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Reading: Matthew 26.6-13
Now while Jesus was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came to
him with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment, and she poured it on his head
as he sat at the table. But when the disciples saw it, they were angry and said,
‘Why this waste? For this ointment could have been sold for a large sum, and the
money given to the poor.’ But Jesus, aware of this, said to them, ‘Why do you
trouble this woman? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have
the poor with you, but you will not always have me. By pouring this ointment on
my body she has prepared me for burial. Truly I tell you, wherever this good
news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in
remembrance of her.’
Picture: The Sacrament of Penance by Nicolas Poussin
(Edinburgh)
The artist and the painting
I’m cheating a little this week, since the painting is based on the gospel of
Luke rather than the gospel of Matthew, but it relates to the same incident and
the difference between the two is worth thinking about. When Poussin was about
18 an artist came to Les Andelys to paint several pictures for the local parish
church. Meeting him changed Poussin’s life and he left home to become an artist,
trying first Rouen, then Paris. His first years were very hard, but after many
setbacks he established a modest reputation and, at the age of 30, received an
invitation to move to Rome, then the very heart of artistic life in Europe.
As in Paris, his first years in Rome were far from easy, and it took time for an
artist without any formal training to find his own style and build up a
clientele. Although not highly educated, Poussin was a very intelligent
man whose ability to grasp an argument in theology or philosophy began to draw
him into a world of poets, priests and thinkers. Turning away from his early
attempts to paint major works for churches, Poussin began to paint instead
thoughtful small canvases with subjects which picked up on the intellectual
issues of the day. Although he returned to France for a few years, his real home
was Rome, and he spent most of his adult life there, dying in the city in 1665.
Many art critics have assumed that a man who is best known for works based on
the myths and legends of ancient Greece, and who moved in the highest
intellectual circles, must have been far too sophisticated to believe in
anything as naïve and simplistic as Christianity. Yet more recent research has
demonstrated that he was in fact a devout Christian: sceptical, to be sure,
about the Vatican and the papal court, but deeply committed to his faith.
Through friendships and family ties he was closely associated with a movement in
French Catholicism known as Jansenism, and with the centre of that movement, the
Convent of Port Royal. Cornelius Jansen (1585-1638) was Bishop of Ypres and the
inspiration for a movement which stressed the need for individual conversion and
high moral standards. To be a Christian was not about anything external: not
just a matter of belonging and going through certain rituals. Christians had to
have a deep personal conviction, a profound awareness of God’s grace; and in
response, each Christian was called to live a life of great restraint and
goodness. Among Poussin’s circle in Rome such ideas found a ready counterpart in
the work of various ancient Roman philosophers. Poussin’s own faith was a blend
of reason with mysticism, moral seriousness and an overwhelming sense of God’s
love and mercy. His paintings are very much the partner in art of the work of
Francois de Sales (1567-1622), Jeanne Francoise de Chantal (1572-1641), Brother
Lawrence (1611-1691) and Blaise Pascal (1623-1662).
If Poussin had been a writer he would have written essays, in French ‘pensées’,
serious reflections on a subject worked out on the canvas with enormous
attention to detail, every line, every colour, carefully crafted to convey a
message.
The present painting comes from a series of seven canvases commissioned in 1644
by a Frenchman who had seen a similar set which Poussin had painted over the
last ten years for a client in Rome. In Catholic theology there are seven
sacraments, and each painting in the set explores Poussin’s understanding of one
of the seven. The scene he chose to explore, the sacrament of penance, is the
story which occurs in all four gospels of the woman who pours precious ointment
over Jesus in Bethany, a village just outside Jerusalem.
The Gospel story
All four gospels record an incident in which a woman anoints Jesus. There are
significant overlaps between the versions which suggests that one historic
episode probably lies behind the four accounts. Even so, there are significant
differences. Matthew and Mark place the event within Holy Week, whereas John has
it on the night before Jesus rides into the city on Palm Sunday. Luke tells the
story early in his gospel and as an event quite distinct from the passion. In
Mark and Matthew the anointing happens in the house of ‘Simon the Leper’, in
Luke too it is the house of Simon, one of the Pharisees; but John places it
within the home of Martha, Mary and Lazarus. John also identifies the woman with
Mary, whereas the other three leave her in anonymity. Luke agrees with John that
the anointing was of Jesus’ feet; but Matthew and Mark say that it was his head.
All four agree that the incident caused a stir, but Mark, Matthew and John focus
on the reaction of the disciples in general, or of the treasurer, Judas, in
particular, who regret the extravagant waste, as they see it. But Luke prefers
to explore the reaction of the wider circle of people present, and only Luke
raises the issue of motivation: why did the woman do this? All four agree that
Jesus defends the woman from her critics and takes her part.
Should all the differences bother us? I don’t think so. We have to let go of the
idea that the writers of the gospels are trying to give us a detailed and
accurate diary of the events of the life of Jesus. In fact the best way to think
about the gospel writers is that they are producers and directors of a film
about the life of Jesus. In a film there is only a short time to tell what may
be a complex story. The production team, from writer to director, have to select
a fairly small amount of material to stand for the whole, and then make each
scene count. Every detail, every camera angle, every costume, every prop, every
word, has to serve the overall purpose, evoke the mood, and convey consciously
or unconsciously to the audience the message the film is trying to share. Each
director does it differently, and we do well to note the differences; but we can
also bring the differing versions together and let them comment on each other.
Three writers tell this story as part of the preparation for the passion. They
link the frankly outrageous action of the woman to the imminent death of Jesus.
They focus on the disciples and show us that even they have failed to grasp what
is about to happen to Jesus. The woman may not have realised what she was doing,
but the scene is chosen to show us that Jesus knew exactly what was coming. The
disciples fret about waste and rue a missed opportunity to help the poor. But
Jesus reminds them that in Jewish tradition care for the dead, the reverent
burial of a body, was regarded as a good work superior to almsgiving. I am a
dead man walking, says Jesus, and what she has done is a more precious thing
than you know: she has anointed me for burial.
But even in Matthew, who gives the briefest account, we can see something else
going on here. The woman has no idea that she is effectively anointing a corpse
for burial. She has performed a shockingly bold action. She has dared to
approach a man to whom she is not related, and do for him something which is
both recklessly expensive in cash terms, and in terms of reputation will cost
her dearly. She is clearly driven by a profound love for Jesus, and in taking
her part against the disciples Jesus recognises this deep and heartfelt faith:
‘wherever this good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done
will be told in remembrance of her’. And this is not because she has
inadvertently done something which points to the passion of Jesus, but because
she has responded to the life and person of Christ with total self-giving, all
that she has, all that she is, she lays at his feet in devotion. In that sense
she is, even in Matthew, the very model of a true disciple, and she is
contrasted with the supposed disciples, who are in fact still operating at a
superficial level. They fret about do-gooding and tut and click over her
behaviour, but she has given herself to Christ no matter what the cost. The
disciples are like the Pharisee in the Temple who is so smug and self-righteous,
the woman is the counterpart of the tax collector who throws himself on the
mercy of God, and of the widow who gives her last penny to God.
What is different between Luke and Matthew is that Luke brings out that point
more sharply, but only by losing the deeper symbolic significance of the
anointing. Luke makes us look harder at the woman whose example we are meant to
follow. He takes us into a debate between Jesus and Simon the host which makes
us think hard about how we understand good and bad behaviour, and about how we
relate to God.
Jesus is invited to eat at the house of Simon. During the meal Simon notices
that a woman has come in, a woman well known in the area as a sinner, and that
Jesus has allowed her to wash and anoint his feet. Simon is puzzled: if Jesus
were any kind of genuine prophet, he would surely know what kind of person this
woman was and so, according to Simon’s logic, he would never allow her to come
near him in this way. Simon does not actually say this to Jesus, but Jesus knows
what he’s thinking and challenges him. Yes, says Jesus, I do know exactly what
kind of a life she has been leading, but I also understand why she is here, why
she has come to me.
The way Jesus sees it, the very fact that the woman has come to him in all
humility and with an extravagant expression of devotion which ignores all sense
of propriety, is ample evidence that she has already come to faith, and has
already experienced repentance and forgiveness. For Jesus to allow her to come
close and express her love is the equivalent of the verbal assurance he goes on
to give her: her sins are indeed forgiven, she has truly found salvation and
peace.
The story of the saving of this woman seems to go like this. The woman is a
notorious sinner (we don’t need to know what she has done, speculation isn’t
helpful or necessary). She knows about Jesus, perhaps she has even heard him
speak in her town. At any rate, through Jesus she has had a powerful experience:
she has come at one and the same time to know that she has truly done wrong, and
that she is loved by God despite her wrongdoing. She has glimpsed for at least a
moment the way in which she appears in the sight of God, as a beloved sinner,
and that insight has changed her life. Now she must be close to Jesus, and
finding out that he is at Simon’s house, she rushes there to pour out her joy
and her sorrow, to express her profound love and thanks to God.
As Jesus points out to Simon, she has come to faith at that moment: she has come
to know the immense love which God has for her, despite all that she has done,
and her one thought is to express her love for God in return the only way she
knows how. It is at that moment that she has entered the kingdom of heaven, at
that moment that she has been saved, at that moment that she has experienced
God’s forgiveness. She has realised the truth expressed by St Isaac:
As a handful of sand thrown into the ocean, so are the sins of all flesh as
compared with the mind of God.
By accepting her outpouring of love, her humble extravagance, Jesus confirms her
faith, and shakes the faith of Simon to its roots.
Simon has a different view of God. For Simon, God is first and foremost a God of
justice. So it is not right for a sinner to be in the presence of God without a
prior process: if and when the woman should have mended her ways, then, on that
condition, she might draw near to God. Simon knows that God will accept
repentant sinners, and that God is always ready to forgive, but he sees the
process in legal terms, in terms of justice, in terms of a step by step process.
Jesus tells him it is not so. Faith and forgiveness are not modelled on a
process of justice. Faith and forgiveness are about love and nothing more. To
say that God is a God of mercy and justice is not wrong, but it is less helpful
than saying that God is love. Isaac of Syria knew this when he said ‘be
gentle rather than zealous. Lay hold of goodness rather than justice’. God’s
forgiveness is just an aspect of his love, it is not earned or merited or issued
on terms and conditions; rather God’s forgiveness is experienced as soon as we
realise that it is offered to us freely, as soon as we realise that we are
indeed in need of forgiveness, as soon as we see that God is always reaching out
to us, always coming to meet us, always calling our name, always searching for
us.
In both Matthew and Luke we are shown the very same picture: the picture of a
truly faithful person, a real disciple, one who does not follow Christ by taking
calculated steps and following a formula for faithful living, but one who has
experienced the overwhelming love of God and responds with overwhelming
gratitude and the extravagant gift of all she has and all she is.
Drawing the threads together
In the first two weeks we looked at ways in which the gospel of Matthew explores
our awareness of the presence of God and our awareness of being still far from
God, the sense of God’s absence. We began too to explore how these ideas of
presence and absence are linked fundamentally to Matthew’s understanding of what
it is to be a disciple of Christ, a follower. And this week too has the same
basic theme. The disciples are meant to be close to Christ, his most intimate
followers, but they are revealed as being far from him, still caught up in a
superficial kind of holiness that has no real heart, no real commitment. The
woman, who is, in all the gospels apart from John, an un-named stranger, is in
fact the one who is saved by her faith. She is the one who is bound to God in a
relationship which resembles a marriage.
Throughout the Old Testament there is a recurrent image of the relationship
between God and his people. It is a marriage relationship. God is a faithful
marriage partner; a husband who has given himself without reserve or condition
to his wife and who will share with his wife all that he is and all that he has.
God has pledged himself to his people for better, for worse, for richer, for
poorer; and God is always true to his promise. But again and again his people
are shown as failing to remain faithful, failing truly to give as they receive.
For Matthew and for Luke the true disciple has a bond with God like a marriage
bond, and for both it is the unknown, un-named woman who proves herself truly
the bride of Christ.
And it is this self-giving in love, made possible by love, that Poussin paints.
In this picture he shows us a woman in love, and he contrasts the loving service
she gives to Christ with the superficial duty of Simon’s servant.
On the right hand side sits Simon, and as he sits his slave is washing his feet.
The slave has all the equipment: he has a bowl of water and a towel. He’s a
professional, doing for Simon what he has done many times before. He does it
well, but clinically. What he does speaks of his status in relation to Simon: he
is a slave and his master does not even look at him, he is just a human
resource.
On the left sits Jesus, and as he sits the woman is attending to his feet. She
has nothing in the way of equipment. For a towel she has her hair; in place of
water her most treasured possession, the precious ointment. She is doing
something she has never done before and will never be able to do again. She has
seized a moment to express her overwhelming love. She is perhaps a little clumsy
in emotion, but she is reverent: to touch the feet of her Lord is a gift too
precious to hope for. And her Lord is moved to the core of his being. He has
eyes only for her. Like her he has not a thought for the judgement and opinion
of others. Oblivious to the room and all its occupants he raises his hand in
blessing and forgiveness.
This is Poussin’s pensée on penance. And it is so significant that he chose not
to depict a churchy scene. He is not interested in ritual and ecclesiastical
propriety. If you come to seek the assurance of God’s forgiveness, says Poussin,
take this woman as your model. If you take the daily ritual of the slave washing
the master’s feet as your model, you will not leave the church clean. Know
yourself forgiven by God, and be glad and let your joy find true expression in
loving service.
As a handful of sand thrown into the ocean, so are the sins of all flesh as
compared with the mind of God.
If we have heard the gospel of Jesus, we do not come to church to be forgiven,
we come because we know we have already been forgiven; we come to pour out our
love and gratitude to God, and to have our experience of his love confirmed and
renewed, to hear his words of grace ‘your sins are indeed forgiven, your faith
has saved you, go in peace.’
Questions for group discussion or personal reflection
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How easy do you find it to imagine yourself into the role of the
woman? Would you be able to enter a room full of people and anoint Christ as an
act of love and gratitude? If not, what would hold you back? Would it be fear of
what others would say? Would it be fear of being rejected by Jesus?
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The gospel understanding of God reveals God to be like the loving
father in the story of the prodigal son, ready to embrace us before we have even
yet said sorry. How hard is it to accept that God is really like that? Do we
tend to make God in our own image rather than allow him to shape us in his
image?
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Do you find elements of collective worship or the life of the
church to be empty ritual or in some way detached from emotion or deep personal
engagement? Is that inevitable? Is there anything which could be done to address
it?
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Are there ways in which we react in our own lives like the
disciples react to the woman in Matthew’s gospel?
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Are we able to model ourselves on Jesus in our relationships with
other people? How easy do we find it as individuals and as a church community to
embrace diversity, or the unexpected, or the emotional, or the stranger, or the
‘notorious sinner’, or the odd, peculiar or disruptive person?
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