Lent 5 2016

Lent 5, 2010 (Year C) Edit

Last week, as you may remember, our Gospel Reading was the familiar parable of the ‘prodigal son.’ Jesus tells this story in which a young man demands his half of his inheritance, and burns through it in wasteful living—‘prodigal living’ as the title implies…

The story ends, with the long awaited return of this son, who is greeted by his father, and his reluctant older brother. All the same, the return is marked as a festal occasion, and a grand celebration is given in honor of the son’s return.

This word, ‘prodigal’, because of its usage in this story, has come to denote wasteful, and careless action. However, the word prodigal also means extravagance or profuse generosity. So, were we to consider the father’s loving response to his son’s return, we may also consider him a kind of prodigal himself. In this case we see extravagance as an out-pouring of love rather than a wasteful misuse of one’s resources. This is likewise the definition of ‘prodigal’ that we see in Mary as she anoints the feet of Jesus in today’s Gospel reading.

We don’t need the Gospel writer’s help to notice that something extraordinary is happening in this story—that’s to say nothing of the fact that we’ve only just read that Jesus has raised Lazarus from the dead, and now sits at table with Jesus and the rest. And yet, Mary’s act is not simply an act of hospitality to an honored guest, but is clearly an act of deep love and devotion to Jesus. Likewise, once we realize the expense of the oil; we begin to see at what cost her offering is given.

But what speaks to the mystery of this moment is the even greater act of humility, as Mary wipes the teacher’s feet with her hair. It is then that we start to understand this as an act of sacrifice.

Who knows what the disciples were thinking when this happened. Maybe they were used to Mary doing things that were a bit odd. Then again, aside from from tradition and popular culture, Mary is pictured in the Gospels as being the quiet sister, while Martha is the one we’ve seen having outbursts. So, perhaps everyone was scandalized. After all, not only would it be considered inappropriate for a woman to act out this way toward an important male guest, but to use her loose hair to wipe Jesus’ feet was the outside of enough.

Why would she do such a thing? Was she overcome that her brother Lazarus had only just been restored to life again, and this was her way of thanking Jesus? I suppose it could be that, however, we’re told that in raising Lazarus that Jesus only incited his enemies to want to kill both him and Lazarus. Besides, Jesus explains that this is a preparation for his burial. 

Whatever the reason, though, I imagine, as the place was filled with the scent of perfume; the humility of Mary’s sacrifice made it clear that all of them had been drawn into sacred space—a space which has been facilitated by this beautiful, generous gift.

  

But, this moment is all too brief before Judas raises the question: ‘Why was this perfume not sold and the money given to the poor?’ Our narrator is quick to point out that this is typical Judas. He is a man that the Gospel writer maligns as a liar and a thief.

So we may imagine that even as he asks the question, he’s twirling his mustache, and picking his teeth with a dagger.

But now that the question is out there, we might actually wonder the same thing. While his intent was wrong, Judas still makes an interesting point… Was the cost of this perfumed oil worth the brief moment in which it was used, when it easily could have been sold for the benefit of the poor?

It is a sensible question. In fact, there are some of us who wish that the Gospel writer had spared us the parenthetical statement about Judas. It almost feels like a way to distract us from the reasonableness of the question.

Based on an article from the Interpreter’s Bible series, the 300 danarii would be the equivalent of about $60 today. That’s give-or-take a decade or so of inflation since the article was written, and also the possibility that the article was written in the U.K. So, you may want to factor in exchange rates.

  

Anyway, all that is to say, I can’t estimate how much help three hundred danarii might be to the poor in Bethany. But in this context, where Mary has offered such a rich gift, and has displayed such humility to Jesus; we find that we’re missing the point if we get lost in Judas’ apparent concern.

After all, the oil was not his. It was not something held in common that Judas should have any say about how it should be used. And if we pay attention to the generosity with which Mary offers this expensive oil, or her humility in wiping Jesus’ feet with her hair; we begin to see how Judas missed the point.

It is true that the oil was an expensive gift, however, when given in love and devotion to Jesus, it became a sacrifice. And as is necessary of any true sacrifice, (whether it is two small coins from a widow, or Joseph of Arimathea’s new tomb) it is always something of great value which is given, because the giver’s heart goes with it. This particular sacrifice was Mary’s prodigal act of love, and is one which should always challenge us in our own devotion to Jesus Christ.

For most of us, sacrifice is something that we only talk about in abstract terms. Sacrifice is the subject of having to choose one thing over another or the offering of time in our day. But when we begin talking about those things which are due to God, we become far less comfortable. Somehow talking about giving things over to God sacrificially, and no longer maintaining control or claim on them makes us very nervous. After all, we can always reschedule our time, but to offer something to God is far less superficial.

What is more difficult is that in our call to follow Christ we’re asked to offer nothing less than our whole selves. Maybe it’s because the note never seems to come due that we feel like the long walk of faith isn’t such a difficult one—our own crosses notwithstanding. However, what we forget, to our own detriment is that in every generation, we as the Church, are called to be living sacrifices to God. This business of saying we lift our hearts to the Lord is more than call and response in the liturgy—it’s an affirmation that we’re giving ourselves again and again back to God. By such a proclamation, we say that we are no longer our own, but are marked as Christ’s own forever.

There is nothing simple about responding to a call to Christianity, especially when we count the cost of choosing God. Although some might say in our age and culture that faith is fine as long as it’s kept in proportion to everything else in life. And yet, the sobering reality is that Jesus was the cost for God to choose us… That’s to say that the sacrifice of Jesus is a gift so overwhelming that it has the power to transform the world, and is at the same time a stark reminder of why we can’t ever take faith for granted.

So, how does Mary’s act of love and humility speak to us about matters of faith, today? Well, I suppose it asks us to consider what a life that was given more generously to God might look like. Maybe we’re challenged to imagine what it would mean to be prodigal in our own lives of faith, and in our worship. Perhaps it’s even a question of how extravagant our love for Jesus Christ could become.

Whatever emerges for us, however, if nothing else, It’s my hope that this story (which John’s Gospel uses as a transition into the Passion narrative) will be a preparation for all of us for Holy Week (which starts next week). And as we’re reminded that the life of Jesus was poured out as a costly gift—a sign of God’s love for us; I hope we’re also reminded of Mary and her gift of oil to anoint the feet of Jesus. I hope we can be reminded that while there’s nothing beyond our own lives which we can give to God in repayment for our lives, whatever we do give should be given generously with our hearts.