I’ve been watching the television series on the O.J. Simpson
trial. Many of us probably remember that
chapter in American history, albeit vaguely – it happened 20 years ago. But the tv series quickly brings much of it
back to the surface: the terrible murders; the famous running back; the white
bronco; the female prosecutor, Marcia Clark; and the theatrical
African-American defense lawyer, Johnny Cochran. It’s as if they are right back in our living
rooms, on the evening news night after night.
On last Tuesday night’s episode, prosecutor Marcia Clark,
pushing open the doors to the courtroom one morning, filled with the confidence
that comes from exacting preparation, says, “I can tell you every single thing
that is going to happen in this courtroom today, and I am ready for all of it.”
Famous last words.
The early readers of the Gospel of John could be forgiven –
we can be forgiven -- for perhaps having had a similar thought upon first
reading, or hearing, today’s gospel
story. We know this place and these
people. We know Jesus, of course, and
that he is on the road to Jerusalem. Since
we, 2000 years after the events depicted, know that Holy Week is nigh, we also know
that he must be getting close to his destination.
We know the little family with whom he is having dinner:
sisters Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus. Some of us today may recall them from the
Gospel of Luke, which John may or may not have known – we may remember another
dinner party, an evening when Mary sat at the feet of the Lord, transfixed by
his presence and teaching, and her sister Martha, bustling about the house with
the meal preparations, complains to Jesus that her sister is no help at
all. If we remember that story, then we
know that Jesus complimented Mary for her quiet attentiveness, but we also know
that most of us are a blend of both of the sisters, sometimes focused on Jesus
and his presence in our lives, sometimes distracted by the demands of the
day.
Whether or not we recall that story, however, if we are
following the Gospel of John, then we know another one. Only a few days earlier, Jesus was summoned
to this home, where Lazarus had died and Mary and Martha were beside themselves
with grief. Jesus himself was
heartbroken, and wept openly. But then –
then he ordered that that the stone blocking Lazarus’ tomb be pushed away. In an interesting connection to today’s story
– and hold this thought! – Martha warns him away, for Lazarus has been dead in
there for four days, and the stench is likely to be overpowering. But Jesus disregards her, and in an act of
love, and power, and authority, demands that Lazarus come out – which Lazarus
does.
So we know that this little family of siblings have not
merely been witnesses, but been participants, in a powerful act of Jesus’ – an
act not merely of healing, but of restoring the dead to life. And we know that Jesus, in doing something so
unexpected and outrageous, has both found new followers and created new
enemies.
We also know Judas, and if we don’t know him well, we learn
a bit more about him quickly – keeper of the community purse, and embezzler of
community funds. Not an attractive
character, Judas. And we know the other disciples, who seem to be
there as well, since Judas is mentioned is his role as one of them, and we know
them to be a motley crew – sometimes utterly devoted to Jesus, sometimes
bickering among themselves, sometimes impulsive and quickly overwhelmed.
We also know the time – it’s only six days before Passover,
a major feast in the Jewish calendar, and reason enough on its own for Jesus to
be headed for Jerusalem. Most Jews would
try to make it to Jerusalem for major feasts and festivals. Jesus himself is headed toward his destiny --
but his friends, unclear about what exactly the future holds, but aware that
there are rumblings among the powers that be about his behavior, might be
wishing that he would skip the public celebrations this year.
Perhaps a quiet dinner, Jesus with his disciples in the
household of friends, is just the thing.
Perhaps everyone present thinks, like Marcia Clark, that they know
exactly what will happen, at least for the next couple of hours, and that they
are prepared for it. A meal, some
conversation, universal rejoicing in Lazarus’ restoration to them. Talk about Passover, and about whether to go
to Jerusalem or whether to stay home.
And then – and then the unthinkable happens. It sound so simple – Mary anoints Jesus’ feet
with fragrant oil, and then wipes his feet with her hair.
Let’s imagine how unthinkable this act of hers is. A woman touching a man not her husband or
family member – doesn’t happen. A woman
shaking out her hair, perhaps usually hidden from sight, and definitely not
permitted to tumble down in a sensuous, intimate manner – doesn’t happen. A woman with a bottle of perfume worth a
year’s income – doesn’t happen.
This woman is reckless. Heedless. Maybe she has taken a cue from Jesus, who so
recklessly brought her brother back to life, heedless of the possible
consequences for his own life.
Let’s imagine how complex this act of Mary’s is. In Old Testament times, prophets anointed
other men – as kings. Is Mary a prophet
here, speaking truth to power? -- this man, not the Roman emperor, is king. Oil is used to anoint people as part of a healing
ritual – something we ourselves will do here this Wednesday night. Does Mary, with her deeply reverent
attentiveness and devotion to Jesus, offer a healing balm to him as he begins
to anticipate, perhaps with anxiety and agitation, the days ahead? Oil
rubbed into the feet is used for burial anointing[1]
– is Mary, remembering the stench of death, preparing Jesus with sweet perfume
for, as he himself explains, the burial which lies before him?
This woman is a prophet, a healer, a priest. Again, perhaps she takes her cues from Jesus,
who has been all of those things to those who know him and love him -- and to
those who do not.
Let’s imagine how generous this act of Mary’s is. It isn’t just the money – the sum that could
have gone to the poor, as the surly and devious Judas remarks. It isn’t just the whole situation – so
unexpected, so unconventional, so unpredictable.
This woman is wildly extravagant. She throws her whole self: her money, her
reputation, her body, her love – into this expansive act. Has she indeed taken her cue from Jesus, from
the Jesus she knows and the Jesus she is about to know, the one who will throw
his entire self into the obliteration of death and the salvation of humankind?
The other people at the table – they’re doing what’s
expected. Martha is taking care of the
meal, organizing and serving and offering a bit more, here and there. Jesus and the disciples are talking; Judas is
probably grumbling. No reason for this
dinner to go down in history –
Except for Mary – with her confidence and her generosity and
her oil and her hair, mirroring the words and actions of the man she has come
to call Lord:
Extravagant.
Passionate. Lavish. Wild.
I think that Jesus makes Mary want to be more than who she
has been, better than she has been.
Jesus is always about love where there might be indifference, always about
generosity where there might be greed, always about abundance where there might
be scarcity. Mary is now all about those
things as well: love, and generosity, and abundance.
How are we doing,
my friends? We are moving ever closer to
the cross. We are treading ever further
down the path into the shadow of death that will seem to overtake us on Good
Friday. Are we, a tomb about to be
slammed closed in front id us, are we like Mary, willing to throw caution to
the wind and anoint the world with the love of Christ?
Amen.
[1]
Rev. Eugene Nelson, “Questions for Jesus: What Matters Most?” http://www.uccseb.org/Sermons/2013-March-17.pdf.
