“Costly Acts of Love” – March 17, 2013 Sermon
March 17, 2013
Scripture: John 12: 1-8
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead.2There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him.3Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.4But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said,5“Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?”6(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.)7Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.8You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
Sermon: Costly Acts of Love
by Rev. Doreen Oughton
This is such an interesting passage. As is the case with so many stories of Jesus, it evokes varied and complex responses in me. There are elements that I love – a dinner with friends, very close friends. There’s the loving gesture of anointing Jesus with fragrant perfume. To me, this calls for a sense experience in worship. I have a bottle of perfumed oil – Elixir of Love, and I invite you to pass it around, at least smell it – though the scent is very different in the bottle than on skin, so feel free to rub some onto your hands, or in the spirit of Mary, anoint the hands of the person beside you. Imagine the entire house where Jesus dines with his friends being filled with such a beautiful fragrance. I love how this passage has resonance with the other story of Jesus eating at Lazarus’s house, with Martha busy in the kitchen, and Mary literally at Jesus’ feet.
There are parts of this passage that confuse me, even unsettle me. What does Jesus mean that the poor will always be with us? Why has Jesus accepted the thievery of Judas? Did he not know about it? Even now his challenge to Judas is to leave Mary alone about her gesture, not about Judas’ stealing and hypocrisy. Why is Lazarus specifically mentioned as being at the table, when it’s his home? It seems obvious that he would be there.
There’s the part that stirs up grief and sadness, as Jesus talks about the day of his burial, and his reminder that his beloved friends and followers will not always have him there with them.
But I noticed another reaction I was experiencing, and I’m not quite sure what to make of it. It came up while I was looking for images for the cover of the order of service. I found myself almost embarrassed in looking at some of them. (I printed some out, including the image I chose, only in color and larger to pass around.) They seemed so intimate that I felt I was spying on this intensely personal moment. For Mary is not just sitting at Jesus’ feet, she is anointing them, massaging in slippery, fragrant oil, wiping it with her hair. In the image on the cover, there are tears in her eyes.
But it isn’t a private moment between just the two of them. There are others present – Martha, Lazarus and Judas, at least. What was it like for them to witness this? Were they, like me, a little embarrassed? Was Judas’ comment made in part to break the moment, remind them that other people are present? I am reminded also of the other story of a woman anointing Jesus’ feet, also with tears and ointment and kisses. In that story in the Gospel of Luke, the woman is named by the dinner host, a Pharisee, as a sinner. Jesus talks about her gesture as one of tremendous gratitude for the tremendous gift she has received through him – mercy and forgiveness. That woman made herself so very vulnerable – invading a dinner party, I imagine a roomful of only men, opening herself up to more gossip and possibly harassment. I would read the Pharisee’s response as one of disgust. And in both stories, Jesus comes to the defense of the person offering him such tenderness. Jesus receives these offerings with his own tenderness.
And this part is really important to me, the manner in which Jesus receives. Because in his appreciation of the gift, the gift becomes mutual, it uplifts the giver, it blesses her. Because there can be an interpretation of such an act – kneeling at a person’s feet, kissing them, that it is demeaning. I’ve been watching this TV series – Once Upon a Time, where the story arcs for the two most powerfully evil characters trace their willingness to exploit dark magic to experiences of having to kneel before their “betters.” The word “fealty” is used – which means they owe their allegiance to the person having them kneel. Both experience the command to kneel as humiliating, and they become driven not only to avoid owing any allegiences, but by having others express fealty to them, whether out of fear for their own lives or that of their loved ones. The people with power mean it to be a humiliating experience. Cora and Rumple are ordered to their knees to remind them of their proper place. Their assertion of their worth becomes twisted by rage.
How different it is to kneel at Jesus’ feet. Jesus would never command it, never even want to distance himself anyone else. He is criticized for consorting with sinners and tax collectors, and also dines with Pharisees and scribes. He not only accepts dinner invitations, but invites himself to people’s homes and into their lives. He receives not out of a sense of entitlement, not as a show of his power, but as gestures or symbols of relationship and connection. Jesus receives with physical pleasure the anointing of his feet, and also insists on washing the feet of his disciples on the night. It’s all the same thing to him. Touch people and be touched. Intimacy, true intimacy requires a certain level of vulnerability. It requires letting go of practical concerns, of sometimes moving past a language of words and into a language of emotion, language of the body, of senses.
And so this passage makes me uncomfortable, uncertain, with some longing, and some regret. Part of me longs to be like Mary, willing to surrender in this huge way to such love – willing to give something very dear to me, to shower my Lord with my love. Part of me longs to be like Jesus – so tender at receiving that it demonstrates deep love to anyone watching. Jesus, the incarnation or embodiment of God, was, like all of us, a triune being – body, mind and soul. But unlike all of us, he was FULLY in each aspect of being. He was fully in his human body, reveling in the pleasure it brings, experiencing it’s amazing functions and the way it revealed truth and beauty to him. He was fully in his mind – thinking, interpreting, communicating, understanding, making connections. As he was receiving this gift of sensual pleasure he was able to hear Judas’ remark and respond – calling up both a scriptural response and foreshadowing of the days of loss and mourning that are ahead for his friends. This dinner with friends takes place the day before he heads into Jerusalem on a donkey to a cheering and adoring crowd, knowing what the rest of the week holds. He is fully in his soul, aware of the Divine plan for his passion and his resurrection, aware of what it would mean for everyone.
One of my professors used to talk about the art of scripture, and how story echoes story echoes story. It is possible that Lazarus is particularly called out because he had been raised from the dead – another foreshadowing that Jesus will also be raised from the dead. Jesus says “the poor will always be with you” as an echo of a passage in Deuteronomy in which God tells his people that same thing, and goes on to tell them that they therefore must continue to care for the poor, must be aware and extend themselves. Jesus is not being flippant, but acknowledging that there is room for this lavish love even while we continue to look out for the poor. And I suspect the part about Judas’ thieving ways are just gospel-writer John’s device to set up Judas.
Oh how I love being able to do some research and find the answers to some of those things that puzzled me. But I still don’t know what to do with this, whatever my precious gift might be , or even more, with these – these very straight knees that are what? too proud? too afraid? too embarassed? to kneel before the one who fell to his knees praying that this cup might be taken from him, before the one who begged God from the cross to forgive, before the one who gave the most costly gift of all? Lord, in your mercy, hear my prayer.
