+Today’s Gospel foreshadows the events of Holy Week, which begins next Sunday. It foreshadows the walk we’ll all take in a few days’ time, a walk that takes us into the depths of loss and then up to the heights of glory. The dinner where Jesus was the guest of honor was a microcosm of Holy Week: what began in joy steadily turns into a quiet grief of what is to come…. when Mary opens that jar of nard to anoint her friend, one wonders---did she even know why she was doing what she was doing? Or was she driven by the spirit to do what needed to be done? Who knows…regardless of the motivation, the scene in that house in Bethany was one of intense intimacy, and incredible love tinged with profound sadness.
This story is a study in contrasts:
At the beginning of the evening, the atmosphere was festive, but what Mary and Jesus both knew, deep in their bones, was that the miracle performed on Lazarus---his being raised to life again--was a turning point in Jesus’ ministry-- the inevitable end had just been put in motion, the scene for that first Holy Week was set. You see Jesus’ renown had seriously irked the temple authorities, they were watching him; hoping to catch him in some egregious act, something so illegal, so beyond the pale, that they could arrest him and put an end to his ministry, once and for all. The raising of Lazarus was just that. Initially, Jesus had left town, avoiding imminent arrest but Passover was near and so returning to the city was called for, even though he knew that returning would give his enemies just what they needed.
In other words, by bringing Lazarus back to life, Jesus has assured his own death.
As one commentator puts it:
“Mary [and Jesus both know], even if the others don't, that by coming here to this place, at this time, and working this miracle, he has sealed his fate, he has signed his own execution order. In giving Lazarus life he has assured his own death. Mary pours out both her gratitude and her grief when she pours the perfume on Jesus' feet .”
In the anointing Mary pours out more than ridiculously expensive perfume, she pours out gratitude at what Jesus had done and grief at what the world will now do to Jesus.
This is the juxtaposition of Holy Week my friends, heart-singing joy leading to heart-wrenching grief which then leads us back to joy.
In Holy Week we go from the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem to the weeping on Calvary’s hill, to the awesomeness of the empty tomb.
But to be able to receive the new life Easter brings, we must take this walk. And to take this walk? We need to be ready. Such is the journey of Lent.
Today we, along with Mary and Jesus, need to prepare ourselves for the inevitability of Holy Week. Today we buckle up and set our sites firmly on Jerusalem, the Mount of Olives, Calvary’s hill and that fresh-hewn tomb.
This week before the holiest of all weeks, we begin to prepare for the absence of Jesus, for it is only in that absence that the presence of our resurrected Lord can take hold. The absence of the old leads us to the presence of the new.
In the words of the psalmist: we sow in tears, so we can reap in joy.
This sowing that leads to reaping isn’t easy. What is familiar and traditional gives way to the unfamiliar and the altogether new. Boundaries get broken all over the place.
Mary broke the boundary of financial responsibility by spending a YEAR’s WAGES on this perfume, she broke the boundary of propriety by touching a man to whom she was not related, and Jesus broke it right back by accepting her touch.
Judas breaks the boundary of trust, Peter breaks the boundary of loyalty, the Jews, in colluding with the Romans, break the boundaries of political alliances. Pilate wrestles with breaking the boundary of duty and finally, after all this breaking, after all this sowing with sadness, anger and dismay, Jesus breaks the ultimate boundary, the last boundary: Jesus defeats death and we all relish in resurrection splendor as we reap with joy.
As we delve into this last week before the Holiest of all weeks, we must prepare for our own boundary breaking.
We must break the boundary between our rational mind and our spiritual heart…for to truly walk the walk of Christ, we must walk the walk of Holy Week, allowing our hearts to break and our tears to fall. For it is only in the absence of Jesus that a new life in him can emerge.
It is in the rupture of that break that the sprout of new life grows.
My friends, my wish for you this day is this: that for the remainder of Lent you’ll prepare your hearts and your souls for what is to come: the triumph of Palm Sunday, the poignancy of “Remember Me,” the loneliness of the garden in Gethsemane, the betrayal of “I do not know this man,” the shouts of “Crucify Him,” the despair of death and then the wondrous new life pronounced by Mary Magdalene when she reports to the disciples: “I Have Seen the Lord!”
My wish is that you will walk the fullness of the Holy Week walk so that on Easter morning your hearts and your souls will be born anew as you peer into the tomb only to realize that death and pain and sorrow are no more, neither crying nor mourning, that, indeed death will meet it’s match and life will be eternal.
It’s not an easy walk, but it is, indeed, the only walk.
Amen.
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