The Notorious and the Needy

The sound of drunken revelry fills the air. Cups clang together in high-pitched choruses of joviality and frivolity as men throw back earthen goblets of sweet crushed grapes. From in the midst of the crowd reclining around wooden tables filled with stale bread and sour figs comes the solitary wail of the flutist, soon joined by the jingle of bells as a figure slowly untwines itself from the huddled mass. Flashes of red shoot across the open air as she dances graceful with her ringing cow-skin to the front of the crowd, writhing, weaving, jubilantly expressing her rebellion against the empty heart she wears on display. The men applaud enthusiastically and the women turn away with disgust at her public spectacle. Flute’s sad screams and bells’ merry rings come together in an antithetical dance of desire; her desire to free herself from the opposing longings within her heart. 

Suddenly, however, she gets a glimpse of a man who has now joined these social vagrants of the lowest rank. He walks in with many others, some more attractive, others bearing the weight of muscle gained from their days aboard a boat, yet he alone attracts the attention of the crowd, and her sudden interest as her ankle bounces beneath her surprise. What could he possibly be doing here? The words cause her to lose focus as she struggles mightily to continue her dance. Obviously he is not one of this crowd. 

As she continues the host stands up, a paltry man who weaves as he greets the newcomers with surprising decorum, considering his reputation as a fink and angry drunk. The man embraces the host, who quite silently returns to his seat, now devoid of his drunken roar and boast he once displayed. 

Intrigued by this strange man, she begins to dance like she has never danced before, hoping she can impress him, maybe win his approval, though she can't understand why. Yet she has lost her audience, for everyone in the crowd's eyes remain fixed on the man who now converses quietly with two notorious prostitutes and a wretched beggar. At that instance however, she happens to catch his eye, and instead of the lust and desire she usually sees in men's eyes, her heart stays suspended in time as she catches a look unlike any look ever before seen. It is a look mixed with disapproval (her feet fall), understanding (her eyes begin to fill) and pure, wholesome love (the tears overflow). The look sends her to her knees on the floor as the carousing crowd freezes, whispers filling the air like mosquitos at noon. 

She stays huddled in a contorted mass of shame on the dirt below, the red of her dress now streaked with brown. She suddenly starts, looking up to see tan, leathery feet in front of her as a tear- stained hand thick with calluses reaches down to pull her up from the ground, up into new life. 

This is the Jesus of Scriptures from my understanding. The Jesus who didn't sit on the curb waiting for the paparazzi because he advertised free healing or a fish bake at noon on Saturday. The Jesus who didn't have his committee to form a calendar of events but simply instead went to where the people were and loved them, truly loved them whether they . In Luke, it says that Jesus went to Zacchaeus's house to eat with him and "the people were displeased. “He has gone to be the guest of a notorious sinner,” they grumbled." (Luke 19:7) Yet time after time in the gospels the authors record him eating with sinners, fellowshipping with them, and loving them right where they were. Luke never records Jesus condemning and lecturing Zacchaeus over his shady past, yet Zacchaeus suddenly stands up and makes everything right simply by sharing a meal with one who loved him in spite of himself. 

Now please, I am not saying Jesus did not condemn sin. He did most ardently indeed. Yet, the facts still remain that notorious sinners are recorded being changed simply by seeing love in ways they never knew existed. Jesus never required the woman caught in adultery to repent before he saved her life. He instead said he didn't condemn her. He saved her, loved her, and then told her to sin no more. 

What if we could say the same about how we witness to those on the outside of our faith? What if we went to them where they stood in their sins, and loved them so desperately and purely that they could want to repent simply by seeing the love of Christ we bear. Yes we must disapprove of sin, but making sinners pariahs because we might catch their sin never saved anyone. Instead, we must go forth shielded in the love of Christ to a world lost and broken and extend our hand into the fire, bringing up the sinner and ourselves unscathed by His mercy, grace, and unfailing love.  


Note: This is not a story contained in the gospel. It is based on Mary Magdeline, but really could be any woman whose life Jesus could have touched. Remember John said that there are more stories about Jesus than could fill many many books.