A Personal, Sacrificial, Loving Gift

Lent 5C - March 17, 2013

John 12:1-8

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him.

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.

But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said,

"Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?"  (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.)

Jesus said, "Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."

=======================

Mary’s heart was full that day.

She had come to know Jesus. Over time he had become a beloved friend of her family. He had come to dinner at least once, and she had chosen not to stay in the kitchen and help her sister Martha prepare, but instead she had sat at Jesus’ feet, and eagerly listened to his teachings.

She had come to trust Jesus. When her brother Lazarus had recently become very ill, she and her sister Martha had sent for Jesus, knowing that he could heal their brother. When Jesus had not arrived in time, and Lazarus died, they were heartbroken. When Jesus did arrive, four days later, they felt safe enough with him to express their disappointment that he had not been there in time to save their brother.

And then what happened was almost beyond belief – Lazarus was resurrected by Jesus! Today they were both here, with her in this house, Lazarus and Jesus, sitting at table for another dinner. It was still almost beyond belief. Mary’s heart was full.

Jesus’ heart was full that day.

He was weary to his bones, and he was filled with emotion. He knew that his short walk on earth was almost over. He knew the high priests had decided that this miracle of raising  Lazarus was the last straw, and that right now they were making plans to kill him. He knew the pain and sorrow of what was to come, of the suffering that had to come before the resurrection joy.

He had wept for Jerusalem, and for Lazarus. He loved these people, this world he had come to save.

He loved the disciples who were with him at dinner this night – all of them – all these men and women who had listened to his teachings, who had traveled along with him, who had become his friends; who so often misunderstood him, but who somehow knew that he was the Messiah, the one whom God had promised.

He loved them, and he would only be with them on earth a little while longer. Jesus’ heart was full.

Martha had prepared a good meal, and they were all able to recline together, to eat, to relax for a bit, to marvel at the fact that the resurrected Lazarus was here at the table, breaking bread with them.

The aroma in the house was perhaps that of fresh baked bread, roast lamb, olives, pomegranates.

The atmosphere in the house was a mix of familiarity and mystery, as they enjoyed each other’s company and considered together the strange happenings that had made this dinner with these friends and family possible.

And then Mary brought the jar into the room.

It was not a large jar, but when she opened it, the aroma from the ointment filled the whole house, overcoming the lingering scent of Martha’s good meal.

Without a word, Mary knelt down by Jesus’ feet, poured the nard into her hands, and began to massage it into his tired, calloused feet. She worked it in a little at a time, careful not to let any spill out onto the floor, for there was precious little of it, and it would all be used. When she had coaxed the last bit from the bottom of the jar, she set it aside, took down her hair, and wordlessly, lovingly, wiped his feet.

The room grew quiet, as Jesus rested into this loving act, and they all breathed in the scent of the nard and wondered at the mystery of Mary’s gift.

There are many aspects of this story that are worth considering in a sermon – the comparison between Mary’s gift and Judas’ alternative recommendation; the response given by Jesus, including his foreshadowing comments about his death; just to name a few.

But I’d like to focus this morning on the nature of this gift of Mary’s – this gift which was personal, and sacrificial, and given in love. In all these ways it can be distinguished from what Judas suggested,

and in all these ways it models Christ’s life and Christ’s teachings. So let’s consider each of these in turn.

Mary’s gift was personal. Such a close, intimate offering to Jesus was rare. For all the stories in scripture of Jesus ministering to everyone who came to him, how many stories do we have of Jesus being ministered to?

More often it was the case that those around him, even his closest disciples, just demanded more and more of him.

When he fasted in the desert at the beginning of his ministry, after many days and nights, and many temptations, it was angels who came to him and ministered to him.

When he fell asleep in the boat, the disciples woke him up to save them from the storm.

He leaves a house and goes to sit by the sea; the crowds surround him.

Hours later, he leaves the crowds and goes into a house. The disciples follow him in and begin asking more questions.

He hears about John the Baptist’s death, and he withdraws to a deserted place by himself, but the crowds follow him, crowds who are hungry for healing and for food, both of which he supplies.

Two of his disciples, James and John, the sons of Zebedee, want Jesus to promise that they will sit at his right and left in his kingdom, so much so that they send their mother to ask this of Jesus!

He goes to a wedding celebration and his mother puts him to work.

He invites himself to Zechariah’s house for dinner.

He takes the apostles to a quiet place so they can get some rest.  

He is mobbed by crowds everywhere he goes.

There are just a very few stories about people taking it upon themselves to minister to Jesus.

When Jesus healed Peter’s mother-in-law of a fever, the scripture says she got up and began to serve him. At the transfiguration, when Peter sees Jesus standing with Moses and Elijah, he offers to make dwellings there for all three. 

When Levi, the tax collector, is asked by Jesus to follow him, Levi throws a great banquet for Jesus in his house.

Lazarus, Mary and Martha invite him to their home, and Martha fixes a meal, not once but now twice.

While Jesus sits down by Jacob’s well, worn out, and strikes up a conversation with a Samaritan woman, the disciples go into town to get food, and urge him to eat when they return.

You get the idea.

Over and over, Jesus is personally ministering to all those who come to him – touching them, healing them, feeding them, teaching them, loving them.

This night, this time, Mary senses his need, his weariness and sadness, and so her gift is deeply personal – a gift of close, intimate, soothing touch.

The author, Parker Palmer, in his book, “Let Your Life Speak”, wrote about two times in his forties when he spent months in a deep depression, in “the snake pit of the soul”, as he describes it. He says that his most vivid memories during that time involve the people who came to look in on him. He said some tried to cheer him up, commenting on the sunshine and the beautiful flowers outside, encouraging him to spend some time out there. Some told him what a good person he was, and how many people he had helped, hoping that would make him feel better. There were some who came and said, “I know exactly how you feel…”  All these people were trying to bring him comfort, and he knew that.

Then he says this: “Blessedly, there were several people, family and friends, who had the courage to stand with me in a simple and healing way. One of them was a friend named Bill who, having asked my permission to do so, stopped by my home every afternoon, sat me down in a chair, knelt in front of me, removed my shoes and socks, and for half an hour simply massaged my feet. He found the one place in my body where I could still experience feeling – and feel somewhat reconnected with the human race.”

In the same way that Bill’s personal touch of connection brought healing to Parker Palmer, so does Mary offer the gift of touch to bring even a moment of relief to Jesus.

Mary’s gift was sacrificial. We do not know how Mary came to have this quantity of precious nard in her possession. Did she buy it for the occasion? Was it left over from when she had anointed the body of her beloved brother as she prepared him for burial? Why was it available to her at all? How wealthy were Mary and Lazarus and Martha? We don’t know. But we do know, through Judas’ challenging words, that it was costly. 300 denarii was about a year’s worth of wages for a day laborer.

But what makes something truly valuable? Is it the monetary value, or does its greatest value lie in its use? The costly nard is of no value if it is kept in its jar forever. It’s like putting a light under a bushel, or keeping salt stored away until its saltiness is gone.

The things we have, our resources and our gifts, are meant to be used and enjoyed; that is the way their value is made real, made manifest. If we have a mindset of generosity, not scarcity, then we think less about preserving and protecting what we have, and more about using it, especially using it for the benefit of others.

So Mary has a pound of nard, and Jesus is coming for dinner. And Jesus has brought her brother back to life. And she has come to know Jesus as the Messiah. And so, much like the magi who brought myrrh, a costly ointment which was used mostly for embalming, to the baby Jesus, so Mary brings her offering of nard, another embalming ointment, and pours it out, uses it up, on the feet of Jesus, offers it as a loving sacrifice, while he is still alive.

Mary’s gift was given in love. She had come to know Jesus. She somehow seemed to know what was in store for him. She longed to give him some type of comfort, however brief, to show her compassion, because she knew that he loved her – as he loved the world.

And so, this gift was not calculated for its most efficient use, as Judas implied it should have been. This gift was pure, abundant love. It was wasteful extravagance. It was prodigal, because that is what prodigal means – wastefully extravagant. The prodigal son took his inheritance and wasted it extravagantly. The prodigal father threw a huge celebration, a wasteful extravagance, out of joy for his son’s return. Prodigal Mary took this precious oil and used it all up on Jesus’ feet – a wastefully extravagant expression of love for Jesus. Mary’s gift was personal, sacrificial, and was given in love. In all these it was modeled after Jesus.

Jesus’ ministry was personal, was sacrificial, and was given in pure, abundant love.

Jesus, who provided abundant, fine wine from water in jars used for footwashing, who healed all who came to him, who fed the five thousand, who gave his life, hanging on the cross, so that we could be saved when nothing of our own doing would ever save us; this Jesus, who said, Follow Me, Feed My Sheep, Love Your Enemies, Love God with All Your Heart, Soul, Mind and Strength – this Jesus showed us how to follow him, how to freely give the kind of gift, the kind of offering, we were called to give with our whole lives, in obedience and trust to him.

Mary got it. She knew who Jesus was, and she knew what it meant to follow Jesus, and what it means for us as well. It means letting go of protectiveness, of practicality, of caution. It means acknowledging that all that we have, everything that we have, is not ours, is not of our own doing, but is a gift of God – a prodigal gift, a personal, sacrificial, extravagant gift, given by God in love to us.

So what can we learn from this? How can we more closely follow Jesus by becoming the kind of gift giver that Mary was, that Jesus taught us to be?

We can be personal in our love for neighbors, for enemies, for one another, by offering the gifts that come with a personal touch over those that keep us at a safe distance. If we knit a prayer shawl, then we can also bring it to a person who is lonely, or is sick, or is sad. By visiting with them, by wrapping it around them, by praying with them, we make the gift of love a personal gift.

We can be sacrificial, letting go of concern or a need for control about what will be gained or achieved in our gift giving, and instead trusting God to use our gifts to help build the kingdom in ways we cannot imagine.

We can be generous, prodigal, wastefully extravagant, as a joyful response to the abundant great gifts we have been given by God, out of an understanding that all we have is God’s, not ours. We can offer our time, our talents, our financial and material resources without worrying about waste. We can write a check for more than is comfortable or easy. We can shovel our neighbor’s walk, spend time practicing a musical work that will be sung and gone in an instant, take time in an afternoon to just sit and listen to someone who is lonely. We can do things that are beneath us, that are servant acts, knowing that this is the type of sacrificial gift-giving to which God calls us – to do justice, to love mercy, to walk humbly.

And we can be loving, always and everywhere. Loving our friends and family, loving our neighbors, loving our enemies. Doing it personally, not just in our minds, but in our actions.

We love because God first loved us. God doesn’t love us because we deserve it. So who else is out there that doesn’t deserve our love, at least in our opinion? Let’s go out there and love them.

Love isn’t love until you give it away.

They’ll know we are Christians by our love.

You get the picture.

Our gift of thanksgiving to God for the great gift of our salvation in Christ needs to be personal, sacrificial, and loving to one another. Mary’s gift serves as a model of this, just as Jesus’ personal, sacrificial and loving ultimate gift – his prodigal gift, his wastefully extravagant gift, frees us through grace to live abundantly personal, sacrificial and loving lives, giving thanks in all things to God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.