Sermon for the Lord’s Day

March 21, 2010

Rev. Lorelei Hillman

“Be Prepared”

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.’

This morning I would like to look at three ways to read this text.  The title of the sermon is “be prepared” – I hope at least some of you brought your lunch!  All three readings will help us to understand the text better.  None is a ‘wrong’ reading, but the best reading will include elements of all three approaches.  Here we go!

The first way to read this passage from John is LITERALLY.  Here we pay particular attention to what is happening, who is involved, and what the outcome is.  For us to read this text in that way, we have to go back into the story to determine the context.

Jesus had left Jerusalem.  Well, ‘left Jerusalem’ is hardly the word for it – he had escaped Jerusalem, narrowly avoiding being stoned to death, for he had claimed to be the Messiah, and one with God.  With the disciples, he left Judah, and crossed the Jordan River, where he stayed for several days, until he ventured again into Judah to raise his dear friend Lazarus from the dead.  This was so dangerous that one disciple, Thomas, made sarcastic remarks about going back to Bethany, where Lazarus lived, to die.

The Pharisees heard about Lazarus coming back to life.  The witnesses probably couldn’t help themselves.  “Can you believe it?” they sputtered, “He was so dead he stank, but when Jesus called him, out he walked right out of the tomb!”  It was then that the authorities began to plot Jesus’ death in earnest.

Everyone was aware of this.  Jesus left Bethany and traveled far to the south, to a town called Ephraim, on the border of the wilderness.  Back in Jerusalem, folks were openly discussing whether he would have the nerve to show his face in the city during the Passover celebrations.  Could he hide in the crowd, or would the leaders of the Temple find him and put him to death?

We sometimes read these passages around the final weeks and days of Jesus’ life as though this were all a big secret.  We ask, “Did Jesus know?” 

We claim his knowledge of what would come is some sign that he knew what others did not.  But that cannot be true.  All of his followers knew – Jesus had been openly confronting very powerful, very dangerous people.  There was only one possible outcome if he would not back down or move far away.  A change was coming: Jesus was going to die.

 Six days before the great feast, Jesus returned to Bethany.  At least he would be safe in the home of Lazarus, Martha and Mary.  Some of those present were, as we say today, in denial.  His dear friends gave a dinner for him, but we can only imagine how subdued and somber the mood was. 

Everyone was on edge, and at the same time trying to act as if nothing were happening.  Lazarus, as host, would have been interacting with his guests.  Martha, dear Martha, was making sure everyone had plenty to eat.

Ah, but Mary – Mary was always the odd one out.  She would rather hear Jesus speak than help her sister with the meal, as was her place.  Even Jesus did not always get her respect; when Lazarus had died and Jesus showed up several days late, Mary accused him of neglecting his duty by staying away.  Her tears moved Jesus, probably because she was in so many ways a strong and independent woman.

So when Mary entered the room where everyone was eating, and took out a large jar of incredibly costly ointment, knelt at Jesus’ feet and began to rub the perfume into his feet with her hair, the room must have fallen completely silent.

Her posture alone was enough to stop me reading.  The only people I have ever knelt before in my life are my children, and then to tie their shoes or dry their tears.  It makes me profoundly uncomfortable to have others handle my feet – a pedicure is something I have to steel myself for.  I can hardly stand for someone to be in a position that servile in front of me.  And for a woman to use her hair to wipe a man’s feet… 

Mary was not a slave girl. She was not a fallen woman.  She was the sister of Lazarus, and the expense of the perfume shows she was not a poor woman.  Her behavior here is outrageous.  She is making a public display of herself, and embarrassing everyone around her.  It is no wonder that Judas speaks up, if for no other reason than to bring Mary to her senses.

Quite frankly, when I read this passage from John’s gospel, I identified a bit with Judas.  There are better ways to spend money than to waste it on ointments and perfumes. 

A bottle of my favorite perfume, “New West,” costs $40 to $60 – which would go quite a way towards covering one of our evenings hosting I-Help or Family Promise or Paz.  A pound of nard in Mary’s day at 300 denarii (nearly a year’s wages for a laborer) would today at minimum wage be worth in excess of $14,500.  I know the author of the gospel doesn’t give Judas any quarter, calls him a thief, but really, isn’t there a line here?

Then again, my bottle of “New West,” sitting on the cabinet in my bathroom with six other little bottles, was given to me by my husband Scott after we moved to Phoenix – that was 1991.  I don’t wear it much anymore since lots of folks are allergic to strong scents, and it is so expensive.

But Mary takes her pound of perfume and anoints Jesus’ feet with it.  Knowing that Jesus is in mortal danger, knowing that if he does not turn back, knowing him that he will not turn back, she uses up this costly treasure on his feet. 

One commentator called this a ‘lavish act.’  I think to focus on the money is to miss the point.  Mary is down on her knees, wiping his feet with her hair.  This is not about money.  And Judas is our clue.  He tries to make it about money, and Jesus refuses to let it stand.  “Leave her alone,” he says, a man standing up for a woman in public – against another man.  “She did this for me, because she knows what is about to happen and she won’t act like nothing is going on.  You all know that I am going to die; the time grows shorter and shorter.  But she is the only one who has done anything to acknowledge what we all see clearly, that I won’t be with you much longer.”

At this point, let’s look at the passage from our second perspective: METAPHOR.  Here we try to see what the text might represent.  In what way is our own reality reflected in the persons and events of the story?

We have already said that every single person in that room knew what Mary knew.  Jesus had gone past the point of no return and he was going to pay with his life.  And we can see ourselves in their responses: they did what we all do, in our own way, when we are faced with a change we don’t feel prepared for.  Like the disciples and the other guests at the dinner, some ignore it, as though that can make it go away.  It’s business as usual, even when the room is filled with tension and anxiety. 

Some focus on the minutia.  Things are shifting and moving all around us, but we hold on to every bit we’ve got and not take any more risks.  Like Judas, we think that if we clamp down we can keep the ship afloat.  If we resist change hard enough, we can prevent it.

Mary is the positive to the other characters’ negatives.  Where they bury their heads in the sand, she faces the inevitable and names it: Jesus is going to die.  Where they go on as though nothing were wrong, she prepares herself for what will come.  Jesus’ death will probably come at the hands of strangers. Mary will not be able to be there to care for him, for his body, so she does what she can now.

She does not hold back.  In her act, in her demeanor, in her incredible humility, she gives of every perfect part of herself.  Material goods – she gives the best, the most expensive, the most precious.  Her person – her love is expressed in posture and action, she kneels and wipes his feet with her hair.  Her soul – she acts in the presence of family, friends and guests, without regard to how she her behavior will be perceived.

By rejecting change, the dinner guests and Judas also reject faith.  Which is odd, because these are the same people who should know.  They saw Jesus call Lazarus from the tomb.  They saw him come out in his grave-clothes, they unwrapped him, and are seated at his table.  They know what Jesus can do with change, even in a time when the world around is horribly frightening and dangerous.

Mary is the antidote – faith in the face of deep uncertainty.  She knows what will happen to Jesus.  She does not know what will happen to her, or those she loves.  Her response is to focus on the one whom she trusts, even at a time as dark as this.  She gives it ‘her all.’  It’s not about the money spent, or the extravagant use of the expensive perfume – it’s about the costly love she is laying down at the feet of her Messiah, and it fills the room with the precious scent of her devotion.

Yesterday at Presbytery, our former seminary intern, Linda Bailey, was examined for ordination.  She will be serving as interim associate pastor for Desert Palms Presbyterian Church in Sun City.  Linda has worked long and hard for this moment, and as part of the examination she read out loud her statement of faith.  Those of you who know Linda, know that it was carefully, thoughtfully, worded.  She had gone over it many times to make sure that it said what she really believes about her relationship to Jesus Christ, and to the church.  It meant a lot – so much that when she read it, her voice was caught up with emotion.

We’ve all felt something of that emotion here today, to see Gregson answer the questions of membership and declare his faith, and to hear him and Samantha affirm their faith at the baptism of their beloved son, Cole.  We said the words with them – and we were not untouched.

Here is the place we take our third look.  We consider the text as SYMBOL.  Symbol is like metaphor, in that we are looking beyond the literal meaning of the words, but symbol is the ‘direct line’ version of metaphor.  Instead of asking, “what does this story represent,” we say, “what does this text mean, right now, for us?”  It is in the symbol that we find a word of comfort or challenge, the Spirit’s word and work of transformation.  Symbol allows us to enter the text for ourselves, and to participate in an intimate, immediate way that literal and metaphorical readings cannot.

What is the Spirit saying to us in this passage?

Close your eyes and find yourself in the story.  Who are you?  Lazarus the host?  Martha, serving the meal?  One of the diners?  A disciple?  Judas?  You feel the anxiety – change is in the air, and fear.  Everyone is doing their best to act normal, but gloom surrounds you.  Mary enters the room, a large alabaster jar in her hands, and walks around you toward Jesus.  Eyes follow her.  Silent, unsmiling, she kneels before Jesus and opens the jar.  The perfume inside fills the room with fragrance.  Mary puts her hand in the nard and begins to anoint Jesus’ feet.

You are a guest at a feast for the Lord.  The future is uncertain.  The world around is hostile, unforgiving.  Tomorrow may be the day that everything changes.  What will you do?