Mary Anointing Jesus’ Feet by Peter Paul Rubens
Fourth Sunday after Pentecost
June 16, 2013
Luke 7:36-8:3
Two things stand out for me as I look at this gospel reading. First, the lectionary editors have clapped the first verses of chapter eight onto the end of the story. Once again Mary Magdalene is placed alongside the “sinner” who cleans Jesus’ feet with her hair, perpetuating the myth of Mary as prostitute. We see it in stained glass windows and illustrated Bibles: Mary with her hair down, in a posture of submission. We don’t know what Mary does for a living, just that she has independent means of supporting Jesus. Her seven demons aren’t named. Whatever the disorder of her life may have been, there’s no reason to call her a whore or paint her hair the iconographer’s devilish red.
The woman who bathes Jesus in her tears in the Pharisee’s house is a cartoon character. She serves an important purpose in the story. We should read this story as a two-page spread in a graphic novel. Every detail tells the tale. Which brings me to the second thing, the sensuality that drips from the pages.
Action and word evoke sensations of uncovering, touching, warming, kissing. The scene begins with men, reclining close together at the table, eating with their hands, speaking mouth to ear, touching. We see a woman enter, called a sinner. What has she done? A woman is allowed little agency or freedom to sin in any way other than with her body. Has she been party to adultery? Has her position in the community forced her to prostitution? Some of the men at the table know her!
She continues in sin by revealing herself to a stranger, letting her hair down in his presence. Do we hear her sobs? We see her tears. We smell the ointment. We can almost feel the warmth of her caress.
This scandalous story frames another tale, about a business transaction. Jesus catches his host with language he seems to understand best. We Presbyterians, who like to say the Lord’s Prayer our own way, also understand the business of debts and debtors. But Jesus quickly turns back to the realm of the senses. Does he leave us behind?
Jesus indicts his host. He should have greeted Jesus with a kiss and a hug, seen that his feet were washed, and touched his forehead with fragrant oil. Giving and receiving hospitality are full-bodied experiences. So is showing gratitude for sin forgiven. So is forgiveness itself.
Debt is usually contracted and repaid these days without any cash changing hands, or any hands touching. Creditor and debtor rarely meet. On very rare occasions when debts are forgiven, mercy is applied electronically. There’s no embrace to seal the deal. But forgiveness can’t be given or received by email, on paper, or in theological principle.
Giving and receiving forgiveness aren’t real if real people don’t come close enough to see one another, hear one another, touch one another. Our gospel story adds smelling sweat and tasting tears to the experience. The addendum warns us that reaching into our pockets, opening our purses, and getting on the road toward a whole new life may result.
If we don’t appreciate the sensuality of the story, maybe the sequel speaks to us. Mary Magdalene, who by Easter Sunday is arguably the most important of all disciples, and her friends don’t hold back. They know a good deal when they see it, and they invest.
Forgiveness is embodied in reception and response. Jesus isn’t here to touch us, or to accept our touch when we reach out. We’re here in his place, to offer that sensation to one another. Sometimes we feel our hearts strangely warmed, sometimes not. Always we’re called to give ourselves, flesh and spirit, to the giving and receiving of mercy.
