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Friends of Jesus: Martha, Mary and Lazarus Icon, oil on wood, 198?, Sao Paulo, Brazil Claudio Pastro, Brazil Benedictine Priory of Bethany, Loppem, Belgium |
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany,
the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead.
There they gave a dinner for him.
Martha served,
and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him.
Mary 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.
But Judas Iscariot,
one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said,
‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii
and the money given to the poor?’
(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.)
Jesus said,
‘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.’
John 12: 1-8
The week before all hell broke loose and darkness swept over the earth, Jesus and his closest disciples came to stay with us in Bethany which is east of Jerusalem. It was a great honor to have him with us in those last few days of his life. It was a great act of courage that he came. You see, he had been warned to stay away from Jerusalem. He was as a big lump of bread stuck in Herod’s throat and Herod, that snake, meant to swallow him whole. We all knew as much. But Jesus, he was not about to save his own skin.
The salvation Jesus offered was bigger than himself. Furthermore, he had done nothing wrong. He had done nothing but point to God’s kingdom in our midst. He had done nothing but heal the sick and the lame. He had done nothing but give encouragement to the poor and the brokenhearted. He had done nothing but love us. For this he was supposed to run away and hide? Not my Jesus.
So he came to stay with us Bethany as he had on other occasions. He seemed to feel at home with our odd little family and I must give my sister, Martha, much of the credit for that. Martha had a gift for making people feel at home. She was a naturally gracious hostess and took much joy in preparing savory dishes for our guests and in making our home a welcoming place. She made hospitality seem effortless. Would that I could be more like Martha. But I was not.
As Martha and Lazarus would tell you, I always had my head in the clouds and was not suitably interested in the things that are given to women to busy themselves. I did not care how much garlic is needed to make the lamb more tender. I did not want to learn how to arrange blossoms. But I did love the word of God. And I loved to dream of the breath of God blowing over Israel. Jesus understood me as no other. He understood me better than my own family.
Ours was not the usual family. It was just the three of us: Martha, Lazarus, and I.
\No husband for Martha. Certainly no husband for me. No wife for Lazarus. No children under foot. There are probably many reasons for the choices we made but I am not here to talk about my family as much as I am here to talk about Jesus. Jesus loved our family, each one of us in our own way. I know you are thinking that Jesus loved everybody but that does not mean he loved everyone in exactly the same way. He held a special place in his heart for us. Think what you will but I believe that. Our neighbors even commented on how much Jesus loved Lazarus. As if he were he own dear brother. We, in turn, Martha, Lazarus, and I, loved him with a gratitude and passion that far exceeded that of many of his other disciples. He felt comfortable and safe with us which is why he came to stay with us that gloomy and terrible week.
We knew he was not long for this world. We knew his time had come. Not everyone knew but we did. You see, he was too good. Too honest. Too loving. Some called him the light of the world, the light that cannot be overcome by darkness. Some thought of him as river of living water, water that quenches the thirst of those who seek truth. Others spoke of his as the bread of life that nourishes hungry souls. I think of him, more simply, as the love of God. It is a love that will not let you go. A love that is not complicated by attempts at reciprocation - love that sees straight into a person’s heart, that sees the best in another. Love that cannot pass by on the other side of suffering. Love that lifted Lazarus right out of the grave. It is a love that bears all things, believes all things, forgives all things. A love that claims its own name – agape.
What happened that day, the day I poured a pound of precious perfume over his blessed feet is that I was overcome by agape love. I had carefully saved this expensive perfume. It is the kind used to prepare the dead for burial. It was perfume I might have spent on Lazarus but, joyfully, did not have to. Then, it became perfume I might have used to anoint Jesus in death. However, I could not stand the thought of spending this fragrance in death and I wanted Jesus to know, while he was alive, how deep, how extravagant, was my love for him.
So often do we withhold words of love, acts of love, until a person has departed this earth. Too often are we miserly with our earthly affections. And to what end? I wanted Jesus to know how much I loved him and I did not want simply to say it. I wanted to show it. It was an impulsive decision and, as Martha and Lazarus will tell you, that is my way. I realize the whole event was unbecoming. Women were not supposed to let down their hair in public let alone use their hair to anoint feet. I knew I was making a spectacle of myself but I didn’t care. Jesus seemed to understand my gesture and to receive it with grace.
It would have been, I think, a beautiful and humble expression of love but for the fact that Judas openly condemned my behavior. Judas was always concerned about money and I know I should not speak ill of him. Jesus, as I mentioned, taught me to see the best in others. But Judas was a troubled man and he sought to humiliate me that day. Here I was pouring myself out to Jesus and he asked rudely, loudly enough for all to hear: “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” In that moment, his was the voice of a Pharisee judging a sinner.
All eyes were on me, embarrassed mess that I was, and Judas had daggers in his eyes. His question was an attack. It did not matter to me that my dignity was denounced but I did care about his assault on my sense of justice. His question made it sound as if I did not care about the poor. That is simply not true.
I felt, nevertheless, awful about what I had done. Judas made me wonder why I had saved this perfume, why I had not sold it so that the hungry might have bread.
He made me feel self-indulgent and that was the very opposite of my intention in anointing Jesus’ feet. Jesus, God bless him, was quick to respond. “Leave her alone,” he said, “Let her keep what she has for my burial. You will always have the poor but you will not always have me.” Jesus’ words were a reminder that his time on earth was quickly nearing an end. His words certainly put Judas in his place again. Most significantly for me, his words affirmed the love I was trying to show, however awkwardly and inadequately.
Love is the very heart of Jesus’ message. Do not forget that. When you are trying to figure out what to do in any given situation or how to behave, bow to the love God offers in Jesus. When you are struggling to find the path that is most just and most right, ask yourself: what is the path most loving? Anoint your lives with the oil of that love. Be the fragrance of that love. Share it. Give it. Receive it. Make it the heart of your life.
That may sound simplistic. Like the words of someone who always has her head in the clouds. But when you think of the people of this world, people like Mary and Lazarus but also people like Judas, such love is hard labor. It is not some nice idea; it is difficult work. But it is the work of Jesus called the Christ. It is the meaning of his life and it is the highest calling to which God calls us. I commend this work of love to you.
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You are welcome to use these narratives for worship or study but please give the author, Sarah M. Foulger, credit for the writing - and consider making a contribution to Seasons of Change, a non-profit mental health agency in Edgecomb, Maine. Send contributions of any amount to Seasons of Change/ P.O. Box 277/Edgecomb, Maine 04556.
Sarah M. Foulger may be contacted at: sarahfoulger@gmail.com