Love Upon Love -- Fifth Sunday in Lent

John 12:1-8

April 7, 2019

            After two weeks of traveling in three other countries, and trekking around Israel, we had finally reached Jerusalem. We were staying in the Palestinian quarter of Jerusalem, and our group of travelers was scheduled to take an early morning tour of the old city. I could not wait! I could not wait to see this ancient metropolis, the one I had read about in scripture and envisioned in my imagination most of my life. But as we were making plans for the next morning’s adventures my roommate on the trip got sick; really sick. She had some ongoing health issues, and the travel had just worn her out. She said she just needed a day to rest and recover, and that I should go on the tour without her. But I was worried that her sickness was more severe than she was letting on. And even if it wasn’t, I did not want to leave her in our hotel room, sick and alone in a strange country. What if something should happen? What if she needed something? So I decided to stay with her that day. I went down to breakfast and told my professors – the trip leaders – what was going on. On my way back to the room, I ran into one of the hotel staff who had checked us into our rooms. I told him what was happening, and that we wouldn’t be able to have our room cleaned that day. He thanked me for letting him know, and we both went our separate ways.

            I had been back in our room maybe ten minutes when there was a knock at the door. I thought maybe it was somebody from our group checking in, but when I opened the door, it was the hotel clerk I had just spoken with. In his hands was a tray, and on the tray there was a teapot and some cups. He wanted to make sure that we were all right, and to please let him know if I needed anything else. Tears came into my eyes. He did not have to do that. There was no extra incentive for him. It was just kindness. It was an unexpected act of kindness and compassion that was sorely needed.

What we have in this story from John’s gospel is a moment of unexpected compassion and kindness. Versions of this story are found in all four gospels. In both Matthew and Mark, the woman who anointed Jesus with precious nard did so for the same purpose as in John’s gospel; it was about Jesus’ burial. Yet in Luke’s gospel, the woman who anointed Jesus was a sinner who realized how forgiven she truly was, and anointing Jesus was a response to this forgiveness. In each version, the woman’s actions were scorned. And in each version, the gospel writer records that Jesus told the people who grumbled about her to leave her alone. But only in John’s gospel, do we know her name. This woman was Mary, the younger sister of Martha. Her brother was Lazarus. We presume that this is the same Mary and Martha from Luke’s gospel. This is the Mary who sat at Jesus’ feet and listened to him while her sister, Martha, worked frantically to prepare the meal and clean the house for the Rabbi.

Jesus was once more a guest in the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus; and as we learn in the first verse, it was six days before the Passover, and Jesus had raised Lazarus just before. Martha served the meal. Lazarus, who had been dead but was resuscitated, was at table with Jesus and the others. I can well imagine that there was a great deal of activity happening in every corner of the house. There must have been noise and movement, talking and serving. And in the midst of all this hustle and bustle, Mary took a large amount of perfume made from pure nard and began to anoint Jesus’ feet with it. As she anointed his feet, she wiped them with her hair. The perfume was expensive and it was rare. It was found only in the Himalayan mountain range or in other remote parts of India and Asia. I suspect it would have been bought from traders along the Silk Road, and I also suspect that under normal circumstances it would have been doled out, drop by precious drop, in order to prevent any waste. Waste was not on Mary’s mind however. We are not told the precise amount that she used, but I imagine she was prepared to pour out the whole lot, lavishly and lovingly on the feet of the Rabbi she loved.

            All of those watching this had to have been shocked by Mary’s behavior, but it was Judas who spoke up. He complained that if Mary had access to such an expensive nard, why wasn’t it sold for a lot of money? That money could have been given to the poor instead of poured out. In an aside, John explains that Judas didn’t give a hoot about the poor. He only wanted the money for himself, because he was a thief and stole from the common purse.

            Jesus immediately defended Mary’s actions, but his response is disturbing to our ears.

            “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

“You always have the poor with you?” That runs contrary to everything Jesus has said about the poor and the weak and the vulnerable up to this point. Jesus’ whole ministry, his whole life, was about taking the side of the poor, the marginalized and the oppressed. He came for the others in the world – the forgotten, the lost, the lonely. But in this story, his attitude about the poor seems almost cavalier. 

            The biblical scholars that I read speculate that Jesus was not dismissing the poor. He was referencing verses in the Old Testament that stated that there would always be poor people and people in great need; therefore they should always be welcomed and cared for. It is unlikely that Jesus suddenly decided that the poor didn’t matter. But when Mary began to anoint him, he knew that this was a moment of compassion and kindness that was not only nice but necessary. He was still with them, still living, but that was about to change. He would soon die a criminal’s death. The rituals and rites of burial would be denied to him before his execution. Mary anointed him for his burial while she could. She showed him love while she could. It was a moment of compassion.

            I keep emphasizing the word moment because this story is about a moment of compassion in the midst of many other moments that were anything but. Knowing the larger context, knowing about those other moments, is important for understanding what’s happening in this particular moment. As it states at the beginning of the passage, Jesus was at table in the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus. Lazarus had been dead but was now alive, raised only recently by Jesus from the tomb. Raising Lazarus caused many people who witnessed this miracle to believe in Jesus. But it had also frightened and worried many more. Once you’re dead, you’re supposed to stay dead. That’s the only decent thing to do. If Jesus had the power to change the order of life and death, then he was too powerful. The chief priests and Pharisees knew that Jesus had to be stopped. If more and more people believed in him, then the Romans would find out and destroy them all. Perhaps he could bring others back from the dead, but surely he could not change that ending for himself. So a plot to kill him was put into motion.

            Jesus must have been fully aware of this plot, because John states that from that time on Jesus could not move about openly. He went to a town called Ephraim, which was near the wilderness, and he stayed there with his disciples; until they came to Bethany and the house of Mary, Martha and Lazarus.

            Yet this dinner party did not go unnoticed. In the verses following our story, we learn that when people discovered where Jesus was, they came in great numbers to see Jesus and to see Lazarus who was raised from the dead. This made the powers that be even more nervous. Lazarus was literally living proof of Jesus’ power. Not only did Jesus need to be silenced, Lazarus must be silenced too. Immediately after our story, a plot to kill Lazarus was hatched.

            So this is the context in which this moment – this moment of kindness and compassion – occurred. Murderous schemes were in play both before and after. The tension and fear must have been palpable. Yet in this time of fear and anxiety, Mary, who once sat at Jesus’ feet to listen and learn from him, took a place at his feet once more. And she anointed those dusty, dirty, tired feet with precious perfume. She wiped the perfume away with her hair. It was an intimate act, a loving act. No doubt her actions scandalized everyone watching, because that kind of intimacy between a man and woman would never have been displayed so openly; and it certainly would not have been acceptable in private for anyone except a husband and wife.

            Yet however inappropriate her actions might have been, however socially unacceptable and taboo, it was not a time for following social codes or rules. It was a time for compassion. It was a time for kindness. It was a time for love upon love. Somehow Mary understood this. Maybe she realized what his disciples could not; that she only had a short time left with her Teacher. She only had a short time left, and in that moment the minister needed ministry. He needed compassion. He needed kindness. He needed love as he prepared for what lay ahead: pain, cruelty, betrayal and death. She responded to that need with her whole being. That moment required compassion, so leave her alone.

            Mary did what Jesus had been doing all along; she showed extravagant, over the top, abundant love upon love. The Greek verb used to express how she wiped his feet with her hair is the same verb used to describe Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. Mary mirrored the abundant love upon love that Jesus showed and embodied: to the poor and the vulnerable, to the lost and the alone, to those who would betray him and to those who would walk away. Jesus was the incarnation of God’s abundant and extravagant and over-the-top grace upon grace and love upon love. In this moment Mary reflected that abundance. She mirrored that compassion. In this moment showed that same love upon love.

            How often do we find ourselves in moments where that love upon love is needed? Do we respond with abundance, with excess, with extravagance or do we respond more stingily? Do we mete out love and grace only in infinitesimal portions, guarding it as though love could somehow be used up or run dry? How many moments are there when we have the opportunity to show love upon love? How many moments are there when we can also reflect the love upon love showed to us daily by God? As we move closer and closer to Good Friday’s sorrow, be aware of those moments. Look for them. Welcome them. Fill them with love upon love. Because the good news is that God fills all of our moments with love upon love, if only we had eyes to see and hearts to feel.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Amen.”