2022-04-04
Brooke Strong
Sermon Text
Scripture: JOHN 12:1-8
So the news this week featured, in addition to all the various political and international issues of the day, a strange moment from last Sunday evening’s telecast of the Oscars. Will Smith famously struck Chris Rock across the face. There is, of course, no excusing Smith’s egregious display of violence. At the same time, though, Rock had made a joke at the expense of Smith’s spouse, Jada Pinkett Smith, mocking the alopecia that has led her to be nearly bald.
We mention this today, not to analyze what happened, so much as to note how extraordinarily cringe-worthy were both of those gestures. To point out Rock’s insensitivity is in no way to equate it to Smith’s vicious slap. It is, though, to say that his remark, too, made me wince. Why mock somebody with a disease? We’re embarrassed at its insensitivity.
What’s striking this morning is that Jesus himself, of all things, makes a similarly cringe-worthy remark in our gospel reading today. How is it possible that Jesus could say something as callous as the apparently tone-deaf retort he makes to Judas in the story. When Judas tries to encourage something noble—caring for those who are poor—Jesus goes all “Chris Rock” on him and seems to justify this extravagant gesture of Mary’s on the grounds that we don’t really need to worry about people who are poor because they’re simply always going to be around. ‘No big deal,’ Jesus seems to say—‘we’re always going to have poor people.’ In what possible way could this zinger of Jesus be true to the God we’ve been taught is always concerned with people who live in poverty? I just want to say, “Ouch. Jesus is way off the mark. Isn’t it a top priority of faith to attend to people who are snared in poverty?”
So let’s go back a bit and reflect on what’s going on in this oddly evocative and sensuous story. You may remember that Mary’s brother Lazarus has just been resuscitated by Jesus after he has died. Mary is so unbelievably grateful for Lazarus’ return to life that the only thing she can think to do is to honor Jesus with a sumptuous and lavish gift. Jesus has brought her dead brother back to life, so she takes some precious perfume and anoints Jesus’ feet with it and wipes his feet with her hair. If you’re a little confused by this, by the way, thinking you remember that Mary anoints Jesus’ head rather than his feet, you’ve actually remembered correctly. It’s just that that’s another version of this story as it’s told in Matthew and Mark. Here in John, though, Mary anoints Jesus’ feet. It’s a mesmerizingly tactile, sensuous thing she does.
Judas, in a fit of self-righteousness, sneers at her gesture, and grandly announces that this same perfume, instead of being wasted could have been sold for a year’s wages—maybe $50,000 to $100,000 in our day. That’s a hefty bit of pocket change, and Judas can see its potential value in alleviating poverty. And on many of levels, he’s right. Wasting money on frivolous baubles and luxurious activities seems wildly off-center in a world in which billions suffer and we’re trying to live faithfully. We’ve all cringed at the gold-plated bathroom fixtures and spectacularly outfitted yachts and private planes of extremely affluent people that divert much-needed resources from people who suffer and break. Judas seems to nail the truth here with his admonition to care for people who are poor, while Jesus, with his evident dismissal of people who live in poverty, seems conspicuously and embarrassingly off-center.
So Judas has a handle on part of the truth. Here, though, is where Judas misses the mark: he is totally out of touch with what we might call the “fragrance” of Mary’s anointing gesture. Put these two followers of Jesus side by side and this is what you see: in the superficial appropriateness of his expressed concern, Judas is all about the odor of heavy-handed obligation, while Mary is about the sweet aroma of gratitude. Judas is about the stench of malodorous duty, while Mary is about the fragrance of unrestrained adoration. Judas is about a reeking preoccupation with right and wrong, while Mary is about the scent of a love that knows no bounds. Judas, in other words, is right in the detail, but lightyears away from grasping the big picture. He’s right that caring for people who are poor is a central value of Christian life. He’s totally oblivious, though, to the adoration and devotion and reverence that Mary knows are so central.
This judgment of ours on the words of Judas and the appreciation of this wordless gesture of Mary may sound odd to us. We live in a world of right and wrong, where duty is so often paramount and where worship and veneration get pushed to the back burner. We know what’s right, don’t we, and we tend to focus on getting it done: get the kids to lacrosse practice; pay the bills; make dinner; order the dog food; take a good chunk of Saturday to get the work project done; make sure the credit score keeps up; ensure that the chores all get finished. And right along with that list: give to the latest charity whose email floods our inbox. Do, do, do. Finish the checklist that always commands our attention, including expeditiously doing a service project or making a donation. “There,” we think, “we’ve finished our chores.”
And good as that may be in some ways, in among all that duty and obligation, Jesus essentially says, “Whoa! Wait a minute! Yes, your responsibilities are important. Nothing gets done if you don’t do them. That’s not what’s core, though. There’s something else that’s even more important,” he seems to say, “and that is that you take time to be fully present and to invest yourself in life.”
Judas certainly speaks a truth that’s critically important—care for those who are poor. But Mary acts out a truth that’s even more crucial. Mary does what Judas seems incapable of doing: she gives herself, all of herself, to Jesus. She doesn’t just do her duty. She doesn’t just throw some of her well-earned money and things at Jesus. No, what Mary does is give her whole self to the source of light and grace.
The real contrast is that Judas is about some pinched and narrow legalism, while Mary is about love. Judas is about keeping the rules, while Mary is about spontaneity and gratitude and joy. We know the difference, don’t we. A friend offers to watch our house while we’re gone, but their voice is a little brittle in the promise. A neighbor comes by to help with our mulching, but there’s a sense of burden and an eagerness to get done early. A relative offers to care for the children while we do errands, but the sigh conveys that it’s an inconvenience. Yes, these responses may in some way be helpful, but they also trail something of an odor about them. This is Judas: right, but no spirit; correct, but no bubbles; dutiful, but no effervescence.
The friend of ours who embodies Mary, though, conveys a kind of joy in their giving. They smile radiantly in the offer. They seem delighted to be of help. They almost make us feel as though they’re doing us a favor. Their presence and energy are like lilacs in springtime, the whiff of whose sweet aroma brightens our days. We feel gifted, honored, blessed. We sense ourselves to be elevated. Judas is about adhering to a standard, while Mary is about balloons and dancing and laughter. And the difference is palpable. Both make a difference. But while Judas drags everything down, Mary elevates those around her. She lifts and transforms.
Wayne Muller, in a wise book called Sabbath, writes about just how tempting and unfortunate it is to take what we might call this Judas approach to life. He puts our hyperactivity in the Judas column, and reminds us that that swirl of motion and tasks has a huge hidden cost. “We are expected to sacrifice more of our time to work, seeking more work, being on call for work and recovering from overwork. Then, with the money we make, we can buy more things for our children, things like televisions and computers and [streaming services] and video games that will give them, the marketers insist, a happy childhood.” Judas doing the “right” thing.
If we’re to take the approach of Mary in this story, though, says Muller, we value something else entirely. “We take the time to bless our children, place our hands upon their heads, our fingers in their hair, and pray for their strength, and courage, and happiness. We rest with them, eat with them, play with them, walk with them, listen to their stories and their worries and their laughter, and remember to whom they belong. All the video games and cable television and [streaming services] and computers and clothes . . . in the galaxy cannot place a single hand on a single head and grant this . . . blessing” (p. 160).
Duty is a fine and productive thing. But it pales next to love and beauty and grace and presence and hope and joy. “When I worked as a community organizer in the poorer Boston neighborhoods,” says Muller, “we often had meetings with local teachers, parents, clergy, and social activists, trying again and again to listen for the healing that would be possible in the lives of the struggling families who lived there. One day we were meeting in Old South Church, one of the fine, traditional houses of worship in Boston. One social activist was particularly enthusiastic in criticizing the great disparities of wealth in the city. In his evangelical fervor, he used the church we were sitting in as an offending example. ‘Take this church. It is obscene, all this stained glass and gold chalices and fine tapestries. If the church really cared about poor people, they should sell all of this and give it to the poor.’ This argument is not new; it was made by Jesus’ disciples themselves, and it clearly has some merit. But a woman from the neighborhood, who had lived there all her life, said quietly, ‘This is one of the most beautiful places in the city. It is one of the only places where poor folks can afford to be around beauty. All the other beauty in this city costs money. Here, we can be surrounded by beautiful things, and it all belongs to us. Don’t even think about taking away what little beauty we have’” (pp. 161-2).
Jesus isn’t saying, ‘Don’t give money to people who are poor.’ Far from it. Such generosity is paramount to Jesus. What he’s saying instead is something much more like, ‘Whenever you give, give with abandon. Give with your whole heart. Give out of joy. Convey delight. Give your whole self. That’s what makes the difference. That’s where grace comes to life. That’s where love takes bloom.’
Mary’s sweetly aromatic gift, after all, is given to Jesus, the very one who makes everything possible. Jesus has given to Mary without charge, without expectation, and with unending joy. Jesus has given the same bottomless love to all of us, as well. We taste and smell that gift in the meal we’re about to receive. May we breathe in that love showered upon all of us. And may we do as Mary does, living out the charge that comes to us all: to breathe out as joyful givers, full of warmth and gratitude and radiance. For of such is the world remade. May it always be so.