passion

 

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.’

This coming Sunday marks the start of Passiontide, the final two weeks leading up to Easter. The word Passion derives from the Greek paschō, which means ‘to be done to’ (in contrast to poiō, ‘to do’). Throughout the Gospels to this point, Jesus has been at work (while, as John puts it, it is still day). He is the active agent in the story, calling men and women to apprentice to him, healing the sick, driving out demons, raising the dead, asking probing questions, teaching, telling stories. But there comes a point in the Gospels (it is towards the end of the story they tell, but they give as much attention to these several days as they have given to the previous several years) where Jesus shifts from being the one who does to the one who is done to by others. Hence, the Passion of Christ, or Passiontide.

Over these days, he will be handed over to his enemies, falsely accused, mocked, shamed, tortured, executed. All these are examples of treating another person badly. But before all this, John (at least) gives us an instance of his being done to, or treated, well. At a dinner held in his honour, where he will be served by others, Mary takes his feet into her hands and anoints them with perfume.

Jesus is staying in Bethany, with his dear friends, the siblings Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. This is his base when he visits nearby Jerusalem.

They are an unusual family unit in their culture. It is Martha, rather than Lazarus, who is the head of the family, and neither sister is married. This, taken with the observation that, unlike Martha and Mary, who are both highly articulate, Lazarus is silent in the Gospels, has led some scholars to believe that Lazarus may have had some form of learning disability that prevented him from living independently, and, after the death of their parents, left his sisters to care for him. This dependent, moreover in a culture that saw disability as evidence of sin, left the sisters an unattractive prospect to any potential husband. Indeed, they are sinful women by association.

But these sisters are, in any case, feisty women. We meet them at a point in Jesus’ ministry where he has sent out seventy(-two) apprentices to go ahead of him into every town he was travelling through. When he arrives at the place where Martha is the host of the community of apprentices (she is a deacon, which, in my own cultural context, is a clergy role) she is overwhelmed by the task, and asks him if he does not care that her sister, Mary, has left her behind to be one of those apprentices (those who sat at Jesus’ feet) who had gone out travelling the countryside? When he comes across her on his travels, could Jesus tell her to go home and help her sister with the ministry there? Jesus responds that Mary has followed her own vocation (evangelist) and that he would not ask her to take up Martha’s vocation (deacon) in its place.

More recently, Lazarus had fallen ill and died. Jesus had not responded immediately to the sisters’ request that he comes and heal their brother. Instead, he arrived when Lazarus had been dead for some days, and, having spoken with both sisters one-to-one, and wept with compassion for his friend, raised him to life again. This, and the resulting reputational impact, sealed Jesus’ own fate. Within short order, he, too, would be dead.

But not yet. And first there is time for his friends to hold a dinner in his honour. And as he reclines at the table, Mary takes pure nard and anoints his feet with it. This, Jesus interprets as preparing his body for burial. It is the act of a friend who knows that time is running out to do anything for the person she loves. When the time comes, and Jesus’ corpse is removed from the execution scaffold, two men will hastily prepare his body for burial (one of them, Nicodemus, is probably autistic – an expert in his field; struggles with non-literal language; prefers low-stimulus environments; misunderstands social cues – and will bring ridiculously too much embalming oils and spices) and when the women turn up after the Sabbath is over to do the job properly, they will discover the body has gone.

Mary takes pure nard (perhaps this was her inheritance; perhaps she had already used some of it when they prepared Lazarus for burial) and anoints Jesus’ feet and wipes them with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

She, who has walked behind a Jesus and apprenticed to him and so also walked ahead of him now approaches closer than before and fulfils her apprenticeship. In this act she is indistinguishable from Jesus, who at another meal in the coming days will wash his apprentices’ feet. The apprentice has become like the Master, has become a master, ready to call apprentices of her own, who will learn to live the life God desires for us, in the Way of Jesus.

This is an act of consolation, that draws Mary closer to Jesus. And this same act is for Judas a desolation, pushing him further away.

It is also the act of an evangelist, spreading the beautiful aroma of Jesus for all, however they choose to respond.

To apprentice to Jesus is often to be misunderstood. Even, at times, by fellow apprentices. But it is to choose to pour out our lives in love for him, in ways that others benefit from too. It is a craft, an extravagance, for love’s own sake.

And whatever else it may involve it is not possible without meal tables.