John 20:19-31 | Thomas

John 20:19-31 (NRSV)

¹⁹ When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁰ After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. ²¹ Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” ²² When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. ²³ If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

²⁴ But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. ²⁵ So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

²⁶ A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” ²⁷ Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” ²⁸ Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” ²⁹ Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

³⁰ Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. ³¹ But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

Thomas

For one of my Alpha Sigma Phi fraternity Halloween parties, I took twin women as my dates. (And for the record, this was before I knew Joy). We dressed as Double-Mint Gum. My two dates wore white togas, and I wore a green toga with a Double-Mint Gum sign. You gotta admit it was clever. As the old commercial said, “Double your pleasure, double your fun,” right? I tell you that story, not only to show you how profoundly cool I once was, but really because I needed a twin story, and it’s the only one I’ve got.

The Apostle Thomas was a twin. Thomas was sort of a nickname. It’s the Aramaic word for twin. According to some traditions, Thomas’s given name was Judas. But he was called Thomas in order to distinguish him from that other guy, Judas Iscariot. So, every time someone called Thomas, Thomas, they weren’t calling him by his name, but what he was by birth: a twin. We don’t know anything about Thomas’s twin brother or twin sister, and all we have is this guy’s nickname. Isn’t it a little odd that we don’t know—for certain—the given name of one of the Twelve Apostles? You’d think that someone could have written his name down. When it came to this Apostle’s name, he got left out. And poor what’s-his-name got left out in more than one way.

The evening of the day Mary Magdalene had come to the disciples and told them she had seen the Lord, Jesus came and stood among the group of disciples. Jesus spoke to them. Jesus offered them peace and showed them his hands and his side. Everyone started rejoicing, and Jesus gave them a commission, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you” (_{John 20:21b NRSV}). But Thomas wasn’t there. And when the other disciples told him about this grand experience of seeing their resurrected Lord, Thomas was obviously annoyed. He had been left out.

Unless you were one of the profoundly cool or athletic kids in grade school, you probably know something of what it feels like to be left out. How many of us were picked last for something in gym class, or picked last for a school project? I wasn’t very good at kickball or basketball in gym class, so I was usually one of the last kids picked for a team. But I was pretty good at dodgeball. Nevertheless, my reputation as a mediocre athlete in the other gym class sports probably influenced my apparent overall lack of value to team sports. I was usually among the last kids picked for a team before a dodgeball game.

But, time after time, I was one of the last kids still in the game toward the end. First, I was so skinny—and quick—that no one could hit me. Second, I could catch and throw to get people out. But I was still always one of the kids left out when teams were picked. I was one of the last choices. So, I know something of how Thomas felt at being left out or left for last.

In this case, Thomas was left out of a really profound moment. He was of the Twelve. He was a disciple. He was the one who knew what would happen to Jesus before the others, and he accepted that fate without batting an eye. He loved Jesus so much that he accepted death with reckless abandon.

Do you remember the story from John 11, when Jesus heard that Lazarus, the brother of Martha and Mary, was sick? Jesus waited a few days and told the Disciples he wanted to return to Judea. But the Disciples reminded Jesus that the Jewish leadership in Judea wanted to stone him to death, and they questioned why Jesus wanted to go back. Jesus told them that Lazarus was dead, and that he was going. So, while the other Disciples stood there trying to decide if they should go with Jesus or fake an illness, Thomas piped up and said, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” (_{John 11:16b, NRSV}). Off they went toward Jerusalem. A few chapters later, Jesus is dead and buried, and the disciples are in hiding.

Thomas got it. He seems to have been a rather practical person, and he knew what he was walking into by returning to Judea with Jesus. And still, he went. So, I can understand why Thomas was upset, or frustrated, or annoyed, or even bitter about the fact that Jesus left him out. And that’s the thing. My bet is that Thomas was more upset than disbelieving. I imagine that he felt more dejected than doubting.

Look at what happened. Mary Magdalene got to see Jesus, face-to-face. She came running back to the Disciples saying, “I have seen the Lord!” (_{John 20:18b, NRSV}). But the disciples locked themselves in a room because they were afraid. And Jesus showed up in the midst of them, he showed them the wounds in his hands and his side. All those present in that room—those who were hiding out of fear—saw and believed that it was really Jesus, and Jesus had been raised from the dead!

But Thomas wasn’t there. Thomas was the only Disciple—the ONE Disciple—who was NOT hiding in a locked room! He was the one with courage enough to go out in public to face whatever might come. And, to add salt to the wound posterity has already given poor Thomas, everyone knows this story by the title “Doubting Thomas.” Thomas has been labeled a doubter for all time.

Think about that. Not even Judas Iscariot got it that bad. No one calls Judas “Judas the Betrayer.” And what about Peter? No one calls Peter, “Peter the Denier.” One of the disciples ran away naked when Jesus was arrested, but no one calls him “The Streaking Disciple” (_{c.f. Mark 14:51-52}). But “Doubting Thomas” became a thing: a designation that everyone throughout history has used and remembered.

Put yourselves in Thomas’s shoes for a moment. Imagine how he felt when he got back to the room where the other Disciples were hiding, and they met Thomas with joyous enthusiasm saying, “We have seen the Lord!” (_NRSV). How could Thomas not have felt left out? How could Thomas not have felt hurt? If Jesus could appear in a locked room, then Jesus could have waited for all of them to be together when he did so. Jesus could have made sure Thomas was included. Thomas had been willing to walk the road to Jerusalem with the Lord. Thomas had been the glue that held the group together when the others didn’t want to return to Judea. But Jesus showed up when Thomas was away.

I imagine I might have reacted the same way. Wounded pride can lead people to act a little childish, and Thomas’s response makes him sound like his feelings were hurt more than a person who doubted what the other disciples were saying. And I imagine that’s exactly how Thomas felt. Hurt. Dejected. Offended. Annoyed. Betrayed. And apparently belligerent enough to simply refuse to believe the news the others were sharing with him.

Jesus made Thomas wait a week. Maybe Jesus was giving Thomas the time he needed to cool down. Maybe Jesus was busy with other heavenly matters. But when Thomas was ready, Jesus appeared again in the midst of the Disciples. He gave Thomas the same proofs he had given the others, but he gave Thomas something more. Jesus only showed his wounds to the others, but for Thomas he offered touch. He invited a kind of intimacy denied to the others. He told Mary Magdalene not to hold on to him. But he invited Thomas to come close. “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe” (_{John 20:27 NRSV}).

Thomas’s response to Jesus’ invitation is one of the most profound proclamations about Jesus in the New Testament. Thomas said, “My Lord and my God!” (_{John 20:28 NRSV}). That is a statement of faith. In that moment when Jesus stood before him, I think Thomas recognized that Jesus understood him in ways that no one else could. Jesus, too, had been rejected. He had been betrayed. He had been denied. Jesus had been cast off and wounded. Jesus knew Thomas’s wounds inside and out.

Everyone in our world seems to be searching for some kind of connection to God—or to some kind of divinity or spirituality beyond ourselves. We all want connection. We want to believe in something out there that transcends our struggle-filled lives. We need someone to really know us, understand us, and accept us despite all of our imperfections. John’s Gospel tells us that we find connection to God in the wounded body of Jesus Christ. No one knows our wounds better than Jesus. No one knows our failures, imperfections, and falsehoods better than Jesus. And no one offers the kind of invitation to God that Jesus offers. No one has sought us so relentlessly as Jesus Christ, our Lord and our God, has sought us.

In the wounded body of Jesus, God takes the worst of human behavior and the worst of human experience into God’s own self and transforms it. God transforms brokenness into wholeness; sickness of mind, body, and spirit into health; sin into repentance; rejection into acceptance. This work of God, this action of divine love, this infusion of grace and mercy, happens in individuals, in entire communities, and—indeed—for the whole human race. In Jesus Christ, our wounds—whatever they might be—can be healed, and we can find relief from our burdens.

We may no longer see Jesus in the flesh, but we have the Holy Spirit to guide us and be our connection to God. We have a meal in which we receive the broken body and spilled blood of Jesus into our own bodies. And in that simple meal, we receive grace beyond measure. God has given us what we need to believe. We may not be able to see or touch the body of Christ as Thomas did. But we can taste and see the goodness of the Lord (_{c.f. Psalm 34:8}). In the broken body of Jesus Christ, we have healing and wholeness. In the resurrected body of Jesus, we have community and connection. In Jesus Christ, we have belonging and home.

Christ invites us to an abundant life. No more doubting. Believe!

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen!

Rev. Christopher Millay

Apostle to the Apostles | Easter Day

John 20:1-18 (NRSV)

20:¹ Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. ² So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” ³ Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. ⁴ The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. ⁵ He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. ⁶ Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, ⁷ and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. ⁸ Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; ⁹ for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. ¹⁰ Then the disciples returned to their homes.

¹¹ But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; ¹² and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. ¹³ They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” ¹⁴ When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. ¹⁵ Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” ¹⁶ Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). ¹⁷ Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'” ¹⁸ Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

Apostle to the Apostles

It was early on the first day of the week. So early that the sun had not yet risen. Have you ever experienced one of those nights where sleep felt so fleeting, where your mind was so occupied with thoughts, that you just gave up and rolled out of bed? It would seem that Mary Magdalene was having one of those nights. Her mind was utterly occupied by grief for someone she loved; for someone who loved her. So, Mary went to the tomb in the early morning darkness, and in the darkness of her grief.

When she arrived at the tomb, she saw that the stone had been rolled away. Now, her grief turned to fear that the body of Jesus had been stolen away. She ran to tell Simon Peter and the disciple whom Jesus loved that someone—she uses the word “they” because she can’t identify the perpetrator of this act—has taken the Lord from the tomb and now his body is missing.

Peter and the other disciple take off for the tomb and end up running together. What was it that caused Peter to run toward Jesus and his tomb on this morning when he had spent the last few days running away from Jesus? I wonder what Peter felt. I imagine Peter felt wracked with guilt: guilt for his denial of Jesus after boasting about his loyalty, guilt for his abandonment of Jesus and not even showing up at the cross, guilt for running away as soon as things got dicey. Maybe even guilt that he never got the chance to tell Jesus he was sorry for all of those things.

The other disciple, the disciple whom Jesus loved, likely also felt such guilt. He had also run away and abandoned Jesus, but he did stand with Jesus’ mother, Mary, and the other women at the cross. And Jesus had placed his mother into this disciple’s care (_{c.f. John 19:26-27}). This disciple outran Peter and arrived at the tomb first. When he peered inside, he saw the linen burial wrappings.

When Peter arrived, always the brash one, he didn’t stop at the entrance. He went right into the tomb. Peter, too, saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had covered Jesus’ head neatly rolled up in a place by itself.

Then, the other disciple entered. And we’re told that he saw and believed. But what did he believe, exactly? He tells us that “as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must be raised from the dead” (_{John 20:9 NRSV}), so what the disciple believed was not that Jesus had been raised.

Remember, this disciple and Peter had already seen a resuscitation from death when Lazarus was raised from the dead (_{c.f. John 11:43-44}). What they saw in the tomb of Jesus didn’t look like that. When Lazarus was resuscitated, his stone had to be removed. Lazarus was bound hand and foot in his burial cloths, and others were tasked with loosing Lazarus’s bonds. This surely looked—as Mary Magdalene feared—like evidence of a grave robbery: a stolen body.

Did the disciple merely believe that the body of Jesus was gone? Or, did he believe that something more was afoot—something God-related—without fully understanding what it was or what it might mean? We aren’t given any more insight into the beloved disciple’s belief. Instead, we’re told that he and Peter went home. It almost feels like yet another abandonment. Only later will these two disciples understand what the absence of Jesus’ body means.

But Mary Magdalene had returned to the tomb. As Peter and the beloved disciple walked away, Mary stayed. Like Mary the sister of Martha and Lazarus, it is another woman who teaches us what faithful disciple do by her example. She stays. She weeps, and though it seems she doesn’t expect anything to happen, she chooses to be present even with what she has lost. Mary mourns the loss of Jesus’ life, and now the loss of his body.

And as Mary wept, she bent over to look into the tomb. She hadn’t looked inside yet. As soon as she saw the stone was rolled away, she ran to Peter and John. Finally, Mary looks inside to see for herself the place where Jesus’ body had been laid. But the tomb is no longer empty. Two angels in white were sitting where the body of Jesus had been, one at the head and the other at the feet. Even the angels came to see the empty tomb.

Some Biblical scholars suggest that the way the angels sat on the slab reflects the mercy seat flanked by Cherubim which sat atop the Ark of the Covenant where God’s presence was (_{c.f. Exodus 25:17-22}). But if John intends this as a reflection of the mercy seat, then there must be some irony involved. In this reflection, God’s presence is absent. The angles are, perhaps, giving reverence to the emptiness of the space, in awe of the fact that God has raised Jesus from the dead. God has done something new, and nothing will ever be the same because of this now-empty space.

Mary was so lost in her grief that she doesn’t recognize these angels for what they are, even when they speak to her and ask Mary why she is weeping. Still assuming that a grave robbery has taken place, Mary again says that an enigmatic “they” have taken her Lord away and she doesn’t know where “they” have laid him (_{John 20:13}). Yet even as she spoke to the angels of her sorrow and loss, Mary was grieving too deeply to recognize the sight she has seen. So, she turns away from the tomb and the angelic witnesses of Christ’s resurrection within.

The tomb, with angels and symbolism and implications of God’s handiwork can’t hold Mary’s interest. Her thoughts are on Jesus. And when Mary turns around, she encounters the one she has lost; the one she seeks. Only, she doesn’t recognize him.

Isn’t that the effect that Grief and fear, even desperation, can have on us? These things can cause us to not recognize the reality of what’s right in front of us. Mary was obviously looking through eyes of grief, probably trying to see through her tears which, maybe she tried to hide and wipe away when she turned and noticed that she wasn’t alone in this place.

When Jesus, whom Mary supposed was the gardener, also questioned Mary about her weeping as the angels had just done, Mary requested information, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away” (_{John 20:15 NRSV}). All it takes is for Jesus to speak her name for grief’s spell that held Mary captive to be broken. Mary turned to Jesus, recognized him, and addressed him as her teacher.

That’s all it takes, isn’t it? When we hear Jesus call us, we can turn to him. Jesus told us that he is the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep (_{John 10:11}). He also said that the sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out (_{John 10:3}). The sheep of Jesus follow only him because they know his voice (_{John 10:4}).

Not everyone encounters the resurrected Christ in the same way because everyone’s experience is different. Everyone’s path to Jesus is different. When we hear the voice of Jesus, in whatever form it takes, we can turn away of our sin as we turn toward the risen Christ. The Good Shepherd has been calling us our whole lives, though we may not have been quick to listen and turn to him. Maybe some of us sitting in this place still haven’t.

The love Jesus has for each one of us is a patient and kind love. Jesus is calling us, and calling us by name. The testimony at the very beginning of John’s Gospel says, “He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God” (_{John 1:11-13 NRSV}). When we turn to Jesus, we become children of God.

It seems that Mary’s sudden reaction included an attempt to reach out and hold on to Jesus. But Jesus tells her not to hold on to him. This is not merely a reunion. This is not merely a missing-persons case that has been solved and everything can return to the way it was before Jesus’ crucifixion and burial. There is more at stake. Mary Magdalene learns from her teacher that she is even now being caught up in this more.

Jesus tells her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God’” (_{John 20:17 NRSV}). Easter is more than a reunion with happy tears and hugs all around. Easter propels us and invites us into God’s future. Mary’s relationship with Jesus cannot remain anchored in the past any more than the other disciples’ relationships can. There is a future that is bigger than all of them, and all of us, though we are invited and included in it.

The word apostle refers to one who is sent. As one who is sent by Jesus to the other disciples, Mary becomes—in essence—an apostle to the apostles. Jesus calls upon Mary Magdalene to proclaim this new beginning to the other disciples who would proclaim it to still others. Mary’s encounter of the resurrected Christ became her commissioning as an apostle.

And it becomes ours. We are sent into the world to tell everyone that Jesus is raised, that death is not the end, that death does not have the last word in the story of anyone’s life. Instead of clinging to the body of Jesus, Mary Magdalene went to proclaim what she knew to be true: that the end she had been grieving had turned suddenly into a new beginning. Mary Magdalene announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!” and she told them everything that Jesus had said to her.

Through our proclamation of the good news of Jesus Christ, others will hear the voice of Jesus calling them. Grief has given way to joy, mourning has given way to celebration, death has given way to life, the rejection we feared has turned to an acceptance that we did not expect. And like the apostles who came before us, we are sent to share this good news with all who might hear.

Alleluia! Christ is risen! (Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!).

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen!

Rev. Christopher Millay

The Gift | 5th in Lent

John 12:1-8 (NRSV)

12:¹ 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. ⁴ But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ⁵ “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” ⁶ (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.) ⁷ Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. ⁸ You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

The Gift

As the church approaches Holy Week—which begins next Sunday—and walks through the Passion and death of Jesus, this text seems incredibly appropriate for today. This passage from John, I think, marks the true beginning of the Passion account with its foreshadowing of Jesus’ death. And it includes a powerful contrast between Mary—a faithful disciple of Jesus—and Judas—an unfaithful disciple of Jesus.

John frames the setting by telling us that Jesus came to Bethany, to the home of Lazarus, six days before the Passover. If we were reading the Gospel of John straight through, we would have already heard about this family: Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. In the preceding chapter, we would have read about how Lazarus was ill and had died. Jesus went to Bethany to visit the sisters of Lazarus, Martha and Mary—who were his dear friends—and he raised Lazarus from death even though Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days.

We also would have read about the reaction of some of the religious leaders, including some Pharisees and chief priests. They called a council together to figure out what to do about Jesus. You see, this particular group of Jews were in power, and when people are in power, their biggest fear is losing their power.

And please note that these are specific Jews who plot against Jesus. This is not the whole nation, and not even all the Pharisees or the whole of the Jewish leadership. Nicodemus, a Pharisee, was a disciple of Jesus who helped Joseph of Arimathea bury Jesus’ body.

The council members in question lamented that Jesus was performing signs. They feared that if they let Jesus go on like that, then everyone will believe in him and the Romans would come and destroy their holy place and nation (_{c.f. John 11:47-48}). So, Caiaphas spoke about how they could save their nation—how they could resist Roman rule—by sacrificing one person. He said, “You do not understand that it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed” (_{John 11:50 NRSV}).

What Caiaphas was really concerned about—and the majority of the council, too—was that they would lose their position of power. They described their plans as resistance against Rome even as they collaborated with Rome. Their position of power was granted by Rome. It was a Roman emperor who had granted the Jews an exemption to worshipping the Roman pantheon. The council members sat in their positions of authority with Rome’s blessing.

When powerful people grow fearful, they tend to forget about what’s right. They rationalize and compromise with morality and decency to ensure that their power is protected. How many times has the world seen that scenario play out in our human story? The council member’s fear of losing power led them to choose to kill one innocent man. They told themselves it was “for the sake of the nation” (quotes for irony) but it was really so they could maintain control. After all, if Rome did step in, then there was no telling what changes the empire would make.

If you keep reading through John’s Gospel, immediately after our selected passage for today, you’d learn that the Jewish leadership doubled up. They decided to kill Lazarus, too, because, having been raised from the dead, Lazarus was also part of their problem and, therefore, a perceived threat to their control. So, soon it becomes better for two men to die than for the council to lose their position of authority. When people compromise their standing before God to maintain human power, where does it end, really?

All this plotting and conspiracy takes place in the background of our text where Jesus’ friends, Lazarus, Martha, and Mary have thrown him a dinner party. I can imagine that they wanted to show Jesus their thanks for Lazarus’s life. Lazarus sat at the table with Jesus, alive and breathing again. Martha served them, surely grateful for her brother’s life, which would have ensured Martha and Mary’s well-being. But Mary seemed to understand that more was at stake. She took a pound of pure nard oil, washed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of Mary’s gift.

I think that’s beautiful imagery that hearkens back to the intimacy of Song of Solomon where the woman describes the scents she associates with her beloved and their passionate love: nard, myrrh, and henna blossoms (_{c.f. Song of Solomon 1:12-14}). Mary loved Jesus, and she didn’t count the cost of the gift she gave. She didn’t give it to receive anything in return. It was sacrificial. She purchased an extravagant and meaningful gift and gave it all to Jesus.

Without a word spoken, Mary serves as a profound and faithful witness to Jesus. Her action shows us the way disciples act. Her offering to Jesus, we soon discover, foreshadows Jesus’s offering of himself for the life of the world. With her costly perfume, Mary anoints Jesus for his even more costly death which he would die as an offering for her, for Martha, for Lazarus, for Judas, for those who plotted against Jesus, indeed, for all of humanity.

Certainly, Mary was grateful to Jesus for restoring Lazarus to her. But there seems to be more going on here. As if she knows what’s coming, as if she knows the price Jesus will soon pay for her and for her family, Mary shows us the fullness of what it means to be a disciple of Jesus, not only by devoting this valuable gift to him, but by washing Jesus’ feet.

You may remember that in John 13—the very next chapter, Jesus washes his disciples’ feet and tells them, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who send them” (_{John 13:12b-16 NRSV}). Mary serves as our pattern and example of true and faithful discipleship. No gift could have been too costly a gift for Mary’s offering, because no matter what Mary gave, Jesus would give more.

But Judas was counting what Mary gave. That’s something that everyone who falls in love with human power or wealth has in common: they decide what they think should be theirs and will conspire, plot, scheme, lie, and manipulate their way to get it. It doesn’t really matter how many bodies fall along the way, they will justify the cost others pay for their grip on what they have or want to have. Power and wealth are enticing in ways that make us feel uncomfortable when we talk about honestly their hold over us.

Judas not only counted the cost of Mary’s gift, but he complained about the fact that the gift was given. Judas levied an accusation against Mary. “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (_{Luke 12:5 NRSV}). And, you know, if we stop reading right there, it’s hard to argue with Judas’s logic. I mean, it’s nearly a year’s worth of wages that Mary dumps on Jesus’ feet. That would have helped a lot of poor people. It would have fed a lot of poor people. It would have clothed a lot of needy people.

But John exposes the treachery behind Judas’s complaint. Judas was the one who was about to betray Jesus. And he didn’t care about the poor. Judas was a thief. He carried the common purse and would steal what was put into it. He didn’t speak out of righteousness, but out of selfishness. Judas wanted what he believed was his part of that 300 denarii. Judas wrapped his complaint in the guise of righteousness, but what he really wanted was control over the wealth that Mary had given to Jesus.

Jesus defended Mary rather forcefully, telling Judas to leave her alone. He said, “She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.” (_{John 12:8 NRSV}). Mary had given this extravagant gift at exactly the right time. By coming back to Bethany in the region of Judea, Jesus has already set himself on an unavoidable collision course with the cross (_{c.f. John 11:7-8, 16}). Jesus knew he was going to die and, I wonder, if Mary didn’t realize this, too. In Luke 10, Mary is described as the one who sat at Jesus feet and paid attention.

Jesus next words, “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me” (_{John 12:7 NRSV}) have been interpreted in various ways. Incredibly, some people have suggested these words mean they don’t have to help the poor. But this is a quote from Deuteronomy 15:11, which says, “Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.’” (_NRSV). Jesus quotes a command from God that requires us to open our hands to the poor.

And this quote further exposes the hypocrisy of Judas. Either we’re already taking care of the poor and needy or we’re not. Either we’re already giving sacrificially, or we’re hoarding what we might otherwise share with those who could receive relief had we been faithful to God’s commandment. Either we’re already loving generously, or we’re not. Mary showed us the meaning of generosity in her gift to Jesus. Judas’s complaint was meant to hide his greed and fool everyone into thinking he was righteous, but he didn’t fool Jesus.

But what if we are being faithful with what we have and still think Judas might have had the right idea? It’s not difficult to see how profound an effect utilitarianism has on our thinking and imagination. Our culture has taught us to think in terms of cost-effectiveness, what’s useful, what’s practical, what’s thrifty. And the church does have a responsibility to use what is given wisely. So, Mary’s gift might seem wasteful in many of our estimations. But I invite you to rethink our definitions of wasteful.

Earlier this week, Joy and I labored for a couple of hours to prepare the birthday meal Kara had requested. In about 15 minutes it was gone. The Praise Team practiced for weeks to prepare the songs we played two weeks ago in worship. Each offering of music took about 3 minutes, and then they were over. Teachers prepare lessons for their students, and then the class is dismissed. Mothers and fathers tuck their children into bed, perhaps with a story or a lullaby. Before a funeral, mourners take time to arrange pictures and flowers to honor the person they have loved and lost. Love has its reasons for extravagant gifts that might seem wasteful to those who only see value in what is utilitarian.

Mary poured out costly oil on the feet of her Lord. Mary not only teaches how to serve as a faithful disciple of Jesus, but she also teaches us generosity and, importantly, how to let go. Like an entirely burnt offering, the gift she gave to God was no longer hers to control. It was no longer useful to her. If it had been, then it wouldn’t have been a gift.

Jesus poured out his life on a cross for us. Jesus gave himself as a gift for us. He willingly died as an offering for our sake. In his costly gift, Jesus revealed his love for us. And in her costly gift, Mary showed us how faithful disciples—how grateful disciples—respond to the grace given to us through Jesus Christ.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen!

~Rev. Christopher Millay