31 Mar FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR C. FOR THE GOSPEL: JOHN 12.1-8. “THE GIFT OF PERFUME”
Martha and Mary of Bethany and their brother Lazarus were evidently dear friends of our Lord. They crop up in the synoptic gospels as well as in John, so they must have been important to Jesus.
If you want to know how I picture Martha and Mary, I think they were a bit like Piper and Phoebe Halliwell in the American television series Charmed. Martha’s like Piper. She’s a thoroughly good sort but a bit serious and sometimes finds it hard to have fun. Of course, she’s really into her cooking and she is very good at it. Everyone loves her food. But she does tend at times to do more than is really needed and then to harass herself and Mary and everyone else when it’s not perfect.
Mary’s like Phoebe Halliwell: also a thoroughly good sort, but a bit scatter-brained and flaky. Half the men in the neighbourhood fancy her like mad and want to marry her. Martha’s generally OK with Mary’s male admirers, but Mary’s scatter-brained flaky part can send Martha up the wall.
Don’t get me wrong.
Mary and Martha really love each other, and each would quite literally die for the other. But like lots of people who love each other, they also tend at times to drive each other crazy.
And of course, Jesus loves them both very much – as well as being gently amused by their splendidly Mediterranean quarrels, full of sound and fury one minute, and totally forgotten, or ended in tears and hugs, the next.
Amid all this female interest I must not, of course, forget Lazarus. This is a patriarchal society, so Lazarus, their elder brother, is nominal head of the household. In this case, however, I think “nominal” is the operative word. Lazarus is all for a quiet life, and certainly not about to order his sisters to do anything they’re not in favour of doing anyway: nor, to tell the truth, would they take much notice if he did. Lazarus is actually, I think, a bit of a wimp, totally outclassed and outgunned by his two lively sisters. But he’s a gentle, good-natured wimp, with a sense of humour and a philosophic outlook on life, and Jesus is very fond of him too.
So here they all are, giving a big dinner in honour of Jesus and his disciples. And well they might, since Jesus has, as you will know if you know the story in John’s gospel, just raised Lazarus from the dead (John 11.1-45). So it’s an occasion for honouring Jesus and his friends, and it’s a time to say thank you. And that’s what they’re doing.
Well, let’s be realistic. The evangelist’s description of the scene is brief, but perfectly clear. Lazarus is at table, enjoying the company. Martha is the one actually serving the dinner. No doubt she’s planned the menu, and she’s organising it. Still, there’s no sign of her being grumpy as she was on an earlier occasion (see Luke 10.38-42), which leads me to think that Mary has learned something over the last few months, and that this evening she’s helped Martha quite a lot. Martha seems quite pleased. It’s certainly a very fine dinner.
But still, amid the clink of table ware and the chatter, the laughter of Jesus’ disciples at Lazarus’ jokes and Martha’s industriously scurrying about seeing that everything is perfect, Mary is aware how sad Jesus seems. You must watch him closely to see it. It’s absolutely nothing that is obvious. He always responds graciously when he is spoken to, he smiles at Lazarus’ humour, in no way is he a burden on the company. No wonder those who don’t like him call him “a friend of winebibbers” – but still, amid all that, Mary sees that he is sad. He sees something ahead of him that the others do not see, something evil and dark. How she wishes she could do something for him, something that might give him pleasure, even if only for a moment.
Then she remembers the perfumed ointment. Hugely expensive, a ridiculous present from a rich admirer, far too valuable to use normally, she and Martha have been wondering what to do with it for days. Now she knows. She will anoint the Master. The scent will be beautiful, and surely it will give him pleasure. Yes, she will do that.
Quickly, she fetches the precious ointment.
She breaks the seal and coming from behind Jesus as he reclines on his dining couch at the table, she begins to anoint his feet. In her scurrying about, her hair has fallen loose, but she doesn’t care. Everyone knows her here. This is a beautiful thing, and she wants to do it for the Master.
And now Martha comes in with instructions and a fresh course for the servants.
Oh, Lord! – Martha!
She should have consulted Martha.
Is it going to be like last time? Is Martha going to go on at her?
But no, Martha just smiles at her and goes on giving instructions to the servants.
Perhaps over the last few months Martha has learned something, too.
And now the fragrance of the ointment fills the room.
Indeed, it is beautiful.
Even through the chatter, even through the savours and delicious smells of Martha’s splendid cooking, the other diners on their couches become aware of the exquisite perfume and turn to Jesus.
Jesus has not yet turned his head to Mary. She hopes he is just enjoying the gentle touch of her hands – as gentle as she can make them – and the sweet perfume.
But then doubt assails her.
Perhaps not?
Perhaps she has embarrassed him?
Oh, she knows him well enough to know that he won’t be unkind to her, whatever he feels. But she so wanted to do a beautiful thing or him. Suppose she has only embarrassed him?
Then she hears the voice of Judas, cold and critical.
“What an extravagance! This is expensive perfume. It could have been sold for three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.”
Oh God! She’s never liked Judas, and to tell the truth she doesn’t really trust him. But this time he’s got her: three hundred denarii! Nearly a year’s wages for most ordinary people! Of course, Judas is right. Sensible, rational Judas! His voice cuts her like a knife.
She should have asked Martha.
She so wanted to do something beautiful for the Master, so wanted him to have something that gave him pleasure, and she’s blown it.
All she’s done is to embarrass him.
And she can surely guess what all the other disciples are thinking. Indeed, one or two of them are nodding already. “Mary’s put her foot in it as usual! Totally over the top, just like always!”
“Oh please God, just let the earth open up and swallow me.”
But now Jesus turns his head and looks at her. And in an instant her universe is transformed.
He understands.
The others may not get it, but he understands what she was trying to do. His look says it all.
You have sought to honour me, Mary. And who seeks to honour me, my Father will honour.
Then, eager for all the world to share her joy, she sees that Martha, dear Martha, is smiling at her, and Lazarus is grinning amiably at her.
So maybe she more or less got it right, after all.
Or at least maybe she didn’t get it completely wrong.
Or even if she did – whatever! – Jesus understands.
But now Jesus turns to Judas, and in his eyes is the gentle rebuke, the affectionate warning, that moments ago Mary thought she had earned for herself.
“Judas, Judas, let her be. She’s anointed me beforehand, for the day of my burial. You’ll always have the poor with you, and whenever you choose, you can help them. But you will not always have me.”
And now it’s Mary’s turn to understand.
Jesus is going to die.
He’s going to leave them.
That is why he is sad.
And that almost breaks her heart.
Yet at least she has this consolation: she knows that he understands. He understands them all. Martha’s well-meaning seriousness. Her own impulsive, scatterbrained good will. Judas’ deadly seriousness.
He understands them all.
You have sought to honour me. And who seeks to honour me, my Father will honour.
And that is the story, more or less as the evangelist St. John tells it.
St. Mark, however, tells us that our Lord said one other thing. To those gathered there he said, “Truly I tell you, wherever this gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her” (for Mark’s version of the story, see Mark 14.6-9).
And indeed it has been, and is, and so I have told the story now.
God give us grace to honour the Lord, Â just as blessed Mary and Martha of Bethany honoured him, each in her own way.
God give us grace to honour him at his cross, and there to wait faithfully on his promise, a promise made, let us note, not just to his followers but to all: as he himself, according the fourth evangelist, made plain when he said, “I, when I am lifted up, will draw all to myself” (John 12.32). Amen.