March 27, 2004 - Lent V, Revised Common Lectionary 2004
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Sam Portaro, March 27, 2004
Lent V, Revised Common Lectionary 2004
Philippians 3:4b-14 John 12:1-8
One of the enigmatic mysteries of the gospels is the confusion of Mary's in Jesus' life. The most distinguished theologian to serve as Archbishop of Canterbury prior to the current incumbent was William Temple. In his masterful commentary on John's gospel, Temple links the story of the sister of Martha and Lazarus recounted in this evening's reading from John to a similar episode in Luke (7:44)-the story of the woman who, on another occasion, bathed the feet of Jesus with her tears. If the connection is correct, then the same Mary who was resented by her hardworking sister, Martha, was by personality not just carefree, but worse. Luke's version of the story implies she is a woman with a sordid past, suggesting that then as now, there existed a tendency to equate generous love with lax morals.
Mary, sister of the self-effacing Martha and the mysterious Lazarus, appears numerous times in the stories of Jesus' life and ministry. And in all the accounts Mary embodies the many dimensions of love. Filled to the brim with affection and vitality, her life is ablaze with passion. Then, as now, such passion was deemed suspect and this woman was branded not as a model of generous love, but rather as the victim of lust. In Luke's gospel she is portrayed as a prostitute who scandalizes a dinner with Simon the Pharisee by falling before the seated Jesus, bathing his feet with tears, wiping them with her hair and anointing his feet with precious oil.
Thus, when we read of Mary in John's gospel, in these final days of Jesus' life, we find the scene both strangely reminiscent and mysteriously symmetrical. For here Jesus has returned to Jerusalem at great peril. Having publicly entered the city from which he had been banished and daring to set foot in the Temple, he has risked everything to return. Perhaps shaken and scared from the very real danger lurking around him, and hoping to find some reassurance, he goes to Bethany to be with his dearest friends. He came especially to this house because no one outside the band of twelve held the place in his heart that Mary, Martha and Lazarus could claim. Still impetuous and affectionate, Mary comes forward at dinner, bearing a flagon of costly perfumed oil. Pouring the rich ointment over Jesus' feet, she bathes with oil and gratitude, a gift of pure, unashamed thanksgiving.
Immediately Judas reacts. Such a lavish gift! Should it not have been converted to cash, turned into good works and deeds of mercy? Mary's joyful expression of personal affection suddenly has a price tag. There she kneels-her heart and life brimful of joy because of Jesus' respect and friendship, her brother Lazarus alive to share that meal only because Jesus had responded to her faith. There she kneels, her hair wet with oil, belittled and berated for her generosity.
Judas, of course, did have a point, but he missed a more obvious and important one. As Oscar Wilde once observed, some people know the price of everything but the value of nothing. The apostle Paul, in the epistle to the Philippians read in tandem with this gospel this evening, says that his own relationship with Christ showed him that "what I once thought was valuable is worthless"-which is to say that Jesus reorders all our priorities and judgments. Mary's gesture was her gift to give, no one else's. And it was precisely the gift that Jesus needed. He accepted the gift with the same generosity with which it had been offered.
Judas obviously wouldn't have known love if it bit him in the butt; he certainly didn't recognize it face to face. While he argues how love ought best be expressed, he is rudely oblivious to the love poured out before his very eyes.
There's a lesson here for us, especially in these days when some are quick to condemn the gift of love that doesn't always express itself in ways that conform to some purported morality, propriety or tradition. As this story drawn from the heart of two gospels reminds us, love is sometimes manifest in ways that challenge our cherished sense of value and order. And when love comes among us in this way, our own response reveals our sin.
In both Luke's telling and John's, the strange story of a woman who anoints Jesus' feet and wipes them with her hair, scandalizes the moment. The Greek word "skandalon" is nearly always used in Christian scripture to describe only one person-Jesus. The word means "stumbling block" or "obstacle." The scandal of these stories is not the women, or the expensive outlay of oil. The scandal is Jesus' loving and gracious acceptance of such love.
In Luke's telling, Jesus scandalizes Simon the Phasisee at his own table by refusing to repudiate the woman; in John's version, Jesus scandalizes his own disciples. I believe the two gospels intentionally give us the same story from two different perspectives, reminding us that blindness to love, like all sin, is a common affliction of the religious-that those who profess to love God are often the least aware or appreciative of what true love is.
In this gospel story, as in our own time, the presence of love is the silent judge of sin. Hatred of those different from ourselves, even silent disdain in their presence, only reveals our own lovelessness. Contemporary arguments for the defense of a culturally bound marriage tradition are no different from Judas' argument for selling the ointment to benefit the poor. Each misses the point of what God deems most valuable. Yes, Judas was being loyal to scripture, tradition and reason. But note also that Jesus rebutted Judas' argument, and challenged Judas to expand his vision to see love as God sees it. Love is not always easy and never simple. And we who would love as Jesus desired and as Jesus did must learn to discern the many faces and facets of love in our midst.
The great sadness of the story recounted in John's gospel and in Luke's is that love should be ignored, unseen and even denied. Jesus' words are touchingly powerful, and poignant. They were not angry words of rebuke. They are, instead, the words of one who in that moment saw love betrayed, lost in a confusion of selfish pride, and of self-righteousness.
His disciples didn't recognize love even when it revealed itself in their presence. Mary's lavish attempt to express her love and the cruel attack of Judas and the jealous disciples revealed their lovelessness and the gospel's failure. The room was filled with a fearful foreboding, the odor of which added a different and sickening texture to the rich fragrance of oil lingering in the air. "Leave her alone," Jesus said. "Let her keep what she has for the day of my burial." It is as though Jesus is saying to Judas, and to us, your righteousness is killing me. Sadly, he was right then and remains right now.
Amen.
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