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
Pastopher 