How (Much) God Loves You
Scripture: Luke 15:11-32; 7:36-50
Rev. Richard H. Thompson, February 28, 2010

A friend of mine works in an office with several co-workers. Sometimes he gets a little short with the people around him. He passed along to me something important that he has learned the hard way-that "When you think everyone's a jerk, it's time to take a good look in the mirror."

One way God loves us is by getting us to do a realistic self-appraisal- to take a good look in the mirror. Because if we don't, we miss out on something very important.

Jesus put it this way. He said, "The one to whom little is forgiven, loves little." He made his point like this (Luke chapter 7):

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. And 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. She 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. Now 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." Jesus spoke up and said to him, "Simon, I have something to say to you." "Teacher," he replied, "Speak." "A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?" Simon answered, "I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt." And Jesus said to him, "You have judged rightly." Then 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. 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." Then he said to her, "Your sins are forgiven." But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, "Who is this who even forgives sins?" And he said to the woman, "Your faith has saved you; go in peace."

We don't know much about this woman. Luke called her "a woman in the city" and "a sinner". We're told she had an alabaster jar of expensive perfumed oil. Some think she was carrying her savings account, her 403b, in this jar-all her painfully earned worldly wealth. Perhaps she was a woman of the night and what she carried in this jar represented unspeakable suffering. Clearly she was a broken human being. Or maybe a better way to put would be "broken-open". Know people like her? All pretense gets swept away like so much superficial clutter-like junk you set out on the street. None of it matters any more-appearances, "success" (whatever that means), other people's opinions, count for next to nothing. She's an open soul. Searching... for what? If you were going to try and put it in words, how would you describe what might have brought her that day to Simon's house, and to the feet of Jesus?

What brings you?

Picture a larger house with an open front court. It's a warm climate so the entrance into the house would have been wide open. During a party like this people out on the street could look in at the guests, see who had been invited, watch what was served, maybe even hear some of the conversations. Today we have tabloids for this purpose. In the dining room there would have been a large U shaped table where the guests reclined on their left sides on pillows, their feet away from the table. Picture Jesus among all those religious leaders, invited by Simon, also a Pharisee. Most likely everyone there had a lot of respect for Jesus. They considered him an able Rabbi, but at the same time, they were also suspicious of him. He had said some things that were alarming, and done some things, especially on Sabbath, that were very concerning. Maybe that's why Simon invited Jesus, to get a closer look at him (sort of the way the president of Toyota was "invited" to meet with Congress...). Maybe this is why the hospitality was a little lacking. Simon made no offer of water to wash his dusty feet, no oil for his wind-blown hair, not even a simple common courtesy in the Middle East, a welcoming kiss.

Isn't it ironic that this woman walked in off the street, uninvited, into the house, into the dining room where the guests reclined for dinner, to kneel at Jesus' feet, to offer him the hospitality Simon failed to give? Maybe that's where real hospitality comes from, this sense of common, vulnerable, frail humanity.

She reminds me of a another woman I met years ago while on a study tour in Mexico City. There were about a dozen of us in our group and we traveled to one of the high rise, high density apartment buildings in the center of the city to visit a woman and her three children. We found our way to her 4th floor apartment, a room about ten feet by nine feet, with a sort of loft where the kids could sleep. Picture twelve of us sitting shoulder to shoulder in this woman's apartment around a simple wood table in the middle of the crowded room. The woman smiled and welcomed us. She asked us to please wait a moment as she hurried out to small refrigerator outside the front door. She made a couple of trips, placing plates of food on the table. One of our members noticed what she was doing and while she was out pointed out to the rest of us, "She's putting everything she has to eat on this table. Everything." You don't forget hospitality like that. It makes you think about where good hospitality comes from.

The Greek gives us that this woman's tears fell like rain wetting Jesus' feet. Her head bowed low she undid her long brown hair and began to wipe, and then kiss his feet. Then everyone around the table watched as she removed the seal from her alabaster jar and began to pour, ounce after costly ounce of the essence of flowers on Jesus' feet. This woman, offering everything she had, pouring out her life savings, on the feet of Jesus.

There's an interesting expression that says, "Believing is seeing." What did this woman believe? If you had to say it for her, how would you put it? What do the tears say? What does this lavish, outrageous, outpouring say? [Call it "release". At least some of us would explain it like this. Because there are so many things some of us cannot forgive ourselves for-things we've done, or left undone, hurt we've caused, or damage, ruin, disappointment, sheer selfishness, apathy-old stuff still hanging on us like heavy chains.] It seems she believed that Jesus could forgive her. It seems she saw hope for a new beginning.

What about Simon? What did he believe? Certainly that Jesus was no prophet, because if he were a prophet then he'd have known what kind of woman this was who had just totally embarrassed him in front of all these men of God! Simon saw a woman of the night wasting Jesus' time and her own life-savings; a stupid use of a valuable resource.

What I really love about Jesus is that he loved Simon every bit as much as he loved this woman. Because not everyone is as broken open as she was. Truth be told, a lot of us, maybe most of us, are more like Simon than we are like this dear woman. Maybe most of us consider ourselves fairly decent types, trying to do the right thing, with some success just the way most of us are more like the older brother in Jesus' famous parable, than we are like that lost, younger brother.

Jesus loved them both. It's how he loved them that's different. He received the woman's offering of tears, kisses, the outpouring of her life. Jesus knew what Simon was thinking, which, by the way, makes him a prophet. Simon needed something else.

He told Simon a little story, a parable, and then he asked him a simple question.

"A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?"

When Jesus would tell a parable it's almost as if he was holding up a mirror where his listeners would catch a glimpse of themselves. It's interesting that here Jesus used a story from bookkeeping. Maybe that's because that's what would connect best for Simon. Maybe that's the kind of guy Simon was-the way he thought, the way he saw things. He liked things quantified, tabulated, on a spread sheet. There's nothing wrong with that!! Where would we be without spread sheets? We think like this too, don't we? We talk about keeping even accounts in our relationships-you know, avoid owing too much to anyone, stay somewhat independent of "obligations". "Debt" in the New Testament means "what is owed". Jesus taught us to pray, "Forgive (that is release-write off-cancel) what we owe you God, while we write off what others owe us" which might mean things like respect, a listening ear, to be understood, to be treated like a human being, to be offered a hand up when we're down, a friend when we're alone. Call it "simple decency".

One debtor owes the equivalent of 500 days wages, the other 50 days. "Which one", Jesus asked Simon, "with his debt wiped out and forgiven, will/ave him more?' Interesting question. Jesus seems to imply by this that you can love "more", or "less". That there are degrees of "love". You can "love" a little, carefully, guardedly, holding back, in reserve, or you can love much, no holds barred, outrageously.

C.S. Lewis thought about this. He wrote,

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to animals. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless- it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable." (The Four Loves).

Jesus wanted more for Simon. So he told a simple story that might help him see the woman with new eyes, and everything she was doing (because while they talked the woman kept on pouring out the perfume...) But I think there's more. Jesus was helping Simon take another look at himself as well, and then, most importantly, to take another look at Jesus.

Jesus asked, "Which will love more?' "I suppose," Simon slowly answered, "the one who had the greater debt... "

Here's a spiritual principle Jesus has for Simon, and all the rest of us Simons, "The one to whom little is forgiven, loves little." We can't know what went on in Simon the Pharisee. But maybe we can know what goes on inside us. What we are holding on to. What we can't let go of. What we can't seem to forgive in ourselves. Or in someone else. Or the things, situations, that have a hold, a death grip it seems, on us.

Maybe with God's wise, loving help we can figure out what is it that has a hold on us. What has power and authority over us. What dictates to us the conditions for our self-acceptance or acceptance by others. What controls what we believe makes for "success", or a "good life".

Years ago a woman came to talk about a deep sense of guilt she carried over a set of failed relationships. She kept saying, "I cannot forgive myself." She was in spiritual, soulful pain. She had tried to numb herself out with drinking. She knew her relationship with her own children was being compromised. She had come to church a few times and sat in the very back pew. For some reason one Sunday she made a decision-to make an appointment to come and talk. For some reason, toward the end of our conversation, it occurred to me to ask her to come with me into the sanctuary, this place where we all come, where we bow down and worship the Risen One, the One who has the authority, and the power, and the right to say, "The past is finished and gone. All things are fresh and new." I said something like that to this woman, and then I asked her to kneel right there, and to say what she needed to say to Lord of Life. She got on her knees. She wept. She sighed. She spoke quiet words of honesty. And then I placed my hand on her head and prayed with her, thanking the Lord Jesus for loving her this much, for giving her. .. forgiveness, release, freedom to move on, into this new day. Then she stood up, eyes red, she seemed drained, but there was also a look of relief on her face. She came to.church a lot after that until life moved on for her and her kids. I remember she sat in all different parts of the sanctuary. She joined AA. She got involved in some ministry too.

The bad news is "the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little." But the good news is that we are all in great need of God's mercy, grace and forgiveness. God loves the broken open souls who get it. But God loves the rest of us who struggle to get it, too. How much does God love us? God holds up a great mirror, in the form of a cross, to show us.

I have a question. Jesus turned to the woman and said, "Your faith has saved you. Go in peace." Where will she go? The story cries out for a place, a community where she, and we can be accepted as we are.

Because, honestly, we are all a mess, aren't we?

But we also, every single one of us, greatly loved of God.

Thanks be to God.