When we lived in California, Steve and I loved to go to San Francisco. It was about the same distance for us as it is from here to New York City. We would go to see a show now and then, but mostly we'd go to see friends, drink coffee and visit the museums.

In the De Young museum I fell in love with a painting by William-Adolphe Bouguereau. It is called the Broken Pitcher, and it is certainly not the only painting done on that particular theme. I saw a similar painting last weekend at the Baltimore Museum.

It is a portrait of a young shepherdess, sitting alone. She is garbed in the simple clothes of the working farm in the 19th century. Her eyes capture you. You look into them, and it seems as if this young girl is trying to talk to you, but is unable.

Her eyes hold a sense of youthful confusion and sadness. She is sitting on the edge of a well. She is bare-footed, and next to her feet is a water ewer that has cracked and broken near the bottom.

William-Adophe Bouguereau painted The Broken Pitcher in a style that was popular in the late 19th century. In that period, many people were moving to the cities for work, but still had an idealized view of country life.

There are parts of the painting that evoke that sense of simplicity and beauty, as though the painting agrees that things were simpler in the country. And yet…

His portrait of a young girl, waiting, and alone would have been provocative for that time since young girls this age were rarely unchaperoned. The implication is that she is waiting for someone to show up - waiting, perhaps, for a secret tryst.

But her lover will never show up. For the broken pitcher next to her is a symbol of her loss of innocence. She has been used, abandoned, and left alone with her loss.

I think of the "Broken Pitcher" when I read today's gospel reading. Like the painting, it is a vivid story. If one spends time with this reading, one sees the scene clearly. In fact, it would be a simple scene to stage. There is a dinner party, full of people, but the only people identified are the host Simon the Pharisee, Jesus, and an uninvited woman.

Indeed, all the people in the room, other than this particular woman, are men. How many? Enough to gather around a large table, lounging in the Roman fashion, on chaises next to the table.

There is conversation. Is Jesus participating?
Simon, the host has invited Jesus here.
Why? Does he like Jesus' teaching?
Is he testing him?
This is early in Jesus' ministry, unlike other stories of his anointing with oil. Perhaps Simon wants to know if this man Jesus really is a prophet.

And then, without introduction, in the middle of good food and conversation, a woman rushes into the room.

How did she get past the servants? How did she get access to Jesus? She goes to the place where he is lounging.

Her hair is unbound, like that of a prostitute.

As she sits on the floor by Jesus' feet, she weeps and weeps - such a display of emotion! How embarrassing!

And then she does the unthinkable - she wipes the tears that have fallen on his feet with her long, beautiful hair. Such a sensual thing to do! Right in Simon's house! Simon is aghast.

But the woman isn't finished.

She takes the alabaster jar, breaks off the top, and pours ointment on Jesus' feet.

Simon is wondering why Jesus does not stop her. This is an outrage. If Jesus is really a prophet, he must know what kind of woman this is.

Jesus allows the woman to finish. She sits weeping at his feet, unable to get up. Silence comes over the room, and only the quieted tears of the woman are heard.

It is at this point that Jesus turns to Simon, and tells him a story - a story about forgiven debt.
Who will love the forgiver more - he who has sinned greatly, or he who has sinned little?
Simon doesn't realize that the story has to do with him. He is of the opinion that he has sinned little - and Jesus points out that those who have no need of forgiveness have no reason to love the one who forgives.
But someone like this woman - someone with a broken life, has great need for forgiveness, and when she receives it, she loves greatly.

Did Simon get the message? What happened to the woman?

We don't know.

Perhaps Simon became one of that group of Pharisees who followed Jesus secretly, like Nicodemus. Or perhaps he was so enraged at what Jesus was proposing from his little story that he became part of that group that sought to bring Jesus down.

Did the woman become a follower of Christ?

Hundreds of years later, a pope decided that this woman was Mary Magdalene, and so the myth of Mary as a prostitute was born. But there is no reason to think that this was Mary Magdalene.

There is no reason to think it is any woman we know of.

For some reason, the writer of Luke's gospel left the name blank.

The woman's alabaster jar probably represented her life's savings. She took everything she had - her brokenness, and her treasure, and literally laid them at Jesus feet. Did she have anything left?

Like the young shepherdess in Bouguereau's painting, we don't know the end of the story. We only have the scene sketched for us - a scene that evokes a deep sense of humanity and both the beauty and the loss that comes with living each day.

Who are you in the story? With what character do you find yourself comfortable? Surely none of us would be comfortable if a woman were to come weeping down the aisle, only to throw herself upon the altar in a public display. It would be disconcerting for any of us. In that way we are all a bit like Simon. But what would we do, if that did happen? Would we judge? Or would we, once we got over the initial shock, give her what she needed? Love, forgiveness, acceptance?

And is there in us an understanding of our own need for forgiveness? Our own broken pitcher, whatever that may be? Do we trust God to heal and forgive the brokenness of our lives, just as Jesus forgave this woman? Can we come to Christ with our alabaster jars, and lay them at his feet?