“The Greater Debt” Vance L. Toivonen
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. 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. 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. 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." Jesus spoke up and said to him, "Simon, I have something to say to you." "Teacher," he replied, "Speak."
"A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?" Simon answered, "I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt." And Jesus said to him, "You have judged rightly."
Then turning toward 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. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. 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." Then he said to her, "Your sins are forgiven." But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, "Who is this who even forgives sins?" And he said to the woman, "Your faith has saved you; go in peace."
READING Peggy McIntosh, from Working Paper 189. "White Privilege and
Male Privilege: A Personal Account of Coming To See
Correspondences through Work in Women's Studies" (1988)
I think whites are carefully taught not to recognize white privilege, as males are taught not to recognize male privilege. So I have begun in an untutored way to ask what it is like to have white privilege. I have come to see white privilege as an invisible package of unearned assets that I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was "meant" to remain oblivious. White privilege is like an invisible weightless knapsack of special provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools, and blank checks…. After I realized the extent to which men work from a base of unacknowledged privilege, I understood that much of their oppressiveness was unconscious. Then I remembered the frequent charges from women of color that white women whom they encounter are oppressive. I began to understand why we are just seen as oppressive, even when we don't see ourselves that way. I began to count the ways in which I enjoy unearned skin privilege and have been conditioned into oblivion about its existence.
SERMON
I want to begin by recalling the incident I wrote about in the paper last month. This was the day a rather slight, impoverished Black man approached me in the hall outside our offices with a check in his hand for 48 dollars and some odd cents. The check had been written years ago and had been kept in his pocket for a rainy day. It was written by a sheriff’s department south of the border, the Wisconsin/Illinois border. Surely this would give the check a certain degree of legitimacy.
As we sat in my office he shared briefly his life history, and his checkered past. But the simple fact was that in a very humble manner this man sat in my office asking only one thing of me…to cash his check for 48 dollars and some odd cents. He had been all over Sturgeon Bay, a community he once worked in, to churches and banks and supermarkets and God knows where else, trying to cash this relatively small check.
I called the sheriff’s department and confirmed the legitimacy of the check (something anyone could have done), then took him to my bank and used my account as collateral. There was an odd discomfort in the bank as we stood there together, which I have to think is not the same kind of reception I might have received if I had walked in alone. I felt tension and saw straight faces and heard dire stories about the consequences of the check defaulting. I smiled, said thank you, and encouraged the employees to continue with the process.
The joy and gratitude of this man as we drove back to the parking lot at Hope was palpable. His personal history involved behaviors for which he was truly ashamed. But on this day he was humble and grateful and ready to move on. He embodied a “that was then…this is now” kind of attitude that I found inspiring, reminding me that clinging to my own past can also keep me from traveling on; which is exactly what he did. He moved on with gratitude in his heart.
As I drove to Green Bay on Monday, relishing the fact that gas had dropped another 10 cents a gallon, I listened to public radio. And by the way, isn’t it strange how relative gratitude is? I mean, gas is still more expensive than it was a year ago, and yet I somehow felt like I had won the lottery when I filled up the other day. Anyway, the woman being interviewed on the radio was Peggy McIntosh, who is the associate director of the Wellesley College Center for Research on Women. She was talking about white privilege, and, as I came to find out on the Internet, has also written and thought a lot about male privilege.
The first reading this morning centers on a woman who bathes Jesus’ feet in ointment, and tears. Luke does not name her. She is just “a woman.” The religious leaders do not name her either. She is just “a sinner.” She is “that kind of woman.” She could be a prostitute, or simply an unmarried woman on the streets. For whatever reason she is unclean, and the object of scorn and ridicule, scorn and ridicule that is transferred by the religious leaders to an alleged prophet named Jesus who allows her to touch him quite intimately.
In typical fashion Jesus uses a parable to illustrate the dynamics of the situation. It is a simple parable about varying levels of indebtedness, the forgiving of debts by the creditor, and the question of which debtor will love the creditor more; that is, which one will experience the greater degree of gratitude?
We know this one. We just experienced this as a community. We had a debt, someone anonymously walked in and forgave the debt, and we experienced gratitude. And I do hope it lasts. I hope the gratitude generated by this incident can unleash a whole stockpile of gratitude from our hearts as we live and work together. The woman responded to Jesus out of her gratitude, and her gratitude was directly proportional to her need for forgiveness and acceptance. Her gratitude brought her to tears. And her gratitude gave her the courage to move on.
This is precisely that moment when privilege shoots us in the collective foot. When we live a privileged life, socially and economically, we bask in a sort of self-sufficiency that supersedes the need for grace, mercy, and forgiveness. We do not need to rely upon others because we can manage quite well on our own, thank you very much. And I, of course, am speaking to you as one who is afforded all of the privilege: I am white. I am male. I am wealthy (not by Door County standards, but by the world’s standards to be sure). I am educated (for what that’s worth). And I am in a position of social authority by virtue of my pastoral office. To use McIntosh’s terms I carry with me “an invisible weightless knapsack of special provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools, and blank checks.”
McIntosh compiled a list of the stuff that fills her particular knapsack. She is privileged in every other way except for the fact that she is a woman in a male dominated society. Here are a few items from her list. See if they fit for you:
I find that all of these hold true for me, and I would assume they do for most of us here as well. So what are we left with that might help us develop a spirit of gratitude within us? We use the lighter versions of gratitude: it’s a beautiful day; it’s good to be alive; the meeting of our basic needs; friends and family; health and wellbeing, etc. But where will we find within us the really deep, tearful gratitude displayed by this woman?
The traditional doctrine of original sin used by Christian institutions for millennia as an oppressive and manipulative tool for the masses sets up a false economy of gratitude. This economy dictates that I am a sinful, dark-hearted human being incapable of redeeming myself in the eyes of God. Therefore, the need is established for a mediator between God and me. Jesus is that mediator without whom I am a lost soul without hope. I think we all know this version of the story. It no longer works for me, except on a level of divine acceptance. For I still feel God’s unconditional love for me as over against the conditional love I experience from my human sisters and brothers at times. Oh, there are exceptions among us, moments of unconditional and unbridled love and acceptance. But those moments are, I believe, rare; rare enough to be celebrated and cherished.
The sin of the woman in this story is not a sin of being. It is not about some greater human depravity. It is about a very specific social class-ism that oppresses and devalues certain human beings, while elevating others to a superior moral plateau. And it is about a divine presence mediated through the ministry of Jesus that declares this woman acceptable, loved, and cherished. The so-called men of God that surrounded the woman that day did not know this acceptance themselves and were subsequently impotent to provide it for her, or for anyone else for that matter. Jesus stood over and against their judgment, their arrogance, their conceit, and their self-righteousness. Jesus was able to erase the greater debt leveled by society upon this woman, not be dying on a cross, but by simply being present with her in a way that conveyed her value and worth as a human being.
This is our calling: that we would overcome the privilege we have been afforded, to stand in this place, or in the community around us as beacons of this unconditional love and acceptance. We have power, and we are responsible for how we wield that power. We have a choice. Do we mediate our own fears and anxieties, our own biases and cultural privileges? Or do we mediate the unconditional love, mercy, and grace of a universal God, a divine essence woven into the fabric of our bone and muscle and blood?
Jesus was condemned by society for the company he kept. Could the same be said of us? If not, why not? Why wouldn’t we want to live in a world where the forgiveness of the greater debt is the norm, and privilege and self-sufficiency is the exception? Perhaps this is the very kingdom of God we pray for each week. Do we want to live in such a world? It is ours, if we would awake each morning with gratitude in hearts, and equity and justice in our bones, knowing that we are no different than the less privileged in our need for unconditional love, grace and mercy. We are one, all of humanity. We believe that. Let’s live it.