John 12:1-11: Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.
But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected. “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.” He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.
“Leave her alone,” Jesus replied. “It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.”
Meanwhile a large crowd of Jews found out that Jesus was there and came, not only because of him but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests made plans to kill Lazarus as well, for on account of him many of the Jews were going over to Jesus and believing in him.
This story, often retold in Holy Week, comes soon after Jesus calls Lazarus from the tomb. There is, perhaps, no greater image of turning around, of embracing new life, of change than this – a dead man, choosing to come out of the darkness of the cave when called by Jesus, shedding the trapping of death and emerging into the light.
And it changes not only Lazarus himself, but his family, his sisters who experience the wondrous change of having their dead brother returned to them – their mourning turned to dancing, their grief to joy.
But it changes things for others as well – it scares the Pharisees and priests to death. In the Fourth Gospel, this is the reason they begin to plot against Jesus. All the other stuff Jesus has been up to was a nuisance, but this miracle is a whole order of magnitude from what he was done before. Raising someone from the dead – that is truly god-like. Now Jesus is a serious threat to their authority and order.
So for a time, Jesus withdraws from the public eye. His days are numbered, and he knows that. But then comes the time of the Jewish Passover celebrations, and Jesus turns towards Jerusalem for the last time.
This is the backdrop for our story for today, when Jesus stops again before going to Jerusalem at the home of this family he loves; this family whose life he has changed in so many ways – by his teaching, his presence, and by being the instrument of bring new life and light when they were in the midst of darkness and death.
And as we are offered another glimpse into the home of this family, we see people whose lives have been changed, offering themselves each according to their own gifts. Martha, we are told, “served.” Sometimes, she has learned it is time to sit and learn at the feet of Jesus. But now was the time to act. To serve and nourish Jesus and those who follow him. Her brother Lazarus, just by being at the table, stood as witness to wondrous life-giving power of Jesus. And his very presence at the dinner table went against social and religious norms – as he would likely have been considered unclean. So his gift was public witness to the change in his life, and Jesus’ welcome of him at the table was also an act of extravagant welcome.
And then there is Mary, who is often conflated in our minds with Mary Magdalene, though likely a different person altogether. Mary responded in her own, unique way. She entered the room with her hair unbound and took a bottle of perfume worth a full year’s wages for most laborers, knelt down by where Jesus reclined at the table, and poured it over his feet. Then carefully, lovingly, wiped it in with her hair. And the scent of the perfume filled the whole house, driving away any lingering stink of death – joining everyone as participants in this act through that powerful sense of smell. A smell that will linger, long after Jesus is gone.
It’s an act of extravagant love. It isn’t practical. It isn’t sober, or responsible, or maybe even tasteful. It certainly didn’t follow the social or religious norms of the day. Women of the day didn’t touch men except their husband or children, and then only in private, not in front of others. Women didn’t allow those outside of the family to see their hair, let alone touch them with it.
She anoints him on the feet – not on the head as one would anoint a king or priest, but on the extremities, as one would anoint a body for burial. After Jesus’ death, his body will be anointed in secret, in the dark, by men afraid to make public their faith. But this night, Mary does it right in front of everybody in an act both intimate and tender.
We don’t know why she did it. The narrator gives his opinion on Judas’ comments, but not on Mary. Perhaps having been touched so recently by death, and hearing as she must the murmuring in the street as the Pharisees sought Jesus to arrest him, perhaps she too sensed that Jesus’ time was limited, and so did what we so often wish we had done – she didn’t wait for Jesus to die to acknowledge how precious he was to her, the gift he had given her, by giving something very costly back to him – pouring it right out for him as his blood would pour out for us – both acts of love that transcend death.
And it’s worth noting that on Maundy Thursday Jesus will take Mary’s act as an example, by himself kneeling at his disciples’ feet and washing them. So Mary’s act of extravagant love changed Jesus in a way, too – as she is the first to live out Jesus’ commandment to love each other, by showing that love to him.
Extravagant acts of love are often seen as crazy, or rude, or improper – and at least one person was offended here – Judas. And this story sets us up for what will happen tomorrow when Judas betrays Jesus.
Judas here asks the infamous question – why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? And Jesus’ answer is so often misunderstood, used as an excuse not to act: “You always have the poor with you, you do not always have me.” But there is ample evidence in all the gospels that Jesus doesn’t think poverty is just the natural order of things, that he supports the status quo, that he doesn’t think it’s worth bothering to take care of the poor or others in need. But it’s convenient to read this sentence, out of context, this way – to excuse our own inaction, to excuse the power structures that keep the poor poor.
But scholars have long pointed out that Jesus, the rabbi, the Jewish teacher, was quoting from Deuteronomy where we are commanded to take care of the poor: “Give generously to [the needy among you] and do so without a grudging heart; then because of this the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in everything you put your hand to. There will always be poor people in the land. Therefore I command you to be openhanded toward your fellow Israelites who are poor and needy in your land.” (Deut. 15:10-11).
Judas tries to set up an either/or situation – either give to the poor by giving them practical assistance with money or do acts of extravagant, impractical, but soul touching love. But Jesus says it’s not either/or – it’s not one or the other – it’s both/and. You must help the poor, but you can also do this. Food for the body is important, but so is food for the soul.
And all these ways of giving in return for the gifts given and lives changed by God in and through Jesus Christ – giving gifts of our time and talents to make practical offerings like cooking or serving food for others; using our treasure to take care of the poor and those in need; speaking out and giving public witness to the ways Jesus has touched and changed our lives; and also using our gifts to do things that lift spirits and show love in beautiful, but impractical ways – all are needed to help change the world. And each of us, according to our own gifts, are empowered in some way to do just that – change the world. Not save the world – that’s Jesus’ job. But change it, or at least our corner of it.
When are lives are touched by God, we become agents for change in the world – each in our own way. We are given the gift of change – of new life, of hope – and can give our gifts to change the world for others. Maybe only for a moment, maybe for a lifetime. Someone once said that “change comes bearing gifts” – and those gifts can be us.
This meditation was adapted from a sermon given by Rev. Christine Ng at Central Congregational Church on April 6, 2014.
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