Monday of Holy Week

Every year we hear the same texts during Holy Week. They have become like friends to me, familiar poem-like words despite the harsh truths they may contain. As known and comforting as they are though, I have to pay attention to the story they tell — namely, Jesus’ walk to the cross. So, in their beauty paradoxically lies suffering.

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Jesus is in the house of Martha and Mary. The two women do for Jesus what no one else has done — they minister to Jesus with grace and love. They offer Jesus a place where he can be himself — vulnerable, mourning… a place where he, as a suffering man, can ask questions and doubt. We know that Lazarus has just died. Jesus, arriving to resuscitate Lazarus, is approaching his own death, too. Surely it was an excruciatingly painful moment for Jesus… coming to his dead friend… saying that ‘I am the resurrection and the life,’ but daring to trust to believe that?

Then Mary anoints Jesus’ feet. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. Not on his head as one would do for a king but on his feet, as one would do in preparation for burial. Her prophetic gift to Jesus will anticipate what Jesus will do for his disciples at the last supper — wash their feet with water instead of anointing them with oil. Interestingly, the Greek sentence that describes Mary’s action spills over into the description of the fragrance that permeates the house. It is as though the anointing and its result run without interruption. In Mary’s act, she holds nothing back in expressing her love for Jesus, her love for the man who brought her brother back from the dead, for the man who will make all things new. The oil that covers Jesus’ feet and fragrance that permeates the house is like Mary’s love for Jesus — abundant, flowing, sweet, spendthrift.

The Jesus of the Gospel of John from which we hear tonight knows more than in any other gospel what will happen to him. It seems, at times, as though he is orchestrating his life and death. The others are not aware of this and so, this gift of perfume from Mary must seem without reason, out of context. But it is not out of context — she seems to know, too, what is going on. She anoints Jesus for his burial. She understands the significance of Jesus’ presence.

And then… people begin to complain… in particular, Judas of Iscariot, the very one who will betray Jesus. He is so blinded by his imminent betrayal that he cannot smell the fragrance of God’s love that permeates the house. He can only see an economic waste. Despite his complaint, he does not succeed in demeaning Mary’s action. Instead, the gospel affirms once again the spend-thriftness of love. Mary spends a year’s salary for love of Jesus. Judas tries to set up a choice between the poor and Jesus; Mary, on the other hand, shows how one can love Jesus and the poor.

Mary’s action is loving as well as being an example of the very service that Jesus commands his disciples to do. She is the first in this gospel to present an example of diaconal service (indeed, diakonia is the word later used at the last supper). More important, she models in her action the mandate of mutual love that Jesus commands his disciples to do at the Last Supper. That you love one another as I love you…. Indeed, the depth of Mary’s love for Jesus is shown in the incredible generosity of her gift. She is the first person in the gospel of John to live out the commandment of love that Jesus gives to his disciples. She shows what it means to be a disciple of Christ: one who serves, loves one’s sister and brother, and most of all, who participates in Christ’s suffering and death.

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Would that we could anoint with pure nard or whatever the most expensive oil there is, the feet, hands, and foreheads of all the suffering people in the world — those suffering today from violence, degradation of their humanity, the loss of home, nation, identity. For all the refugees, for the displaced, for those hated because of who they are. For those looking into their own tombs. Their number is legion.

If we cannot anoint the world, if we cannot love with the same extravagance that Jesus did in a global way, we can at least start in our own community. Start small, with one another. Start with our neighbours, particularly the difficult ones. Find peace and live it out in daily life. Work each one of us to stop hatred of those who are considered ‘other’ or ‘different’ for whatever reason. Remember that we are all God’s children and God’s extravagant love extends to all of us—Iraqi, Palestinian, Albanian, Muslim, Jew, Christian, man, woman, child.

On this Monday of Holy Week, as a reminder that we are called to love and serve extravagantly, let us pray the prayer of Saint Francis, found on page 833 of the Prayer Book. And then let us live our lives in that same spirit of service and charity.