SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth, and the meditations
of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight,
O Lord, our strength and our Redeemer. Amen.
Picture the scene:
you’re at home with friends and family –
and a particularly dear friend has come to visit:
you’ve gathered around the dinner table.
The conversation has flowed,
as has food and wine.
Stories have been shared:
joys, sorrows, hopes for the future.
You sit, enjoying this special time,
relaxing in each other’s company...
and then, something odd happens –
something unexpected.
One of your number takes a pint...
a whole pint of perfume,
opens it,
and pours it over the feet
of that dearest of friends.
The room is heavy with the scent of spices –
pungent, intoxicating...
Silence.
All eyes are fixed on the woman
as she kneels at his feet,
anointing them with costly perfume,
wiping them with her hair.
A shrill and brittle voice breaks the spell,
irritation oozing in each syllable uttered:
judgement pouring into that room,
tainting with scorn
what had been a strangely beautiful act of love...
But bringing with it a conversation about values,
about real cost,
and, again, unexpectedly,
a conversation about an imminent separation.
This dearest of friends, having challenged the one complaining of waste,
makes the link between perfume and burial,
tells you all that you will not always have him with you.
And as you sit, taking in his words
in the same way that you’d taken
in the smell of that wondrous perfume,
you hear others outside...
others curious to see this friend of yours –
some who are not best-disposed toward him...
I confess that while I have been to some very odd dinner parties in my time –
‘Famous Five’ theme, or a ‘wear a Onesie’ party –
that I’ve never been at a meal where someone has done anything
remotely like Mary did in the house at Bethany:
Bethany, less than two miles to Jerusalem...
Over this long season of Lent, we have walked with Jesus, as he’s journeyed.
Listened to stories of temptation,
of sin, guilt, repentance...forgiveness:
of God’s great and extravagant love.
And, here, in our gospel story this morning,
we see extravagant love enacted –
selfless giving,
costly giving,
by Mary, as she worships this beloved family friend
and washes his feet with perfume.
The friend who not so long ago had brought her brother, Lazarus,
back from death.
The friend who, in heading for Jerusalem,
is very likely heading to his own death.
Unexpected.
It is the word that seems to be at the heart of this particular story.
Expensive perfume being unexpectedly used to wash feet;
an unexpected display of love –
Mary breaking with cultural tradition
and touching this male friend in so familiar a way;
and, unexpected anointing:
for, that is what Mary is doing, in washing the feet of Jesus,
and in doing so, breaking again with tradition:
for usually, men anoint men.
And then there’s an unexpected conversation:
of a feast unexpectedly taking a sombre mood,
becoming more like a wake...
Unexpected.
The story reminds us that we follow the One
who tends not to do things in the way we might expected:
in his birth in a manger, the expected Messiah arrives unexpectedly;
in his life as a carpenter,
in his ministry to those on the margins,
in his challenging of the religious authorities –
the longed-for Messiah never does quite conform
to the expected way of doing things.
The Lord doesn’t Lord it over others – rather, unexpectedly,
he comes to serve all of humanity –
humbly offering himself in love.
Power turned unexpectedly to sacrifice.
As we journey with Jesus, we are now less than two miles to Jerusalem.
Soon, we enter that great city:
the city that kills its prophets;
the city that will see Jesus enter the gates,
sitting not on a battle horse, but riding on a donkey –
the prince of peace,
not an avenging warrior-messiah.
The crowds will see him.
Will cheer him.
And eventually, will turn on him,
calling for his crucifixion.
...A crucified Messiah.
That’s very unexpected.
As we follow Jesus, what do we expect of him?
Are we prepared to be surprised –
to allow the God of unexpected things turn our expectations upside-down?
As we think of his extravagant love, what is our own response to him?
Might we see his extravagant love
mirrored in our own acts of love as his body here on earth?
Dare we choose to meet those we encounter in our daily living
with the unexpected response:
to meet fear with faith;
to meet cynicism with boundless imagination
to meet selfishness with selflessness;
to meet hate with love?
God shows up in ordinary and unexpected places,
uses ordinary – and – unexpected people...
people like Mary to anoint his Son;
people, like us, to love generously and fearlessly
in a world unwilling to share,
a world holding on to what it has, out of fear.
So, be who you are called to be:
unexpected messengers of God’s love –
using your faith, and your gifts ... your costly perfume...
to share God’s love that is free and without measure.
There’s a song, written by Sydney Carter – the chap who wrote ‘Lord of the Dance’.
The words are in your order of service...
And, as I play the song, why not listen,
why not follow the words,
and why not use the time as space to reflect upon
our response to the God of the unexpected....
[music is played]
Said Judas to Mary, "Now what will you do
with your ointment so rich and rare?"
"I'll pour it all over the feet of the Lord,
and I'll wipe it away with my hair," she said,
"I'll wipe it away with my hair."
"Oh Mary, O Mary, O think of the poor.
This ointment, it could have been sold;
and think of the blanket and think of the bread
you could buy with the silver and gold," he said,
"You could buy with silver and gold."
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, I'll think of the poor;
tomorrow," she said, "not today;
for dearer than all of the poor in the world
is my love who is going away," she said,
"My love who is going away."
Said Jesus to Mary, "Your love is so deep
today, you may do as you will.
Tomorrow, you say, I am going away,
but my body I leave with you still." he said,
"My body I leave with you still."
"The poor of the world are my body," he said,
"to the end of the world they shall be.
The bread and the blanket you give to the poor
you'll know you have given to me," he said,
"You'll know you have given to me."
"My body will hang from the cross of the world"
Tomorrow," he said, "and today.
And Martha and Mary will find me again
and wash all the sorrow away," he said,
"And wash all the sorrow away."
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