Memorial of Saints Andrew Kim Tae-gon, Priest, and Paul Chong Ha-sang, and Companions, Martyrs

Lectionary: 446

So I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven;

hence, she has shown great love.

But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little."

He said to her, "Your sins are forgiven."

The others at table said to themselves,

"Who is this who even forgives sins?"

But he said to the woman,

"Your faith has saved you; go in peace."

Christians, following the example of our Jewish ancestors, should always hold front-and-center an awareness of our sins. The Mass customarily begins with a penitential rite, and most Protestant communion services follow that tradition. Practicing Catholics enjoy -- like going to the dentist! -- the Sacrament of Reconciliation/Penance/Confession.

In today's passage from Saint Luke, the Lord challenges our reluctance to deal with the mystery of sin and forgiveness. We are represented in this story by Simon the Pharisee. A decent fellow, he probably enjoys his family life, attends synagogue routinely, and pays whatever taxes he can't avoid. He is willing to invite the odd rabbi to dinner, even Jesus, to form his own ideas about the controversial figure. He likes to stay abreast of things but, satisfied with his self-image, expects no personal challenge to his attitudes, style or habits. He is open-minded but wary of change.

When a notorious woman invades his dining room during a polite evening meal, the Pharisee watches to see what happens. Curious, he will not interfere in the show.

So we understand the Pharisee's attitude, but what is Jesus doing in this house? He is consistently critical of Pharisees, and polite society is not his milieu. He frequents the homes of tax collectors and sinners. But we know that Jesus invariably obeys the impulses of the Holy Spirit. He may have been waiting to discover why the Spirit led him here, and what marvels might appear in this sophisticated house of the comfortable. Would this be an occasion to afflict the comfortable or comfort the afflicted? As it turned out, he did both.

This touching story should reassure anyone who hesitates to approach the Sacrament of Penance. No matter how deep my sins cut into my wounded soul, regardless of my grief, remorse and shame, the mercy of Jesus runs infinitely deeper. My sins are like the hole a toddler furiously digs on a sandy beach. With pail and shovel he goes at, thinking he might dig a hole to China! When the tide comes in the water covers the hole, the sand fills it, and the boy's effort is totally erased. Nothing remains but the memory.

Whatever this woman of the gospel has done, we can see that she has been forgiven much. She cannot stop herself from weeping over Jesus, then kissing and wiping his feet.

One of sin's most treacherous characteristics is its insistence that "This cannot be forgiven." Sin would have us believe the Good God cannot and would not forgive anyone; that the Great and Powerful God is too brittle to bend in mercy. That kind of god can only crush its opposition. While it's true that nothing which happens can be undone -- a human act is forever -- it is also true that the Sign of Contradiction transforms even the unspeakably hideous into astonishing beauty. Why else would every Catholic Church feature a crucifix in the front and center of its sanctuary? Why else would we regard the wounds of Jesus as gems of sparkling wonder? They are beautiful in God's eyes, and in ours.

The unwillingness to confess our sins and seek forgiveness exposes an exaggerated ego. It says, "I am so special; I am beyond God's mercy!" 

As one young friend used to say to me, "Build a bridge and get over yourself!" 

In Saint Luke's story, Jesus not only forgives this woman; he learns from her. When the hour comes he will wash the feet of his disciples. I think he was as helpless in that moment to prevent his tears from bathing their feet as the sinful woman was on this occasion. His affection overwhelmed him even as it astonished the apostles. They must know what is about to happen and yet there are no words to explain it, only a prophetic gesture.

John 13:12

“Do you realize what I have done for you?

You call me Master, Lord; and so I am.

I saw you quake with fear as I washed your feet,

though it was I, your friend, was swept away.

For I could do no less than bow and kiss

the battered feet of those who bring good news.

Tell them of my tears with your good news,

of love so ardent it embarrassed you.

Always you must feel the shock of my kiss

when I stooped with bowl and water. I am

a servant before you, to show a way

beyond the farthest travels of your feet.

You must know the beauty of filthy feet,

their familiar stench, mud and slime, the news

of poverty. Their dirty nails claw away

illusions of this world’s pretty dreams. You,

perhaps, will apprehend why I am

helpless on this festive night. I must kiss,

I cannot resist, I feel compelled to kiss

you as a mother sucks her baby’s feet,

a husband holds his hungry bride, I am

sated with desire. This comes as news,

this fatal weakness of your Master. You

shudder, you cringe, you want to push away.

You think there’s got to be another way.

Before this night is done a traitor’s kiss,

one whose feet I washed, a man you thought you

knew, will clear a path. My bleeding feet,

obedient, must follow . Bitter news

accompanies a gracious word. I am

going to my Father; always I am

with you. Tomorrow you will see a way

leading where I go, you must spread the news.

God’s own purity, descending, will kiss

your soul as I have bathed your lovely feet.

Then, with all my soul, I will have loved you

to the end. I am my father’s kiss

sweeping you away from off your feet

with news of great joy, to gladden you.