on spiritual abuse

 This coming Sunday is designated Safeguarding Sunday in the Church of England.

In the Gospel reading set for the day, Matthew 25.14-30, Jesus gives a masterclass in spotting spiritual abuse—

and yet, I strongly suggest, this parable of the talents is universally misinterpreted in ways that nurture and endorse a culture of abuse.

This year, Safeguarding Sunday arrives against the backdrop of yet another celebrity convicted for sexual abuse, and with another—who cannot be named for legal reasons, but whose identity is widely known—not far behind. [Update: now made public; acknowledging that power imbalances are ‘inevitable,’ denying abusing that imbalance, denying being a predator; and claiming to be devastated that women should have expressed hurt or anger towards him.]

We have a power problem in our culture. These celebrities are not simply the odd bad penny or rotten apple, but products of the normative cultural scripts—such as the entire canon of popular music since the 1950s. I suspect that Brand is genuinely confused as to how and why, having lived faithfully and enthusiastically according to those normalising and validating scripts, he is now (rightly) being punished.

Within the Church, our primary normalising and validating script is the Bible. This is not a bad thing in itself—indeed, it is good—but it does mean that we ought to take how we interpret these texts seriously and with humility. Where we see power abused in the church—spiritual abuse of people, to exercise control over their lives, by which a church becomes a cult—the conditions are always nurtured by how scripture is taught.

In Matthew 25, Jesus is preparing his disciples for an imminent crisis in the life of the nation, under which they will find themselves thrown out of the temple and the synagogue, out of the community they have belonged to their whole lives. He says, then the kingdom of heaven will be like this: and tells a parable about ‘foolish’ bridesmaids, shunned by the wisdom (bridesmaids) and hope (bridegroom) that the Messiah will galvanise rebellion against Rome, and, through bloodshed, establish peace. They will find themselves shut out, with only a lamp (Jesus), oil (the Holy Spirit) and the dealer of oil (God the Father).

Jesus then tells the same story, in a different way. This being excluded will be like...

A man of considerable power goes away hoping to extend his sphere of influence. Perhaps he has secured a book deal, or is doing the conference platform rounds. He elevates three others to carry on his programme in his absence, and, when he returns, he claims for himself the credit (literally, financially) for their labour. After all, they owe their success to him, the opportunity he gave them. One of the three, however, has had misgivings as to the great man’s character. He has come to realise that his master is harsh; that he takes what is not his, the work done by others. This servant decides that he will give back to the great man what he had given him, nothing more, nothing less. He wants out. The great man is incandescent with rage, calls the junior ungrateful, wicked, lazy, accuses him of wasting the gain that was rightfully due the great man himself. He calls the junior worthless, and orders that he be removed, shut out; that as far as anyone within the organisation is concerned, he is now to be considered dead to them.

Beloved, this is exactly how spiritual abuse operates. It is a masterclass in how to spot it.

And yet, we have always and everywhere been told, the great man is God; God has given you gifts, to exercise for his glory; and if you do not, you will face the consequences.

Parables have a super-abundance of meaning, because God is greater than we can possess. But they can only speak truth. A parable cannot present God as evil, for God is not evil. God does not treat us harshly, not demand from us, not call us worthless, nor bring death. It is the thief who comes to steal and kill and destroy. God comes to us, in the human person of Jesus, in vulnerability and humility, laying down his life for the sake of the world.

Yes, God gives us gifts, to use to bless our neighbours, and to God’s glory. But we don’t get that from this parable. I would go so far as to say that the image of God most commonly portrayed in the exposition of this parable is heretical. It is certainly dangerous. Because if God behaves in this way, it entirely justifies the actions of spiritually abusive leaders. Our texts are normalising and vindicating.

Ah, some will say, but God does pass judgement on us. This parable is followed immediately by the parable of the sheep and the goats, and the goats are sent to eternal fire. But, this is a parable of the nations, and how they treat Jesus’ brothers and sisters. Those nations who welcome them will inherit the kingdom of heaven—which is to say, their nationhood is dissolved, or at least purified. Those nations who do not welcome them are sent to eternal fire—that is, all that is opposed to God is consumed. We see this, in the coming to an end of empire after empire. Indeed, it is also my personal hope: that all that is within me that is not godly will be consumed by the flames; and that I would know such union with God, as found in Jesus, that, without losing my identity, we would be inseparable.

Where is God in the parable of the talents? God is with those who weep and wail—comforting them, and wiping away their tears; and, ultimately, vindicating them and bringing about justice.

Where is God in our present day, when powerful people exploit others for personal gain? See above: God is with those who are vilified for the sake of truth, of righteousness.

If our churches are to be truly communities where a culture is nurtured where all may flourish, we need to address our power problem. Jesus gives us all that we need to do so.

Matthew 25.14-30

14 ‘For it is as if a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them;
15 to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away.
16 The one who had received the five talents went off at once and traded with them, and made five more talents.
17 In the same way, the one who had the two talents made two more talents.
18 But the one who had received the one talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money.
19 After a long time the master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them.
20 Then the one who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, “Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.”
21 His master said to him, “Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.”
22 And the one with the two talents also came forward, saying, “Master, you handed over to me two talents; see, I have made two more talents.”
23 His master said to him, “Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.”
24 Then the one who had received the one talent also came forward, saying, “Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed;
25 so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.”
26 But his master replied, “You wicked and lazy slave! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter?
27 Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received what was my own with interest.
28 So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents.
29 For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.
30 As for this worthless slave, throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

on worldly wisdom and divine foolishness, part 1

 

From chapter 21 onwards, Matthew’s Gospel records increased hostility from the religious authorities towards Jesus. The passage set for tomorrow, Matthew 25.1-13, falls within this context, where Jesus is setting out a clear difference between his understanding of what kind of Messiah the people should expect, and the political power games of the religious elite.

Now we come to a parable about ten bridesmaids waiting in the night for the arrival of the bridegroom. Within Seconds Temple Judaism, nuptial imagery was used to describe Messianic hopes and expectations. This parable focuses on the arrival of the bridegroom. Within this section of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus has already told a parable about a king who threw a wedding banquet for his son, at which one of the guests is removed outside the city walls to the place of weeping and gnashing of teeth. The consequence of this parable is that the rulers gather in the home of Caiaphas the high priest, and plot to have Jesus killed. I have set out elsewhere (and re-shared today) why I read the king in this parable to be Annas, the ‘king-maker’ behind the high priest role; his son-in-law Caiaphas to be the son in the parable; and Jesus himself to be the guest who is evicted and thrown into the valley of destruction—a foretelling of his crucifixion.

Now, here again, Jesus picks up the wedding banquet trope. Again, I read the bridegroom as, at one level, Caiaphas, and, at another level, as the Messianic expectation of the people. This is not to say that anyone believed that Caiaphas was the Messiah, but that the expectation was of a religious-political rule such as was currently being held by Annas’ family until such time as it could be exercised without constraint. For Annas, and his family, that did not mean open revolt against Rome, as that coming Messiah would supplant them.

Of the ten bridesmaids, five are ‘wise’ and five are ‘foolish.’ This, too, I would suggest, falls within Jesus’ turning the wisdom of the world on its head; to the claim, made explicit by the early Church who would reflect on the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus as demonstrating that the foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of the world.

Which is to say, we might want to find ourselves among the foolish bridesmaids rather than among the wise ones.

Indeed, this is, I would suggest, Jesus preparing his followers for the coming (soon) experience of being shut out from the temple community.

All ten bridesmaids have lamps and oil. The lamp is a Proverbial motif representing the word of God: your word is a lamp to my feet. Jesus’ disciples John will claim that Jesus is the Word, become flesh. Oil is a motif representing the Spirit, poured out by God on his anointed leaders, such as kings and high priests.

In the darkest point of the night, the bridegroom arrives, and the bridesmaids are roused from sleep. The wise bridesmaids, who knows how things work, are unwilling to share their oil with the foolish bridesmaids, and instead tell them to go to the dealer, in the middle of the night, to buy more oil. This echoes another parable, in which someone goes to a friend in the night in hope of bread, which Jesus explicitly tells us symbolises God giving the Holy Spirit to those who ask.

So, in this parable we have ‘wise’ bridesmaids who will not share their resources, and a bridegroom who refuses to recognise half of the wedding party.

And we have half of the wedding party shut out in the dark, where they must rely on the lamp of God’s Word and the oil of God’s Spirit, which they have received directly from God himself.

The first group may feel secure, and are certainly celebrating for now. But, again, Jesus has spoken woes over those who currently enjoy the reward they have already received. And Jesus has predicted the destruction of the temple, within the lifetime of his listeners.

Jesus begins this parable saying, ‘then [after weeping and gnashing of teeth] the kingdom of heaven will be like this...’ and concludes, ‘keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.’

He is preparing his followers for a kingdom that embraces being shut out, because being shut out will be our experience, whether we are willing to embrace it or not.

As the kingdom was, so the kingdom is, and so it will be. The foolishness of God is greater than the wisdom of the world. The weakness of God is more powerful than the violence of the world, than the exercising of political power.

May we be foolish, with God, as God has revealed himself in Jesus.

May we live undefended lives in the dark. May we mourn, and be comforted; weep, and have our tears tenderly wiped away by Love.

Matthew 25.1-13

25 ‘Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom.
2 Five of them were foolish, and five were wise.
3 When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them;
4 but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps.
5 As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept.
6 But at midnight there was a shout, “Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.”
7 Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps.
8 The foolish said to the wise, “Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.”
9 But the wise replied, “No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.”
10 And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut.
11 Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, “Lord, lord, open to us.”
12 But he replied, “Truly I tell you, I do not know you.”
13 Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.

See also: 1 Corinthians 1.18-31

18 For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. 19 For it is written,
‘I will destroy the wisdom of the wise,
and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart.’

20 Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? 21 For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe. 22 For Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, 23 but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling-block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, 24 but to those who are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. 25 For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.

26 Consider your own call, brothers and sisters: not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. 27 But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; 28 God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are, 29 so that no one might boast in the presence of God. 30 He is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption, 31 in order that, as it is written, ‘Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.’

 

on finding and being found

 

Jesus’ parables are stories with a super-abundance of meaning. They cannot mean whatever we like—as Archbishop Michael Ramsey put it, “God is Christlike, and in Him there is no unchristlikeness at all.”—but they do mean more than we can contain.

Luke records a parable involving a shepherd and a lost sheep, and another involving a woman and a lost coin.

By now, if we are at all familiar with the Story, we know that Jesus is both the Good Shepherd and the Lamb of God. This parable, then, has meaning in which he is the shepherd, who comes in search of us when we wander far from God, and brings us home; and a meaning in which Jesus is the precious thing we have become aware is missing in our lives, for whom we search, and find with great joy. It turns out that in our finding Jesus, we are found by him. There is also, perhaps, a meaning in which Jesus is both shepherd and sheep, the ‘alpha and omega’ of the parable. Even this does not exhaust meaning here.

This parable is followed immediately by another, which is the same parable expressed in different terms: a woman, and a coin. We conclude, therefore, that Jesus is both the woman and the coin. These are, perhaps, less familiar images than the shepherd and the sheep; but we might be reminded of women in the Scriptures, and stories about how they act, and we might see Jesus revealed in them, in ways we were previously unaware of. But, again, Jesus is the one who searches for us in the dark corners of this world, and the one for whom we search.

One of the purposes of the parables is to train us to see Jesus—as he is—in the everyday experiences of our lives. To find Christlikeness in washing clothes (where do those socks go, in the machine?) or searching for a document poorly filed somewhere on your laptop; in walking up and down the supermarket aisles, and losing ourselves in a novel or TV drama; in redundancy and divorce, in being misunderstood, in all the mini deaths that precede our dying, and in death itself—and resurrection.

The letters written to the earliest churches testify to this superabundance of meaning in our lives—we, on earth, are seated with Christ in the heavenly places; nothing [insert long list] can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus; now to him who is able to do far more than all we can ask or imagine—all of which points us back to Jesus.

May we find, and be found by, him today, in whatever circumstances we face. May we know his welcome, and the joy of heaven.

Luke 15.1-10

15 Now all the tax-collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him.
2 And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’
3 So he told them this parable:
4 ‘Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?
5 When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices.
6 And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbours, saying to them, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.”
7 Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance.
8 ‘Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it?
9 When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbours, saying, “Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.”
10 Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.’

blessed, part 2

 

Matthew constructs his Gospel in five sections, reflecting the first five books of the Bible. The first section, which includes Jesus’ origin stories and concludes with the Sermon on the Mount, reflects Genesis.

Genesis opens with an epic poem universally understood as a creation story. I would suggest that it is, in fact, a song of God’s habitual deliverance, which applies to:

the drawing-out of life on earth after the war in heaven and the throwing down of the archangel Lucifer like a meteor hit, that filled the atmosphere with dust, blocking the light of the sun, causing all plant life to die, resulting in the extinction of the mighty lizards we know as dinosaurs;

the rescuing of Noah and his family and the domesticated animals (not elephants and giraffes) from a flood that covered the basin we today know as Kuwait and Iraq, from horizon to horizon (or, the mountains separating the flooded area from Iran, Turkey, and the eastern edge of the Mediterranean);

the exodus, through the parted waters of the sea, of a people oppressed by the Egyptians;

the return of their descendants from exile in Babylon, and the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the temple;

the raising of Jesus three days after his body had been overwhelmed by the chaos of death;

the re-emerging of faith—both Judaism as we might recognise it today and the sect known as the Way—after the destruction of Jerusalem and Judea in AD70;

to list just a few examples.

The poem describes eight effective words spoken by God, the last of which—the creation of humans—has two parts.

The Sermon on the Mount opens with eight sayings, or effective words, the last of which has two parts.

This is not a coincidence. These blessings, or Beatitudes, are a remaking of the world, a once-again deliverance from chaos.

‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’ This echoes the separation of light and darkness, the hallowing of day and night. Humility is the posture that hallows both heaven and earth, and unites them in the One who is fully human and fully divine.

‘Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.’ This echoes the dome in the heavens dividing the waters to create room for the sky. Through our tears, which in due course are tenderly wiped away, space is held for us to experience comfort, and to know hope.

‘Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.’ This echoes the separation of the waters beneath the sky to draw out dry land. The waters of chaos cannot indefinitely overcome those who are meek, who are willing to heed the word and obey, to learn as Noah learned how to build an ark or as Moses dared to speak to Pharaoh despite his stammer.

‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.’ This echoes the drawing-out of vegetation, the fruit- and seed-bearing plants that feed us. The bread that lies beyond the threshing; the wine that lies beyond the treading underfoot.

‘Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.’ This echoes the lights in the night sky, the sun, moon, and stars, and the seasons they proclaim and rule over. As the reflected light of the moon and the burning fire of the stars makes the night not only bearable but navigable; not only navigable but beautiful; so mercy makes the dark nights of our lives bearable, navigable, beautiful.

‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.’ This echoes the life that teams in the waters and flies freely across the sky. The pure in heart are free, in the most expansive ways imaginable. All things are theirs, without their needing to possess any of them.

‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.’ This echoes the evolution of living creatures across every ecosystem of the earth. Peace-making is environment making, ecology creating, the enabling of life—in its diverse forms and expressions—to flourish.

‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

‘Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.

Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.’

This echoes the calling of human-kind, who are created male and female, to share in the sovereignty of God, who is reviled and persecuted for love’s sake; who rejects the rule of violence and imposition, that love alone might establish itself on earth as it is in heaven.

 

blessed, part 1

 

One of the things Matthew wants us to know about Jesus is that he is the new Moses. So, Matthew structures his Gospel in five sections, reflecting the first five books of the Bible—Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy—the Torah, or Law of Moses.

Each section concludes with a collection of Jesus’ teaching.

The first section reflects Genesis, with its origin stories of human beings, made in God’s image, and how they have forgotten themselves, their humanity, but have not been forgotten by God.

The second section reflects Exodus, with stories of Jesus delivering people from the various manifestations of captivity to death.

The third section reflects Leviticus, showing how Jesus is both priest and tabernacle, the presence of God in our midst.

The fourth section reflects Numbers, the ordering of the people, the Church and how we relate to one another.

The fifth section reflects Deuteronomy, the second telling of the Law, with its emphasis on the consequential choice between life or death.

The first section concludes with the largest block of Jesus’ teaching, which came, very early on, to be known as the Sermon on the Mount. And Jesus begins with a series of blessings.

To bless is to recognise, and affirm, the inherent, God-given goodness of a thing. And that goodness is a participation—a part—in the goodness of God. When Jesus, who is who God is as a human being, and who a human being is fully in God, says, ‘Blessed are those who mourn,’ he is not simply saying that God identified with those who mourn. He is saying that to be a person who mourns is to be human as God in Jesus is human. To be a person who mourns is to be like God, for God is a God who mourns, as humans mourn.

The poor in spirit inherit the kingdom of heaven because God is poor in spirit. Jesus is humble, not because he hides God’s arrogance but because he reveals that God is humble, comes to us demanding nothing, offering his life to all who will freely choose him.

Those who mourn know comfort because God mourns. God is not unmoved by death, even though he knows that death does not have the final say. The One who will call Lazarus out from the tomb nonetheless stands at his friend’s tomb and weeps for him, with his sisters.

The meek inherit the earth because God is meek. The One who spoke all creation into being submits himself to learning to speak sitting on his mother’s lap. The One through whom, by the Spirit, the Father spoke to Moses, submits himself to learn the very words he had spoken to Moses, at the school attached to the synagogue where every child in the village would commit the Torah to memory. (At some point, the Word made flesh would come to recognise these words as his own—as himself—given to him, to us, by the Father.)

Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness are filled, because God hungers and thirsts for righteousness. Literally, Jesus—God, the One who made the grain that is threshed and the olives that are pressed and the cattle on a thousand hills and the grapes that are trodden underfoot—experiencing the limitations of being hungry and thirsty, experiencing dependence on his neighbours, on honest exchange for honest labour.

The merciful receive mercy because God is merciful. The One who refuses to add to the burdens that weigh people down, including the unbearable burden of taking up stones as judge, jury and executioner of our fellow humans.

The pure in heart see God, because God is pure in heart. The One who has a human heart, which will be pierced by a lance, releasing the blood of violence spent on the ground—a prayer crying out, like that of his brother Abel, crying out for forgiveness for his murderer, the one guilty of fratricide—and, alongside the blood of violence, the living water of the Holy Spirit.

The peacemakers are called the children of God because God is a peacemaker. The One who delivers people from the demonic howl that afflicts them—and who permits the demons to drown, and so to be joined with him in death, and, freed from the grip of sin, to rise with him to new life, for the Christ comes not only to reconcile the children of Israel, or even the children of Eve, but all creation, seen and unseen, to their Creator.

The kingdom of heaven belongs to those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, because God is persecuted. Brought to false trial; scourged; nailed to a tree—wood, and thorns, twisted, co-opted into violence against their Creator; marred beyond recognisable human form: that we might be rescued from all violence.

Those who are reviled and persecuted and have evil claims made against them are blessed because this is God’s experience in the world.

And so Jesus speaks the Word that is his very self, that we might see God for God’s sake and for ours; and that we might see how to be human as God, in Jesus, is human. To be fully human. To be blessed, a co-incidence of human and divine blessing in the world.

Matthew 5.1-12

5 When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him.
2 Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:
3 ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
4 ‘Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
5 ‘Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
6 ‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
7 ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
8 ‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
9 ‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
10 ‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
11 ‘Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.
12 Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

 

Love, part 2

 

Near the beginning of almost every service I preside at, I remind the congregation of this:

Our Lord Jesus Christ said:
The first commandment is this:
‘Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is the only Lord.
You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart,
with all your soul, with all your mind,
and with all your strength.’
The second is this: ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’
There is no other commandment greater than these.
On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.

To which the congregation responds:
Amen. Lord, have mercy.

Christianity is not primarily about what we believe (important though that is). It is not primarily about what we do (important though that is, too). Christianity is primarily an invitation to go deeper into a mystery—the mystery of Love.

A mystery is something that is greater, in every dimension, than we can hold or grasp or contain. We are called to love with all our heart and all our soul and all our mind and all our strength in the knowledge that our heart and soul and mind and strength can never fathom Love’s depths.

We will never exhaust Love, though Love will exhaust us, will bring us to the ends of ourselves again and again, and carry us beyond, into the vast unknown.

Yet the world is a scary place. And so our heart may be troubled, our soul confused, our mind restless, our strength spent—not on account of Love but on account of seeking control. And so we harden our heart, sell (seek to exchange, for something else) our soul, close our mind, conserve our strength. These actions lead to death, to one or another dimension of ourselves dying.

The mystery of Love is that death does not have the last word. The mystery of Love is resurrection. That we are given a new heart, a heart of flesh instead of a heart of stone—for, in the human Jesus, God has taken for himself a heart of flesh. That our spiritually dead body is breathed-alive again with the breath of God. That our mind is surrounded, guarded, not by some defensive scaffolding but by Love itself. That our strength is renewed, like an eagle carried on the thermals.

We do not do this for ourselves. We are not even empowered to do these things. They are done for us by the very one who calls us to Hear, who calls us to life, to the life of Love.

We must gaze upon him. Contemplate him deeply. For a lifetime—and then eternity beyond.

As we do, we shall be changed.

 

Love, part 1

 

In writing his Gospel, or presentation of the life of Jesus, Matthew wants us to know three things:

that Jesus is the Son of David, that is, the rightful heir to the kingdom established by God’s;

that Jesus is the new Moses, or law-giver, the one who instructs us in how to live, how to be fully human;

and that Jesus is the Messiah, the one sent by God to deliver his people from evil.

The first of these claims puts Jesus in conflict with the Sadducees, the keepers of the temple, built on the site chosen by David, built by his son Solomon; rebuilt and vastly expanded under the current ruling dynasty, Herod the Great and his heir Herod Antipas.

The second of these claims puts Jesus in conflict with the Pharisees, who considered themselves to be the guardians and interpreters of torah, of divine instruction.

The third of these claims puts Jesus in conflict with pretty much anybody—including his own disciples—whose vision of the Messiah, drawn from certain biblical texts, was of a warrior who would lead a victorious uprising against the Romans; because Jesus’ vision of Messiah, drawn from different biblical texts, was of a servant who would embrace the suffering of God’s people in his own body, and transform it.

Eventually an uneasy coalition will form around Jesus as common threat to various interests.

In Matthew 22.34-46, the Pharisees confront Jesus, and Jesus challenges the Pharisees.

One of them, an expert in torah, asks Jesus which commandment in the law is the greatest? It is a trap, coming from a party who hold the whole of the law as one. It echoes an account much earlier in the Gospel, where satan—the accuser, the legal prosecutor—tests Jesus’ understanding of torah, as proof of his identity as Son of David, who ate the bread that symbolised God’s presence; as new Moses, who confronted Pharaoh with dramatic signs and wonders; and as Messiah, exercising divine judgment over the surrounding nations who have oppressed Israel.

But rather than extract a commandment in such a way as to diminish the rest, Jesus summarises the whole divine instruction—both through torah and through the prophets as those repeatedly sent by God to call the people to return to covenant faithfulness—in one statement of faith:

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.”

Everything else is commentary on this.

Jesus is citing a statement of faith known as the shema, from ‘hear,’ or take note, be careful to observe. It opens, ‘Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.’ It begins with the singularity of God; from which our life flows and to which our lives are rightly ordered towards, or returned.

It is interesting that Matthew begins with the Pharisees hearing, in relation to what Jesus has done—but not taking note rightly.

The shema itself, found in Deuteronomy (that is, the second telling of the Law, to a subsequent generation) calls the people to love God with all their heart, all their soul, and all their might. Jesus tweaks it, exchanging ‘might’—literally, a statement meaning ‘exceedingly,’ so not so much a third category as an intensification—for ‘mind.’ Why? By Jesus’ time, and in contrast to the time of Moses, Hebrew thought had long been in dialogue with Greek thought, with its particular understanding of the mind as the means by which we make a step-by-step process from the abstract to the concrete.

Jesus goes on to say that the second telling of this command—the ‘another way to put it is this’—is “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” This is actually quite funny, because here he is quoting Leviticus, which is part of the first telling of the Law...so, he summarises the Law from the second telling, and then tells it a second time from the first telling. I will grant you that isn’t laugh-so-hard-you-wet-your-pants funny, but it is the kind of clever funny Jesus employs a lot.

Anyway...

This three-fold love reflects the nature of God revealed in creation (Genesis 1-2)

which comes into being, according to God’s desire, or heart (‘Let there be...And it was so.’);

with God’s Spirit, or life-breath or soul, hovering over the deep, and, later, shared with human beings, transforming a scoop of moist earth rescued from the chaos of waters into a living creature;

and with God’s ongoing assessment (‘And God saw that it was good...And God saw that it was very good.’) and reassessment (‘It is not good for the human to be alone...’).

Matthew presents Jesus as Son of David, the one whom God identified as a man after his own heart (1 Samuel 13);

as the new Moses, to whom God gave divine spirit/breath, and from whom God took part of that spirit and gave it to seventy others to share the load with him (Numbers 11);

and as the Messiah, who lays aside immutability to take on flesh, and accepts the wounding of technology so that love may be revealed in weakness and suffering transformed into glory (Isaiah 53).

The audacious claim is that, as we gaze upon Jesus, as we hear him, we are transformed into the fully-human and one-with-God kind of person who loves God with all our heart and all our soul and all our mind, and loves our neighbour as ourself.

The casual glance or distracted ear will not suffice. We must behold him, who is all in all.

Matthew 22.34-46

‘When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. ‘Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?’ He said to him, ‘“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.’

‘Now while the Pharisees were gathered together, Jesus asked them this question: ‘What do you think of the Messiah? Whose son is he?’ They said to him, ‘The son of David.’ He said to them, ‘How is it then that David by the Spirit calls him Lord, saying,

“The Lord said to my Lord, ‘Sit at my right hand, until I put your enemies under your feet’”? If David thus calls him Lord, how can he be his son?’ No one was able to give him an answer, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions.

 

coins

 

Lectionary readings for Holy Communion today: 1 Thessalonians 1.1-10 and Matthew 22.15-22.

One time, those who were opposed to Jesus tried to trap him into speaking out against the Roman emperor, over the well-debated topic of taxation. Jesus asked for a coin, and asked, whose head is this, and whose title? The emperor’s, they replied. Then give to the emperor (render unto Caesar) the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s. That snapped the trap shut; but Jesus was not caught in it.

How did we get here? Four centuries earlier, Rome was a fledgling republic, besieged by the Gauls. The Romans had fallen back to the Capitoline hill, the home of their gods, and in particular Juno, the goddess protector of Rome. One night, the Gauls attempted a surprise attack, but, creating the top of the hill the first Gaul came face to face with a goose—geese being the sacred animal of Juno, and thus allowed to roam freely on the hill. The goose said ‘honk,’ which as we all know means, ‘Who the hell are you?’ and then ‘honk! honk!’ which means, ‘We’re being attacked!’ and when one goose says ‘honk!’ all the other geese join in, because geese are nature’s burglar alarm. Thus were the Romans alerted, and, rising, rained javelins down on the Gauls as they climbed. Rome won the day (or, rather, the night) and the rest, as they say, is history.

The Romans built a new temple on the site, dedicated to Juno Moneta—Juno the Warner.

As the sphere of Rome’s control spread everywhere wider, they needed coins, to pay their armies, feed their citizens, oil the wheels of administration. Their coins were minted within the precincts of the temple to Juno Moneta—hence, the coins became known as money. Hundreds of workers made thousands of coins every day, from blank discs of bronze, silver or gold.

The process involved an anvil, into which was inserted a hand-cut obverse die—the head. The blank disc was heated to soften the metal, and placed on the die. Another die—the reverse, or tail—was then held in place by hand, and a hammer brought down on it all, pressing the images into the coin. Bang, bang, bang. All day long. Mind your fingers.

In the days of the Republic, the obverse side of a coin depicted the head of a god or goddess. The reverse could depict anything, usually a figure or scene expressing something significant. Once the Republic gave way to the Empire, the heads on the obverse side became that of the emperor—whose image is this, and whose inscription? Tiberius’.

Coins became a way to disseminate ideas, as well as news. From Spain to Turkey, from North Africa to northern England, coins passed from hand to hand told you who was your new emperor. For over a hundred years, he was clean-shaven; but with Hadrian, who had a wall built across the north of England, just up the road from where I live, came a big change: Hadrian, and successive emperors after him, were bearded. As well as a wall, Hadrian had coins minted in Britain; his own head on the obverse, and Britannia—the personification of the spirit of Britain—on the reverse. Any man who wanted to get ahead knew that now he had to grow a beard. On the other side of the coin, every woman of note demanded her hair and dress be in this new style.

Whose head is this, and whose title? Jesus’ implication is that we are coins pressed with the image of God.

There is something of this imagery picked up in Paul’s letter to the church in Thessalonica (present day Thessaloniki, in northern Greece; at the time, this region was Macedonia, and the central and southern part of Greece known as Achaia). Through their lives, the reputation of God spread out from Thessalonica to Macedonia and beyond that into Achaia, just as coins spread out from Rome through Italy and across the empire.

The obverse of their lives is the human face of God, Jesus. The reverse, inscribed with a design depicting faith and love and hope.

Like coins, their lives—and ours—are minted in the place of worship. Like coins, there is both skill and hard labour involved. The work of faith and labour of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.

As I have been saying a lot recently, faith and love and hope are not natural; they are supernatural. They are real—but they are evidence of the work of God in our lives. Human beings are faithless, lacking in love, despairing of hope. You only have to turn on the news, or look at the statistics on domestic violence or suicide to know this. Our family members, our friends, our neighbours, are desperate for hope, long to be loved, need someone who will not give up on them. Need to learn how not to give up on others. Especially when they are hard to love; especially when we cannot see a good future beyond a bleak present.

Paul says that Jesus rescues us from the wrath that is coming. From the brutality of the Roman empire that fell upon Jerusalem, burning it to the ground in 70AD, as it fell upon city after city, until Rome herself fell. From whatever wrath approaches our own moment in history, whatever disaster brings life as we have known it to a sudden and violent end. In Jesus, we can know hope that all shall be well, in the end, as all shall be reconciled in relationship to a loving God. That there is life—abundant life—beyond the End, beyond death in all its forms.

As we gather as church; as our lives experience the heat and press and, at times, hammer blow of daily experience; so in God’s mercy we are being transformed into the likeness of Christ—our lives, his face—and bearing his title: Prince of Peace, King of Love, Joy-giver, Hope of the Nations...the reverse of a Roman coin changed annually (sometimes more frequently, up to three times a year) and the design of our lives also changes depending on the particular work God is doing in and through is at any given time.

May our lives be confirmed to his likeness and passed from hand to hand among our neighbours, across our community, bringing faith and love and hope, the currency of the kingdom of heaven.

For more on Roman coins, see ‘Moneta: Ancient Rome in Twelve Coins’ by Gareth Harney (Vintage, 2025)

1 Thessalonians 1.1-10

Paul, Silvanus, and Timothy,

To the church of the Thessalonians in God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ:

Grace to you and peace.

We always give thanks to God for all of you and mention you in our prayers, constantly remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labour of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. For we know, brothers and sisters beloved by God, that he has chosen you, because our message of the gospel came to you not in word only, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction; just as you know what kind of people we proved to be among you for your sake. And you became imitators of us and of the Lord, for in spite of persecution you received the word with joy inspired by the Holy Spirit, so that you became an example to all the believers in Macedonia and in Achaia. For the word of the Lord has sounded forth from you not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but in every place where your faith in God has become known, so that we have no need to speak about it. For the people of those regions report about us what kind of welcome we had among you, and how you turned to God from idols, to serve a living and true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven, whom he raised from the dead—Jesus, who rescues us from the wrath that is coming.

Matthew 22.15-22

Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap him in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, ‘Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?’ But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, ‘Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.’ And they brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, ‘Whose head is this, and whose title?’ They answered, ‘The emperor’s.’ Then he said to them, ‘Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.’ When they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him and went away.

 

bread

 

Gospel reading set for Holy Communion today: Luke 11.5-13

One time, Jesus told a parable (a story, to get under our skin) about the gift of God’s Holy Spirit to our own life-breath, which is small and must be exhaled—let go—time after time.

The story begins with a confession: a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.

This is the fundamental starting point, in this story about ‘bread,’ by which, here at least, Jesus is referring to spiritual sustenance. For we can make physical bread—so many varieties!—to meet physical hunger; but we cannot make spiritual bread. All we can do is receive such bread from God, and share it.

This is why Jesus goes on to say we must ask and seek and knock on God’s door—and the grammar he uses is that we must keep on asking and keep on seeking and keep on knocking—not because God must be persuaded that we deserve bread (yet again! How many times must I bail out this sponge on my resources!?) but because we cannot make this bread for ourselves, and because it does not keep (the manna God provided in the wilderness for the people Moses brought out from under slavery in Egypt turned maggoty if they tried to keep it overnight) and because we need to learn to trust that God will provide this bread—give us this day our daily bread—every day of our lives.

For as long as God gives us breath, so God will also give us the bread of the Holy Spirit.

Still breathing? Still fed.

What is this spiritual bread?

It is a spiced fruit-loaf: love and joy and peace and patience and kindness and goodness (generosity) and faithfulness and gentleness and self-control, when we need any of those—none of which we can create of ourselves. You cannot add an ounce of love or joy or peace to the world by wishing or trying harder; but you can receive them all, in greater measure than you can possibly imagine. Receive them, and share them; give them away today, and discover they are replenished tomorrow.

Over the past year-and-a-half, we have seen a steady stream of people walk through the doors of our church, because they are spiritually hungry, and hoping to be fed. So hungry, they ache; so hungry, they can’t even articulate their hunger, but they know it in their bones. And the question that interrogates me more than any other is, Do we have anything to set before them?

The answer is no, nothing, unless it is the bread that God alone provides.

If we are good people or good neighbours or good friends, who want to do what we can to help a friend in need, then that is good but no different from most people I know and any other door someone might walk up to. The only distinctive thing we can offer is spiritual bread.

The testimony, ‘I have nothing to offer you, but I know Someone who does!’

The testimony of times when we have been fed with the bread of heaven. Peace in an anxious world. Gentleness is a harsh world. Self-control in a vengeful world.

This is why people walk through the door. Because they are hungry for bread the world cannot give. And, truth be told, neither can I. But I can teach you how to ask, day by day. Give us this day our daily bread.

And if we are to know what kind of bread they need—whether peace, or joy; patience, or goodness—we need to get to know the road they have arrived on, the chance accidents and obstacles that have prevented them from arriving earlier than midnight. We must learn to listen, before we speak, that we might speak choice words. To cleanse and refresh with water, and anoint with healing oil. To set a table, and pull up a chair. And then to fetch bread; and say, now, go and do likewise.

Luke 11.5-13

5 And he said to them, ‘Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, “Friend, lend me three loaves of bread;
6 for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.”
7 And he answers from within, “Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.”
8 I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.
9 ‘So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.
10 For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.
11 Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish?
12 Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion?
13 If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!’

bend to show kindness

 

Lectionary reading for Holy Communion today: Job 19.21-27a

The book of Job tells one of the oldest stories in the Bible, of a man who has lost everything in a series of tragedies. Job himself is what we might call an unreliable witness, or an unreliable narrator of the events he is living through. That does not mean that we cannot believe anything he says, but it does mean we need to weigh his words carefully. And it is incredibly important that Job’s story is given to us in the Bible, because we are all unreliable witnesses to and narrators of our lives. We all arrive at conclusions on the basis of insufficient information, conclusions we may need to revise later.

Job has lost almost everything, including his children. His life, as he has known it, has come to an abrupt end. He is overwhelmed by all the competing feelings and emotions—including what we would call survivors relief and survivors guilt; a sense of massive injustice; anger—some of which he can articulate, for some of which the words elude him.

Job believes that God has pursued and touched him, for ill, or loss, or tragedy. God has, in fact, pursued and touched him; but has pursued and touched him to shield him—though it does not feel that way. And both the ‘objective’ reality and the ‘subjective’ reality matter. Job does not need correction, or answers, as much as solidarity, a comforting presence. He needs a safe space, to release his emotions.

Where I believe that Job is absolutely on the money is in asking his friends to have pity on him. The word translated ‘pity’ means ‘to bend or stoop to show kindness.’ This is what God does, in response to tragedy, and what we who are created to reflect God’s nature are invited to do also.

In the face of tragedy, we can harden ourselves, in the hope that tragedy will not touch us; or we can allow ourselves to bend, stooping to show kindness.

God does not will tragedy. God permits tragedy, in this world—and we might well find ourselves wanting to take that up with God, to be indignant that God does not intervene to prevent, for example, our human tendency to rush to experience things we are not ready to experience (a tendency the Bible acknowledges up front, in the very third chapter). But in every circumstance, however tragic, God works to bring the most possible good out of the times our lives are touched by evil. Does that make the cost worthwhile? No; but the cost has already been paid. It does mean that lives, even cut short far too soon, are not wasted.

Job, the unreliable witness, nonetheless has an unshakeable hope that, one day, God will make all things right. That even death will not rob Job of seeing God beside him and for him. The God who pursues us even to the grave and touches us to shield us from harm. For Christians, that hope has a name, given long after Job had died: the name he saw with his own eyes is Jesus.

This week, three teenagers died when the car they were in went into the river here in Sunderland. I cannot imagine how afraid they were in those moments. But I do not believe that they were alone. I believe that God moved heaven and earth to be with them, and to shield them. They were not rescued, and we will have to live with that for as long as we live. But we, too, are pursued and touched by God. Held by love, and light in the darkness.

May we bend towards one another, and all who are most affected, with kindness.

And may we hold on to hope, trusting in Jesus’ victory over the grave for us.

Job 19.21-27a

21 Have pity on me, have pity on me, O you my friends,
for the hand of God has touched me!
22 Why do you, like God, pursue me,
never satisfied with my flesh?
23 ‘O that my words were written down!
O that they were inscribed in a book!
24 O that with an iron pen and with lead
they were engraved on a rock for ever!
25 For I know that my Redeemer lives,
and that at the last he will stand upon the earth;
26 and after my skin has been thus destroyed,
then in my flesh I shall see God,
27 whom I shall see on my side,
and my eyes shall behold, and not another.
My heart faints within me!

 

on attachment and social referencing

 

Lectionary readings set for Holy Communion today: Luke 7.36-50

We have a need to experience security. Two things we do, as infants, to create that sense: attachment, to our primary care-giver; and social referencing.

Social referencing is when we look to others for a cue, is it safe for me to do this? Infants look to their care-giver: I have not come across this thing in the world before; is it safe for me to touch it, hold it, taste it? Is it safe for me to approach this grown up, this dog/cat/gerbil? When a small child falls over in a play park, they look to their care-giver: if the adult looks panicked, the child concludes they are in greater danger than they actually are; if the adult calmly comforts them, they will soon return to play.

We continue to look to social referencing throughout our lives. (Autistic people find it hard to recognise and interpret these social cues, experiencing disorientation as a result.) In the Gospel passage set for today, the Pharisee concludes that Jesus doesn’t know how to read the room.

The Pharisee considers the woman who is ‘touching’ Jesus to be a sinner. The Greek, translated touching, is actually ‘attaching [herself] to.’

We all form attachments with our primary care-givers as infants. Where they were able to give us love, consistently, we form a secure attachment that enables us to explore the world without fear.

Where our care-giver was inconsistent towards us—sometimes caring, sometimes angry, often without warning—we form anxious attachment, and come up with strategies to ensure, as much as possible, that it is the caring care-giver who turns up.

Where our care-giver was unable to show love—for example, a mother who had postnatal depression—we form avoidant attachment, having learnt that we cannot depend on anyone else to meet our needs but must be self-sufficient.

Sadly, for some, the person who should have been their care-giver was what we would consider monstrous, and we form fearful attachment, recognising that we are dependent on someone who is cruel, and seeking to mitigate that by placating them.

Our attachment ‘style’ goes on to shape how we see other people, and also our view of God, as loving, inconsistent—prone to outbursts of anger if we step out of line—or even a cruel monster.

The Pharisee appears to be avoidant. God is distant, but if he follows an elaborate framework of behaviour then he will be self-sufficient in the world. He invites Jesus as one wishes to observe something, cooly, from the outside, and fails to offer him a warm welcome.

The woman appears to have a secure attachment. She does not care what others think of her. Her security enables her to explore the world and encounter the Other without fear—and this freedom is scandalous to those of avoidant, anxious or fearful attachment, who label her a sinner.

She is weeping—and our assumption about ‘why?’ is significant. Are these tears of shame, or bitter regret, an overwhelming awareness of her sinfulness? Or are they tears of joy, at knowing how greatly she is loved by God? Or does she weep for Jesus, possessing an awareness of what scared men will do to him, that he will be tortured and murdered?

Jesus does not say that those who love much will be forgiven, but, rather, those who know that they are forgiven—who are so secure in love that they know that whenever our relationships, with God, with others, may be breached, they can also be repaired—love much.

When Jesus says to the woman, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ he is not giving her new information, but putting on public record what she already knows.

The woman’s actions should not be read as inappropriate—as the Pharisee reads them—but as the intimacy that a secure infant knows with her care-giver; that a secure adult knows with a friend.

As adults, we need to learn that the strategies we came up with, as children, to keep ourselves safe—good and necessary strategies—are not coterminous with who we are. We may not have been in a position to create secure attachment as an infant, and our ‘starting position’ in relation to God may be the belief that God is too busy to attend to us unless we force his attention by exceptionally good or bad behaviour, or perhaps we just need to get on with life without bothering him at all. Or that God is unpredictable, and we must keep him on side. Or even that God is a monster, a narcissist. But the desire of God—and the reason Jesus came into the world—is that we should be secure in Love, and so be able to participate in love towards God, ourselves, our neighbour, even our enemy.

And the strategy of God is to love us and love us and love us—to respond, consistently, with grace—until we find ourselves safe, until we feel secure. Until we take our place within that love.

Luke 7.36-50

36 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.
37 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.
38 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.
39 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.’
40 Jesus spoke up and said to him, ‘Simon, I have something to say to you.’ ‘Teacher,’ he replied, ‘speak.’
41 ‘A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty.
42 When they could not pay, he cancelled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?’
43 Simon answered, ‘I suppose the one for whom he cancelled the greater debt.’ And Jesus said to him, ‘You have judged rightly.’
44 Then turning towards 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.
45 You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet.
46 You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment.
47 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.’
48 Then he said to her, ‘Your sins are forgiven.’
49 But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, ‘Who is this who even forgives sins?’
50 And he said to the woman, ‘Your faith has saved you; go in peace.’