Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. 2 There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. 3 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. (John 12:1-3) NRSVThe odor filled the room. Strong. Sweet. Pungent. Oil of nard. Costly, very expensive, oil of nard. Poured out. Lovingly and lavishly poured out. An act of extravagant, loving service performed on Jesus' behalf. A sign, pointing and preparing for what is about to come.
Ironic that this event should happen in the home of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. You 'member Lazarus. The friend whose death moved Jesus to tears. When last we saw Lazarus on this story's stage he was bound up in the clothes of the grave: bound by death; and yet, alive through Jesus' mighty act of love and compassion. Ironic, isn't it, that in the home where we celebrate the gift of life, we make preparations for death. The death of the Lamb whose blood paints the doorpost of the house marking the place to be passed over by the angel of death; the flesh of the lamb to be consumed to sustain us on our journey to freedom and life in the promised land.
The odor filled the room. Strong. Sweet. Pungent. Oil of nard. Costly, very expensive, oil of nard. Poured out. Lovingly and lavishly poured out. An act of extravagant, loving service performed on Jesus' behalf. A sign, pointing and preparing for what is about to come.
Only a few short days later it is Jesus, the master, who performs the act of loving service. It is Jesus, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, who humbles himself, like the lowliest of slaves, who dons a towel and washes the feet of his disciples. Instructing them in his farewell address to love one another, to humble themselves in the presence of one another by outdoing each other in acts of loving service. "Love one another, as I have loved you," he tells them; the parting command of the one who kneels down to wash the dirt of the earth from our feet, who lays down his life to wash the dirt of the world from our soul. Jesus is the master who shows us how to act as faithful loving servants. For if the master goes about humbly washing feet, what do you suppose the servants of the master are called to do?
"Love one another as I have loved you," the Master's parting command to his followers. The Master's legacy, the Master's final bequest, prefigured in dramatic, aromatic fashion by the woman draped around his feet, polishing, buffeting, and drying those feet with her hair. Loving hose feet that would soon travel the villa dela rosa, the way of sorrow, as an act of love for us. A sign, a prefiguring, a preparation for that which is to come.
Could Mary have known what was to come? Could she even have had an inkling of what her Lord must endure and of where those feet so lovingly anointed would have to tread? Could she possibly have comprehended the events that were to come? We know. But we have the advantage of time, of distance, of history. And yet, do we comprehend any better? We know what the Lord endured, what the Lord endured for us. We know where those feet trod, where they trod for us. And yet, do we comprehend any better than Mary? Mary's actions prepared Jesus for what was about to take place for us. How well are we prepared?
Are we ready to love, to serve, to give, to follow? Are we prepared to take up the towel and wash each others feet? What aroma fills the air on this day and in this place? Is it the smell of dirty, stinking, neglected feet; the feet of those too wrapped up in the busyness of business, too ground down by the daily grind to notice? Or is it the sweet aroma of feet washed clean in humble loving service? Feet that have followed the Master along the villa dela rosa on behalf of the world?
The world does not know, cannot comprehend, such loving extravagance. The world is too busy accumulating, humiliating, hoarding, grasping. The stink of frustration, desperation, humiliation, destitution sticks to feet blistered and calloused by the world and its minions who know little of joy, little of love, little of peace. little of hope.
The odor filled the room. Strong. Sweet. Pungent. Blood. Costly, very expensive, blood. Poured out. Lovingly and lavishly poured out. An act of extravagant, loving service performed on our behalf. A sign, pointing and preparing for what is about to come.
Perhaps Mary's oil could have been sold and the proceeds used otherwise. Perhaps Jesus' blood need not have been poured out, and the life it contained spent otherwise. Perhaps... But then we would be left only with the aroma of decaying feet, feet lost and wandering in the mire of sin and death. It is Jesus' blood which washes us clean, cutting through the accumulated layers of dust and filth, cleansing us and calling us into service on behalf of others.
We are drawing near to the end of our Lenten journey. Our feet are weary, aching, longing for rest. Soon we will experience anew the events that came to pass: the triumphal entry; the meal; the garden; the handing over; the denial; the hasty trial; the scourging; the mocking; the humiliation; the agony; the pain; the bloody sweat and tears; the dying and the rising. All done for us... for us.
But for now, a pause: a moment of indulgence, of preparation, a sign pointing and preparing us for all that is to come. For now we are left with the aroma of pure oil of nard filling our nostrils with its sweet, overwhelming presence. Soon enough it will yield to the odor of blood, blood poured out lovingly, lavishly, extravagantly for us.
The odors of sweet perfume, of blood, of sin and death, all mingle together on this day and in this place. Pointing and preparing us for all that will come. Amen
Sermon for Lent 5C (RCL)
Thus concludes my self titled, unofficial sermon series (for you see, I usually don't do the "sermon series" thing), The Stories of Lent in C Major (strike that, since it is Lent, after all, better make that C minor). Wiser heads than mine have conferred and decided that it is better not to post full sermon texts on blogs, but rather thoughts that occur during sermon prep. Perhaps so. Who am I to argue with wiser heads? So from now on, I will be posting more random thoughts, rants, and ravings (with the occasional sermon text mixed in, this is still my "world" isn't it?). Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed The Stories of Lent in C Minor. Peace out.
I am the unlikely pastor. Welcome to my world.
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