The Fifth Sunday in Lent

All four of the Gospels include an account of a woman who anoints Jesus—each version somewhat different. Luke speaks of an unnamed woman at the home of Simon the Pharisee who is identified as “a sinner,” who washed the feet of Jesus in her tears and dried them with her hair.

Mark and Matthew record a similar event in Bethany at the home of Simon the Leper where a woman who is not named pours ointment on the head of Jesus instead of his feet. She is rebuked by his disciples for wasting expensive oil. Both Mark and Matthew end their accounts with these words, “Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.”

The washing of the feet of dinner guests was the custom to refresh them and remove the soil and sand from their feet. It would not been done by a member of the household but by a servant. The anointing of Jesus’ feet is in anticipation of what will take place in preparation for his burial not long after this. In fact, all the elements of what is about to unfold in the following week are in this story.

Even as Mary’s actions take on prophetic overtones that point to the approaching Passion and Resurrection of Jesus, the Gospel today is more than a forecast of the future and more than a collection of allegories and metaphors. It is a story of extravagance, a story of breaking barriers and huge risk-taking.

Last Sunday we heard a story that teaches us about the extravagance of God who like the Prodigal Father just loves us—period—not because of what we have done or not done, not because of what we deserve. God just loves us because that is who God is. It is a not a story about my faithfulness, but God’s faithfulness.

If we have learned or have been led to believe that there are limits on God’s love or that we have to earn or win God’s love or that if we stray from God we can lose that love, the parable of the Prodigal Son is meant to set the record straight for us. God’s love, like the Prodigal Father’s, is simply a given—a constant, abiding, and unchangeable given.

In a sense, today’s story is the other side of the coin—one of response to God’s radical love.  Here we find an unmarried woman breaking the cultural taboo of approaching and touching a single male in a rather intimate way and certainly doing what is against the norm as far as whose duty it is to wash the guest’s feet. She is reckless as well with her copious use of expensive ointment much to the chagrin of Judas who reprimands her sternly for wasting what could have been sold to care for the poor.

She loosens and lets down her hair—which no respectable woman would do in the presence of a male religious leader. Then she breaks open a jar of costly perfume made of pure nard and pours every drop of it over the feet of Jesus, filling the entire home with its fragrance. Now this wasn’t some floral, retiring cheap scent. Nard was a musky, earthy, warm and intense fragrance.

There is nothing retiring about Nard and there was nothing retiring about Mary that evening in Bethany who kneels at the feet of Jesus and proceeds to wipe his glistening anointed feet with her hair.

Jesus goes beyond the demands of social convention, recognizes the love and the need behind Mary's act, and he tells Judas to leave her alone. His response to Judas is not meant to dismiss the obligation to care for the poor, but to remind them all of his impending death and that he will not always be physically present with them as he was then.

But Judas just can't cope with a leader who allows women to openly and sensually display their love for Jesus, and he betrays Jesus. Judas probably couldn't cope with a leader who allowed little children to approach him as equals, or who hobnobbed with people that he—as well as the Pharisees—looked upon as the scum of the earth. Jesus did all those things. In this brief heated exchange, we find a marked contrast between Mary, the true disciple who acted selflessly and lovingly for Jesus and Judas the disciple, who is a thief and a traitor.

But Judas’ question does have merit for us. I think it begs us to measure and consider our own  discipleship—our own response and level of commitment to following Jesus as a disciple in this time and place in our lives.

When we are challenged to change our priorities to be more faithful to the promises of our baptism, what questions might we ask ourselves that distract us from doing that?

Mary poured out her whole bottle of expensive oil with no remorse whatsoever, knowing that it was but a drop in the bucket compared to the magnitude of God’s love emanating from the Messiah whose feet she bathed. In that moment, she smells the fragrance of new life—an aroma of joy that fills the whole house where they are dining that Sunday night.

What is our “expensive oil?” “Our “pound of nard?” Where might we be inclined to be extravagant with it? What are the questions Judas might pose to me and you to prevent us from using it lavishly?

Sometimes we need to be a little reckless, to act in the moment, boldly, fearlessly, and generously, or the opportunity may slip through our fingers. Thank you, brave, faithful Mary of Bethany.

Today this good news is proclaimed in the whole world, and what you have done is told in remembrance of you. May God give us the will and the grace to follow your example.