse. And once that level of remorse is felt, there's no particular need to confess sin, for the confession has already happened. And God who knows our innermost thoughts and feelings, is always there with his forgiveness.
Simon the Pharisee in today's gospel story was a good man, a religious man. A church-goer! He was open-minded enough to invite Jesus, that nuisance of a barefoot preacher, to supper. Not all Pharisees would have stooped quite so low.
Simon enjoyed religion so much that he set himself high standards of morality. As a Pharisee he did his best to keep God's law, and no doubt he confessed his sins when he fell short. But he had no self-awareness. He was unable and unwilling to peel away any layers, and so he didn't know anything about his own innermost being. By concentrating on the surface, and measuring all responses against the religious rules and regulations, he avoided looking inwards. He avoided the depths of his own being.
And so, working according to the rules and regulations, he condemned the woman who gate-crashed his supper party and anointed Jesus' feet with oil.
Sinners and other lowly people were allowed to stand reverently behind the guests at a meal of this sort, listening to the conversation. So it was no particular surprise that the woman was there. Simon probably awarded himself Brownie points for the number of sinners who attended his meals. He was, perhaps, quite a benefactor in this way.
But according to the rules and regulations, he condemned the woman because she was a prostitute. He condemned her for her flagrant and embarrassing display of emotion. And he condemned her for wasting so much money with the ointment. And by association he condemned Jesus as well, for Jesus should have known this woman was the scum of the earth and kicked her out.
But Jesus turned all Simon's religious assumptions on their head. He did so very gently with a little story, so that Simon couldn't help but agree that those who are forgiven much, love greatly. Then he pointed out the signs of Simon's lack of love. Simon hadn't broken any rules. He'd done all the religious law required him to do, and probably more. But it was all surface stuff. None of it touched Simon's heart. He didn't love.
But the woman was so full of remorse for what she was and what she had been, that she wept great tears over Jesus' feet. She had reached the moment of forgiveness. She was forgiven because she was aware of her inner self. She saw the chasm between herself and Jesus, and she couldn't bear it. And Jesus said, "It's alright. Forgiveness is always there, waiting for you. Now you know yourself enough to be so aware of your sin, you're forgiven."
It takes a lot of love to reach that point. It takes enough love to overcome pride, to face self-deception, and to accept pain. It takes enough love to go past the blind spot and down into the depths. Anyone who can love like that, can't help but receive overwhelming forgiveness.
I wonder what happened to Simon the Pharisee after this meal with Jesus. I wonder whether he was suddenly able to see himself as Jesus saw him, and repented, and followed Jesus. That's the happy ending!
But I suspect he was outraged by Jesus' words. I suspect he was furiously angry, and denied the truth. I suspect his blind spot grew even larger, as he continued to worship regularly in the Temple and to confess his sins.
And so I find I must ask myself: When I confess my sins in church, am I simply mouthing apologies to God for minor mistakes which are totally unimportant? Or am I suddenly aware of the chasm between myself and Jesus, and am therefore full of genuine remorse? Because it's only those who love much, who are able to receive much forgiveness.
