This morning's gospel text tells the story of the woman who anoints Jesus while he is eating with the Pharisees. All the gospels tell the story in some form, but for Luke the story takes a different focus. The other three use this story to tell of Jesus' death – the woman is the one who anoints Jesus in preparation for his death. Luke, however, uses this as a story to talk about hospitality and inclusion. Again Jesus turns upside-down the accepted norms of his day and once again expands the definition of who is included. In this parable it is a woman of perhaps ill-repute who crashes a presumably all-male dinner party where Jesus is the guest. That she dares to enter such a place is taboo enough, but her actions are even more scandalous. The extravagance of her actions … her tears, the costly ointment, using her hair to dry Jesus' feet are over the top. Imagine such a display at any one of our church functions … imagine a visiting lecturer having something like this happen. I suspect we would not only get the woman out of the building, but we would also cast blame on the lecturer for tolerating such behavior.

Which is exactly the case in this story. The woman has violated enough rules by her embarrassingly extravagant behavior. But the text also casts aspersions on Jesus:

"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."

And that of course gives Jesus the opportunity to talk about sinners and forgiveness and hospitality. Naturally we know where Jesus comes down on the issue. As we read the story some 2000 years later, the question is where we locate ourselves in the story. And I'm reminded of this – that if in reading the parables of Jesus we find ourselves comfortable with them, we are not really reading them. Always, the parables of Jesus should confront us with challenge and cause us to squirm a bit uncomfortably. Always, they should ask us to examine the assumptions by which we live as God's people.

The question that has challenged me this week in reading the text is this: are we simply observers of the life of Jesus, or do we participate in it, throwing ourselves into that life with our whole beings? Writing for the Christian Century, Michael Lindvall describes the scene like this:

"I imagine Simon not as some stereotypical hypocrite, but as a man much like many religious seekers I have encountered. He is bright and curious and interested in religious ideas. (Why else invite a traveling rabbi to dinner?) I imagine him sitting at the table with Jesus, his arms crossed as he leans away from his half-finished dinner, inquiring eloquently about Jesus' views on this or that intriguing spiritual question. I imagine him eager to engage Jesus as a conversation partner. How pleasant, after all, to host this young rabbi of note who offers another interesting spiritual perspective in the wild diversity of first-century Judaism. Simon didn't need Jesus as Messiah or Savior; he was just interested in what he'd say. Thus his hospitality, such as it is, is really all about Simon and Simon's spiritual interests. Our society, indeed our churches and our seminaries, are populated with more than a few Simons, interested and interesting spiritual dilettantes for whom Jesus is mostly, well, interesting." (Christian Century, June 1, 2004)

The extravagant behavior of the woman disturbs us … it is not the way we were taught to behave in public. Yet, she is the one Jesus lifts up as the model – she is the one who truly recognizes her need for forgiveness, and she is the one who offers true hospitality. It is her actions as contrasted with Simon, that ask us to decide between observing and participating. Will we live the passionate, extravagant "faith-style" that Jesus calls us into, or will we be standing on the outside, watching those who immerse themselves … lobbing in our criticisms from time to time.

Len Sweet, in his book, "The Gospel According to Starbucks," tells the following:

"T.S. Eliot, one of the most influential poets of the twentieth century, liked to tell of a sign outside a baker's shop advertising bread for one dollar a loaf. You go into the shop, he said, hungry for bread and imagining the fresh smell of bread right out of the oven, only to find that inside the shop all that is for sale are copies of the sign advertising bread. Eliot suggests that the church was too much like that shop." (The Gospel According to Starbucks, page 50)

As we receive communion this morning I invite you to reflect on where you are – participant or observer. We share in the bread and juice as signs that God calls us to live fully and extravagantly as followers of Jesus the Christ. We should never try to make the receiving of this sacrament a "tame" experience. Every once in a while we get a sample of what I call "to-go" communion cups … they are about the size of the packaged coffee creamers you get at fast food restaurants. They hold a tiny bit of grape juice and have a wafer enclosed in the top seal. The promotion material for the product extols the virtues of no-mess communion that is quick and simple. You merely hand the product out as worshipers arrive and at the proper time everyone can pull back the top seal and receive the elements. Communion is so much more than ease and convenience … it is God pulling us in to live and die as extravagantly as Jesus did for us … it is God pouring out love for us that knows no measure … it is God calling us to lavishly bestow hospitality and mercy. We go forth called to follow in the example of the woman in Luke's text today … to participate fully in the love of God revealed in Jesus the Christ.