Luke 7:36-50 Sermon for July 19, 2026

Brothers and sisters in Christ, open your Bibles to Luke 7:36-50. Hear the Word of the living God with fear and trembling, for this text is a double-edged sword. It cuts the proud Pharisee to the heart and pours oil into the wounds of the broken sinner. It exposes the cold formalism that masquerades as Christianity in our day and sets before us the white-hot passion of a soul that has tasted free and full forgiveness. Let us read it carefully.

Luke 7:36–50 (CSB)

36 Then one of the Pharisees invited him to eat with him. He entered the Pharisee’s house and reclined at the table. 37 And a woman in the town who was a sinner found out that Jesus was reclining at the table in the Pharisee’s house. She brought an alabaster jar of perfume 38 and stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to wash his feet with her tears. She wiped his feet with her hair, kissing them and anointing them with the perfume. 39 When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “This man, if he were a prophet, would know who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—she’s a sinner!” 40 Jesus replied to him, “Simon, I have something to say to you.” He said, “Say it, teacher.” 41 “A creditor had two debtors. One owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. 42 Since they could not pay it back, he graciously forgave them both. So, which of them will love him more?” 43 Simon answered, “I suppose the one he forgave more.” “You have judged correctly,” he told him. 44 Turning to 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, with her tears, has washed my feet and wiped them with her hair. 45 You gave me no kiss, but she hasn’t stopped kissing my feet since I came in. 46 You didn’t anoint my head with olive oil, but she has anointed my feet with perfume. 47 Therefore I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven; that’s why she loved much. But the one who is forgiven little, loves little.” 48 Then he said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” 49 Those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, “Who is this man who even forgives sins?” 50 And he said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”

This is the Word of God.

Here is Jesus, the Friend of sinners, reclining at the table of a man named Simon the Pharisee. Do not miss the irony. The very title “Pharisee” means “separated one.” Simon has invited Jesus—not out of love, not out of hunger for truth, but out of curiosity and self-righteous calculation. He wants to size up this popular rabbi. And he does so with cold, deliberate neglect. No water for the feet. No kiss of greeting. No oil for the head. The ordinary courtesies of Eastern hospitality are withheld. This is not mere forgetfulness. This is contempt dressed in religious respectability.

Then—behold!—the interruption. A woman of the city, a known sinner (the text leaves no doubt: her reputation is public and filthy), crashes the dinner party. She has heard that Jesus is there. She brings an alabaster flask of costly ointment. She stands behind Him at His feet—because that is where she belongs, and that is where He is. She weeps. Not polite tears. Not religious sniffles. Rivers of tears born of a broken heart. She wets His feet with those tears, wipes them with her unbound hair (an act of shocking vulnerability in that culture), kisses them again and again, and pours out the precious perfume.

The room freezes. Simon’s thoughts are a snarl of self-righteous venom: “If this man were a prophet, he would know what sort of woman this is who is touching him, for she is a sinner.” Do you hear the contempt? “This woman.” “A sinner.” Simon has reduced her to a category. He has no category for grace.

Jesus, who knows every thought of every heart, turns the tables. “Simon, I have something to say to you.” Then comes the parable of the two debtors—one owing five hundred denarii (about a year and a half’s wages), the other fifty (a month and a half). Both bankrupt. Both unable to pay. Both freely forgiven. “Which of them will love him more?”

Simon answers cautiously: “The one, I suppose, for whom he cancelled the larger debt.”

 “You have judged rightly,” Jesus says. Then He turns toward the woman and drives the knife of truth into Simon’s pride. “Do you see this woman?” Look at her! Your religious eyes are blind. You saw a dirty sinner. I see a forgiven daughter. You withheld water; she gave tears. You withheld a kiss; she has not ceased kissing My feet. You withheld oil; she poured out ointment. Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.

Notice carefully the order. The forgiveness is prior. The love is the fruit. Jesus does not say, “She is forgiven because she loved much.” He says her great love is the evidence and overflow of a great forgiveness already received. And then He speaks the words that only God can speak: “Your sins are forgiven.” The room erupts in shocked muttering: “Who is this who even forgives sins?” Exactly. This is no mere prophet. This is the Lord of glory, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

And the climactic word: “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” Not your tears. Not your ointment. Not your reputation or lack thereof. Your faith—the empty hand of a bankrupt sinner that clings to Christ alone.

From a Reformed Baptist perspective, this text thunders several non-negotiable truths.

First, total depravity and universal bankruptcy. Both debtors could not pay. The “respectable” man and the “notorious” woman stand equally ruined before a holy God. Simon thought he only owed fifty denarii. The woman knew she owed five hundred. Both were wrong about the size of their debt if they thought it was manageable. Every man, woman, and child is a debtor who has nothing to pay (Romans 3:10-20). There is no hierarchy of sinners in the courtroom of heaven—only the guilty and the justified.

Second, free and sovereign forgiveness. The moneylender cancelled the debt. No installment plan. No penance. No self-improvement contract. Cancelled. This is the gospel of grace alone. Jesus does not wait for the woman to clean herself up. He does not demand she join a Pharisee’s synagogue first. He forgives freely because He Himself will pay the debt on the cross with His own blood.

Third, justification by faith alone. “Your faith has saved you.” Not faith plus works. Not faith plus tears. Faith that rests in Christ alone. And that faith is itself the gift of God (Ephesians 2:8-9). The woman did not manufacture this love. The Holy Spirit had already opened her eyes to her sin and to the Savior. Her love is the inevitable fruit of that regenerating work.

Fourth, the necessary fruit of love. He who is forgiven little loves little. This is not a threat; it is a diagnostic. Cold orthodoxy, dry duty, and critical spirit are not the marks of one who has tasted the freeness of grace. Great forgiveness produces great love—passionate, costly, humble, public, and unashamed.

Church of the living God, hear the warning with trembling. Simon is not a cartoon villain. He is the respectable churchman. He is the man who knows his catechism, tithes, avoids scandal, and looks down his nose at the messy people who actually need a Savior.

How many of us sit at the Lord’s Table with Simon’s heart? We invite Jesus into our religious lives, but we offer Him no water of humility, no kiss of affection, no oil of gladness. We are content with correct doctrine and clean reputations while our hearts remain ice-cold toward the Savior who bled for us. We mutter under our breath when the “sinners” show up—the addict fresh out of rehab, the single mother with a past, the young man struggling with same-sex attraction who is actually repenting, the broken people who dare to weep in the pew. “If Jesus were really among us,” we think, “He would know what sort of people these are.”

Beloved, that is not the Spirit of Christ. That is the spirit of antichrist. Self-righteousness is a damnable sin. It blinds us to our own debt. It hardens us against the very people Jesus came to seek and save. It produces a religion that is tidy, controlled, and utterly lifeless. And Jesus will one day say to such churches, “I never knew you.”

But oh, the glory of the other side! Look at this woman. She is a trophy of sovereign grace. She does not come with a theological treatise. She comes with tears, hair, kisses, and perfume. She does not care who is watching. She does not care about her reputation. She has one ambition: to pour out everything at the feet of the One who has forgiven her many sins.

This is experimental religion. This is vital piety. This is the heart that Reformed Baptists have always prized—the heart that has been experimentally melted by the love of Christ. Spurgeon, Whitefield, Bunyan, the Puritans—they all knew that true conversion produces not just orthodoxy but affection.

Do you love Him much? Has the freeness of your forgiveness produced an extravagance of worship? Or are you still calculating how little you can get away with giving Him?

In our churches: Stop protecting the “brand” of respectability at the expense of broken people. Welcome the notorious sinner who is actually repenting. Let them weep. Let them pour out their lives. If their love is messy, so be it. Better a messy lover of Christ than a polished Simon.

In our hearts: Cultivate a deep sense of your own debt. Preach the law to yourself until you feel the weight of five hundred denarii. Then run again to the cross. The more clearly you see the size of your cancelled debt, the more freely your love will flow.

In our worship: Recover costly, emotional, public devotion. Tears are not unmanly. Unbound vulnerability is not unseemly when it is at the feet of Jesus. The world needs to see forgiven sinners who cannot stop kissing His feet.

In our evangelism: Go after the “women of the city.” The prostitutes, the porn-addicted, the outcasts. They already know they are debtors. They need to hear that the Moneylender has cancelled the debt for all who come by faith.

In our assurance: When the devil whispers, “You are still that sinner,” answer with Jesus’ own words: “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Forgiveness is free and prior. You do not love your way into forgiveness. You are forgiven into love. Rest in Christ alone.

Self-righteousness is deadly. If you think you only owe fifty denarii, you are still in your sins. Cry out for mercy.

Great forgiveness produces great love. Measure your Christianity not by doctrinal precision alone, but by the temperature of your affection for Christ.

Faith alone saves, and that faith always works through love. The woman was saved by faith; her love was the evidence.

Go in peace. If you have come to Christ by faith, the verdict is spoken: forgiven, saved, at peace with God. Live like it.

As I invite back up Rocco, beloved, where do you stand this morning? Are you Simon—respectable, critical, cold? Or are you the woman—broken, weeping, pouring out everything at Jesus’ feet?

There is room at the table for both. But only one leaves in peace. Only one hears the words, “Your sins are forgiven… Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Come, you who feel your debt is five hundred denarii. Come, you who have only just realized you are a debtor at all. The Moneylender stands ready to cancel it all. Not because you are lovely, but because He is. Not because of your tears, but because of His blood.

And once He has cancelled it, you will never be the same. You will love much. You will weep much. You will pour out much. And the watching world will say, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” And we will answer with one voice: This is Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Friend of sinners, the One who loved us and gave Himself for us.