Fifth Sunday in Lent

March 21, 2010

The anointing of Jesus is one of the few stories other than the crucifixion itself that appears in all four gospels. But there are such significant differences among the gospel accounts, that it is not at all clear they are describing the same event. John’s version bears some resemblance the story in Mark and Matthew. In all three, there is a clear connection between this story and the crucifixion.

In Mark and Matthew, it takes place in Bethany at Simon the Leper’s house, during the last week of Jesus’ life. A woman takes a costly jar of nard and pours it over Jesus’ head while he eats. John moves it to the home of Mary and Martha, moves it a few days earlier, names Mary as the woman who does the anointing, but says she anoints his feet, not his head. Like Mark and Matthew, John includes Judas in the story, reports Jesus saying “you will always have the poor with you, and makes a direct connection between the anointing and Jesus’ death and burial.

By contrast, in Luke, it occurs much earlier in the gospel. Luke says the woman was a sinner, and that she bathed his feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair, and anointed them with oil.

These similarities and differences, indeed the very drama of the story itself, is so intriguing that we want to know more. It’s a great story to have a discussion about, because there is so much rich detail and so much that allows us to explore each gospel writer’s interests. But we can’t do all of that here, in a sermon. Instead, we need to look at John’s account and to puzzle over its meaning as we come to the end of Lent and look forward to Holy Week.

Let’s set the scene for a moment. It is six days before the Passover, in other words, in John’s account, six days before Jesus’ crucifixion. Jesus comes to Bethany and has dinner at the home of Lazarus, whom he had ssraised from the dead, Mary and Martha. During the meal, Mary takes a jar of nard, valued at 300 denarii, or roughly a year’s wages for a day laborer. She anoints Jesus’ feet with it, and wipes his feet with her hair. John writes that the house was filled with the scent of the perfume. Judas objects on the grounds that the money might have been used for the poor, but Jesus rebukes him, saying roughly, “She bought it for my burial. You will always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

What are we to make of this story? Why does John tell it with the details he provides? What do Jesus’ words mean, “she bought it for my burial?” There are several details that let us begin to approach John’s point. First, it is a very intimate setting. Jesus is dining with three of his close friends—Lazarus, over whom he wept when he received news of his death, and then later brought back to life, and Lazarus’ sisters, Mary and Martha. It was Martha, who in the preceding chapter made a full confession of faith “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” There is such intimacy, in fact, that we might be offended. What would you do if while you were dining at a friend’s house, one of them began washing someone’s feet and wiping them with her hair?

There are several other details in the story that look back to earlier scenes in the gospel and forward to the last days of Jesus’ life. There is the observation that the smell of the perfume filled the house, a powerful contrast to the objection in chapter 11, when Jesus asked them to open Lazarus’ grave. He had been dead four days, and the stench would be overwhelming. Of course, Jesus’ words about his burial bring us in mind of his own burial, but there’s another link. The verb that is used for Mary’s wiping Jesus feet with her hair is the very same word used to describe Jesus’ actions when he washed the feet of his disciples at the Last Supper.

Mary made an intimate and extravagant gesture. How extravagant is it to spend a year’s salary on a jar of perfume? What would we think if we saw someone doing that? It’s an extravagant, a profligate gesture, this anointing. We are told by John that the perfume cost 300 denarii—that’s roughly a year’s wages for a day laborer. What would be the equivalent today? $20,000? $30,000? How many meals in the Bethany soup kitchen could that provide? How much low-income housing? How might that money have been put to better use? It’s a question Judas asks, but he only puts into words what we ourselves would be thinking if we witnessed the scene. Indeed, it’s a question we should aska—how might we use our money most effectively for missions and outreach? Does our spending reflect the priorities of our faith?

And that question brings us back to the last time we read from the Gospel of John, back in January, when we heard the story of the Wedding at Cana, where Jesus turned water into wine. It was a whole lot of wine—120-180 gallons, and this is a whole lot of perfume. John repeatedly talks about abundance in his gospel, and that’s part of it. But I think there’s something more involved. Jesus immediately connects Mary’s act to his death and burial, and that’s where we should look for a connection.

And that’s where extravagance comes in to play. For what is more extravagant than Jesus giving his life for his friends, and for us? I’m reminded of the last stanza of the Isaac Watts’ hymn “When I survey the wondrous cross”

Were the whole realm of nature mine,

that were an offering far too small;

love so amazing, so divine,

demands my soul, my life, my all.

Watts had it in a nutshell. What we see in Mary is a model disciple, someone who knows what following Jesus means. When we think of discipleship, of following Jesus, we often think of it in terms of what we give up. The synoptic gospels are full of sayings from Jesus that tend toward this interpretation. And as we look forward to Holy Week and Good Friday, it is easy to think about discipleship as following Jesus to the cross, a discipleship that leads to suffering.

But John has something else in mind here. Mary’s extravagant gesture, like Jesus’ act of turning water into wine, and for that matter, like his self-giving love that led to the cross is a grand gesture of celebration and love in the midst of, and on the other side of suffering. For we all know that holy week is not just about the cross, it is also about resurrection.

We see something of that dynamic in the other readings too. In Isaiah, the prophet proclaims, “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?”

And the psalmist writes, “When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, then were we like those who dream… The Lord has done great things for us, and we are glad indeed.”

Each of them urges us to look ahead, to the future that lies beyond us, and expresses the hope that God is doing great things. There’s a sense that Paul is saying something similar in the reading from the letter to the Philippians. It’s a famous passage, significant for what it tells us about Paul’s sense of himself. The crucial thing to note is that he acknowledges his past without regret; in fact he seems somewhat proud of who he was, but all of that has changed. Whatever gains he had, he said, he counts as loss. Well, our translation says rubbish, and the Greek is even more earthy than that.

Like Mary, our predecessors in this place made some extravagant gestures—building this magnificent structure for example. It’s tempting for us to hunker down, especially in economic times like this and try to do no more than keep going on, to keep up what we’ve always down, to rest on our laurels.

But God is calling us forward into something new: Do not remember the former things or consider the things of old. As we look forward to Holy Week, and beyond, to the glory of the Resurrection, let us imagine what extravagant things we might do, as we show forth Christ’s love in the world!