A sinful woman anoints Jesus' feet

A Pharisee named Simon invites Jesus to dinner, and the arrangements explain everything that follows. Guests at a formal meal reclined on low couches around a table, propped on the left elbow with their feet extending away from it, which is how a woman standing behind him can reach his feet without going near the table. Such meals were also semi-public, and uninvited people from the town could come in and stand at the edges to listen.

A woman who had lived a sinful life in that town comes in with an alabaster jar of perfume, stands behind him weeping, wets his feet with her tears, wipes them with her hair, kisses them and pours the perfume on them.

Every element of that is socially catastrophic. A respectable woman kept her hair covered in public, and letting it down in a room of men was the kind of thing a husband could divorce a wife for. She does it in front of a Pharisee's dinner guests.

Simon says nothing aloud, and what he thinks is reported: if this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is, that she is a sinner. He is running a test and has concluded that it failed.

The reply begins with a story about two debtors, one owing five hundred denarii and one fifty, both forgiven by a moneylender who could not be repaid. Five hundred denarii is close to two years' wages for a labourer, and fifty is about seven weeks. Which of them will love him more? Simon answers correctly and slightly grudgingly: I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.

Then the comparison, delivered while looking at the woman and speaking to the host. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears. You did not give me a kiss, but she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Water for the feet, a kiss of greeting and oil for the head were ordinary courtesies to a guest, and the host had provided none of them. He had invited a man he wanted to inspect.

Two sentences close it. Her many sins have been forgiven, as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.

The other guests begin asking among themselves who this is who even forgives sins, which is the same question raised in Capernaum over the paralysed man.

This is not the anointing at Bethany during the final week. Different town, different host, different woman, different purpose, and the two are frequently confused.

Anointing a guest's head with oil was ordinary courtesy at a meal of any consequence, along with water for the feet and a greeting kiss, and the host had provided none of the three. That omission is what the closing comparison turns on, and it means the invitation had been made without warmth.

The perfume itself was kept in an alabaster jar, a soft translucent stone quarried in Egypt and worked thin, sealed at the neck so the contents could not evaporate. Opening one meant breaking it, and there was no way to use part and keep the rest. Whatever it cost her, the decision could not be taken back once the neck was snapped.