Do You See Her?

Do You See Her?

Luke 7:36-50

June 7, 2020 • Mount Pleasant UMC

What a strange and at times frightening new world we find ourselves in. There are a lot of things we used to do that we can’t do anymore—at least right now. People talk about a “getting back to normal” and we wonder if this just might be the normal we have to get used to. There are a whole lot of things that we used to do that we have to do differently now. And there are some things we never did before that we find ourselves doing all the time now—like wearing masks when we go places. Another pastor, a friend of mine, posted on Facebook that he never thought he would tell his kids, “Put on your masks, we’re going into the bank.” And yet, here we are. I don’t know about you, but I find it’s very different looking at people from behind a mask, and it’s very different looking at people who are in masks. I tend to acknowledge people, even people I don’t know, by smiling at them, and it was a while before I realized, “They can’t see that I’m smiling.” But I still do it. Sometimes you can tell something about a person by the mask they are wearing. If you see me out, I’ll probably have a Star Wars mask on—I know, big surprise, right? I see other people wearing masks that have sports teams on them—I assume that’s in hopes of actually having a sporting season again. And, of course, with all the social distancing and such, we’re not supposed to get too close to each other unless we live in the same house, and so when I go to the grocery store or out to eat, it’s become awfully easy to ignore people. Behavior that used to be unusual, like wearing a mask, like staying away from other people, even relatives, now is normal and we don’t even notice it anymore. Social distancing has meant it’s easier to not even see people when they are right there in front of us. Part of me wonders what this is doing to our long-term abilities to socialize, to have a society.

This morning, we’re continuing this new series, “Questions Jesus Asks,” though during these few weeks we’re only going to be able to look at a few of the questions Jesus asks. In the Gospels, Jesus is asked 183 questions, and he only answers eight of those questions directly. But he asks 307 questions; how many of those do you think he answers? Zero. Zip. Nada. None. Three hundred and seven times he wants to know something from the people or person he is speaking to (Larsen & Larsen, Questions Jesus Asks, pg. 5), and it’s my belief that the questions he asked then still have something to say to us now. Last week, Pastor Rick helped us think about Jesus’ profound question to his disciples: “What do you want?” What do you need? What do you desire? I hope you’ve given that question some thought this week. Today, we’re going with Jesus and his disciples to a dinner party, where he asks a probing question about vision, a question about purpose, a question about the value of individuals, a question that is especially relevant in these days we’re living through.

So Jesus is invited to a dinner party. And not just a barbecue in the backyard. This is a formal dinner, apparently thrown in Jesus’ honor. The way they are sitting tells us this. Luke says they are reclining (7:36) and you only did that at a Roman formal dinner. I don’t know why; I’ve tried sitting this way at a low, three-sided table, resting on my left elbow and eating with my right hand (cf. Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 103), and I never find it very comfortable. But this was the way “fancy people” ate in those days because only wealthy people had time to recline while they ate. This is the same way they would have eaten the Passover, so it’s just like what we call the last supper. There is some foreshadowing going on here in Luke’s story. So they are—let’s call it relaxing—and this woman comes in. Now, normally, we don’t think of uninvited people dropping in on our dinner parties, but no one seems to give it a second thought in Luke’s story, and there are very good reasons for this. First of all, the homes of the wealthy in that place and time were built around a large, outdoor courtyard, and when a famous person was present, it was understood that anyone could wander in, even if they weren’t part of the actual party, to listen to what the famous person had to say. In this case, people could have come in to see if Jesus would be teaching anything interesting, or just to get a glimpse of this rising-star rabbi (cf. Barclay, The Gospel of Luke, pg. 94). There was another custom that “permitted people to visit such a banquet to receive some of the leftovers” (Wessel, “Luke,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 8, pg. 903), so people who ate at fancy banquets were also used to seeing poorer people wander in to gather up the scraps. That’s why no one really pays much attention to this woman…until she starts doing what she came to do.

Before we get to what she does, I need to point out what Simon did not do. Hospitality was and is a big deal in the Middle East. There were elaborate customs practiced in order to let a guest know you cared about them or that they were valuable. First of all, when a visitor entered the home, the host would place a hand on their shoulder and lean over to give them a kiss of peace. it was a sign of respect, especially for a prominent rabbi, a religious teacher. We hear echoes of that tradition among the early Christians when Paul says, “Greet one another with a holy kiss” (1 Corinthians 16:20). Not, by the way, a recommended greeting in the days of coronavirus! So there was the kiss of peace, a wish for peace to come on the household. Then, as a guest entered a bit more, they would be greeted by a servant who would pour cool water over their feet, washing off the dust that would have accumulated from walking on the roads. Finally, either a pinch of incense of a few drops of sweet-smelling oil would be placed on the guest’s head. These are the things that good manners demanded. And which of them does Simon do for Jesus? Not a single one (Barclay 94). You’ve got to wonder why. What was he trying to tell Jesus by neglecting what hospitality required?

Nevertheless, Jesus doesn’t say anything about it, and the meal commences. At some point during the meal, the woman walks in. We don’t know much about her. We don’t know her name. We don’t know what her life was like. Luke only tells us she had lived “a sinful life,” and so usually she’s pictured as a prostitute. Maybe, but we just don’t know. She comes to Simon’s house because she hears that Jesus is there. Maybe she had heard about him, or maybe she had heard him speak, and she doesn’t seem to want to say anything to him, she just needs to be near him. So in she comes, and she makes her way around the outside of the table, where everyone’s feet are, and she stops at Jesus’ feet. Was she standing? Sitting? Kneeling? We don’t know, but it seems she is overwhelmed with emotion and begins weeping. Then, noticing that her tears are dripping on Jesus’ feet (which, remember, have not been washed by the servant on his way in, so they are still dusty, and you could probably see where her tears hit the dust), she kneels down and she begins drying his feet. With her hair. One more thing we have to understand here: this is a scandalous act. In first-century Jewish life, a woman on her wedding day would bind up her hair and would never again appear in public with her hair down (Barclay 95). Only her husband was allowed to see her with her hair down, and some rabbis considered appearing in public with your hair down to be a sin equal to a woman running around topless (Card 104). This is a scandal, happening right here in the courtyard of a Pharisee’s home, a holy man’s abode. Wiping Jesus’ feet with her hair is an extraordinary gesture of intimacy (Card 103), and it’s even more intimate when she begins kissing his feet. This is an act of worship.

Simon, who very well may be sitting next to Jesus, sees what is happening. Listen to me: he sees what is happening—he sees the event. He sees the scandal. He sees how inappropriate all of this is. He has to be incredibly uncomfortable, and Luke somehow knows what Simon is thinking. “If this man [notice he doesn’t call Jesus by name] were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner” (7:39). And so Jesus, who knows what Simon is thinking, tells him a story. It’s a short story, but a powerful one designed to get Simon’s attention: “Two people owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii [more than a year’s wages for an average worker], and the other fifty. Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he forgave the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?” (7:41-42). And I think Simon knows he’s ended up in a verbal trap set by Jesus; listen to the way he answers Jesus’ question: “I suppose [I don’t really want to admit it, but I guess what you want to hear is] the one who had the bigger debt forgiven” (7:43; Wessel 903). And Jesus tells him he’s right, just before he springs the trap. The true “trap” here, designed to challenge Simon’s assumptions and prejudices, is not the story; it’s a question: “Do you see this woman?” (7:44).

Notice, when Jesus asks the question, he’s not looking at Simon. Luke says Jesus is looking at the woman (7:44; Card 104), so he’s turned around. His back might even be to Simon. Jesus is talking to Simon but giving his full attention to the woman whom everyone else had ignored. Most of us are not able to do that; we live in such a distracted and a distractible world. I remember realizing how distracted I can become one time on a mission trip. It was in the evening, and we had finished our sharing and worship time, and the conversation in the room was lively between team members and the people we had come to work alongside. It was loud and joyful, and then I looked down at the end of the room where I saw Mike, one of our team members, listening to one of the community people that everyone else had pretty much ignored. The community guy was sort of strange, and awkward, and we didn’t really know how to relate to him. He talked a lot and his stories didn’t always connect, but I watched that evening as Mike listened to this young man. Really listened. For Mike, it was as if there was no one else in the room except this forgotten young man. I learned a lesson that night, one I see in Jesus here in Luke 7: forgotten people matter. Jesus looks at the woman while asking Simon, “Do you see her? Not physically, not just acknowledging that she’s in the room. Do you see her, Simon? Do you see her as she is?”

Now, let’s be clear. Jesus does not condemn Simon (Card 103). He confronts him but he does not condemn him because he wants, above all else, for Simon to get better. It’s a common theme in Luke on display here, that the one who should get it doesn’t. Simon, the man of Scripture, the man of God, the one who should understand doesn’t get it, and the one who has no reason to understand what’s really going on—in this case, the sinful woman—worships at the feet of Jesus. It’s a reversal of the way we think things are, when the lost are found and those who think they are found find that they are actually lost.

What do you think Jesus wanted Simon to see in her? I believe he wanted Simon (and, probably, the disciples, who were accustomed to the same sort of cultural blinders that Simon was wearing) to see her as a human being, someone made in God’s image every bit as much as we all are. Simon, the disciples, anyone else at the dinner party, even Luke—they were all used to looking at her and just seeing a “sinful woman.” A prostitute. A hooker. Someone who could never deserve God’s grace. Just a little more than an animal, not worthy of their notice. Jesus looks at her and sees a child of God—a broken, hurting, beautiful child of God. Do you see her? I don’t think Jesus’ question was just for that dinner party. I think, maybe more than ever, he’s asking us that question, too. Do you see him? Do you see her? Do you see the other? Do you see the one whom you usually walk by?

There is an old story you’ve probably heard before, but it bears repeating. There used to be a time, kids, when there were such a thing as classrooms that you went to, and occasionally in those classrooms, teachers would give a pop quiz. The story goes that a teacher did just that, and when they got to the bottom of the quiz, the students found a question nobody expected: “What is the first name of the woman who cleans your classroom?” Mostly the students thought this was a joke. No one answered it. I mean, they had seen the cleaning lady. She was tall, dark-haired and in her 50’s. But her name? Why would anyone know that? When the time was up, all students handed in their quiz and one student asked if the last question would count toward the quiz grade. “Absolutely,” said the teacher. “In your careers, you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say ‘hello.’” You could take out “cleaning lady” and insert all sorts of people in that story. The person who checks you out at the grocery. The person who delivers your mail. The person who cleans the bathrooms at the church (that’s Jack, by the way). The person who makes your coffee in the morning. During this time of coronavirus, I’ve of course had to go mostly through the drive-through at Starbucks, and I like the fact that I can usually tell who is on the other side of the headset by their voice, but I like even more that they will often call me by name by the sound of my voice. Yes, I know it’s part of their corporate culture to get to know people’s names, but to me, it tells me I’m important. I’m valuable, not just as a customer (though certainly that), but as a person. I’m seen. Do you see him? Do you see her?

This leads me, my friends, to the difficult part of this question, the part I’ve been putting off all morning, and that’s talking about what’s been happening to us as a nation and even as a community over the last couple of weeks. Last Sunday we should have addressed it, but as you know, these things are recorded ahead of time and last week’s was recorded further ahead than usual, so we didn’t. And, honestly, a week ago I didn’t know what to say, and I’m still not sure I have the right words. I’m certain I will upset some and disappoint others. But, friends, these last two weeks my heart has been broken and heavy and sad. I’ve been angry and I’ve been discouraged. The issue of race and the question of the racism that lurks in every person’s heart is not easy to deal with. It’s very personal. When you get down to it, this is not a black and white issue. It’s not a liberal or conservative issue. It’s not a city or county or state or nation issue. It’s a human issue. It’s a heart issue. It’s a matter of whether or not we will see each other as human beings, created in the image of God, of inestimable worth. Alexander Solzhenitsyn, the Russian writer and political prisoner, once wrote these words: “The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either—but right through every human heart—and through all human hearts…If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being, and who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?” He wrote those words out of his own experience in a Russian gulag, a prison with horrible conditions. And yet Solzhenitsyn never gave up hope that we might be able to overcome that evil that roots itself in our hearts. That hope starts when we truly begin to see the other person—not just their outward appearance, but who they truly are: a beloved child of God.

Let me say this as clearly as I can: what happened in Minneapolis to George Floyd was evil. It was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen and I cannot begin to understand why it happened. I don’t suppose I ever will, no more than I will ever understand all of the similar incidents that have happened—too many—in my lifetime. What Derek Chauvin did was and is horrible, but he is not every police officer. The vast majority of officers do their duty; they serve and protect as they have sworn to do, and we are wrong when we generalize, when we paint with broad strokes about anyone. And it’s also true that just because this group of people has committed racial violence it doesn’t mean that every “person who is like them” is likely to do the same thing. We need to see people as Jesus did: as individuals, each with a name, each with a story, and each with incredible worth. We are all capable both of doing horrible violence and also of resisting the urge to do so. Is the justice system broken? Yes. Is there still hope? Yes, but the solution is not going to come through a court system and it’s not going to come through violence. Four years ago, when we were in the midst of an election year as we are now, I often repeated the words of Chuck Colson: salvation is not going to come on Air Force One. Our hope is not ultimately in politics. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t work for political solutions, for just solutions. It just means we can’t put all our hope in those things because the line between good and evil runs through the human heart. The answer is still and always will be a changed heart, a changed life. The answer is still and will always be Jesus, who alone can change us. In him there is no “Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).

I am a Caucasian man who grew up in small town, rural Indiana. I went to a small school and, to the best of my memory, we had only one African American boy at our school. He had been adopted by a family in our church, and I never thought much about him and his differences. Todd was his name, and as far as I know he was welcomed as part of the community. Maybe I’m wrong about that, but I don’t ever remember thinking of him as anyone other than a kid in our school and in our church. It was during my time at Ball State that I first began to encounter real diversity and had to begin to confront my own racism, my own bias. In the years I spent there and then at Asbury, God did a lot of work on my heart, especially in rooting out my denial. None of us are without bias. None of us are completely without some level of racism. Even today, at almost 53 years old, I find thoughts rising up in me that I would not be proud to say out loud. And so I keep listening. I’ve done a lot of listening this week to those who come from other backgrounds than my own, those whose racial makeup is different than my own. Healing and reconciliation begins, I believe, with understanding, with seeing. And I keep working against the thoughts I don’t want to own, that part of me that still resists and wants to argue and in some ways is afraid of “the other.” Because I need the other. Maybe the issue with Simon here is that he doesn’t think this woman adds anything to his life, to his world. His world is complete without her, and so he does not “see” her. But if his world is complete without her, then his world is complete without God, because this woman, whom he does not see, carries the image of God. A Biblical commentator from another generation says of Simon, “The one thing which shuts a man off from God is self-sufficiency” (Barclay 95). It’s the attitude that we alone are the only one necessary, but that’s not the Gospel. I need the other, and they need me. I need you, and you need me. Do I see him? Do I see her? Do I see you? Do you see me? I appreciated Bishop Trimble’s words last week during the violence of the weekend. Some of you may have seen those words when I reposted them on my Facebook page. In a short, to the point statement, our Bishop wrote this: “God is able to do anything but fail. The question for us: What are you willing to say and do to keep us from failing to create a Beloved Community where all lives are equally valued? It is up to you and me.”

I could say many more things this morning. I could pile up more words to what has already been said. I’ve been involved in many difficult and sometimes painful conversations over the last week, some helpful and some not so much. I’ve been “put in my place” as a white man and I’ve been loved and affirmed for who I am. I don’t know the solution; I don’t know anyone who does, though a lot of people think they do. I do know this: racism is a sin—it’s a failure to allow the love of God flow through us to the other. Racism is a sin, and Jesus came to deal with the sins of the world. All of them. He is big enough to save us from even this. Centuries ago, the prophet Micah gave us instructions for such a time as this. Here is how it is expressed in The Message paraphrase of the Bible: "It’s quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor, be compassionate and loyal in your love, and don’t take yourself too seriously—take God seriously” (Micah 6:8b).

Do you see him? Do you see her? Do you see the person who is standing outside Walmart asking for money? Do you see the person who waits on your table now that you can be back in a restaurant? They may be behind a mask, but they have a name, a story, a heart. Do you see the person walking along the road, carrying their groceries because they can’t afford a car? Do you see the person protesting along Wabash Avenue? Do you see the addict who has lost everything because a bottle or a pill was more important than their family, their job, their life? Do you see the person who fears for their life because of the color of their skin? Do you see the law enforcement officer who is weary of being characterized as a bad person because of their uniform? Do you see that person in whom God placed his image? Do you see that person for whom Jesus died and rose again? I have lots of questions and not a lot of answers. It’s a crazy, mixed-up world, and it’s far from the kingdom Jesus came to bring. I do know this: Jesus died to save us from the sin of racism, ageism, sexism, and all the other “isms” that are out there. And he is still working on me. I am asking him these days to open my eyes and my heart so that, unlike Simon, I am able to see that person who enters into my life—to see them as a real person, someone whom God loves and for whom Jesus gave his life. Let’s pray.