Fifth Sunday of Lent 2019

Gospel: John 12:1-8

This is a transcript, written after the event, of a sensory sermon preached at St Nicholas’ church. It is too hard, today, to come by ethical, sustainable spikenard; so, I have used patchouli essential oil as a near-enough substitute.

It had become apparent to all that time was running out.

And so, Jesus embarked on a series of last suppers; the first of which with his dear friends Martha and Mary and Lazarus. Ironically, it was the raising of Lazarus that had sealed Jesus’ fate: he was now simply too dangerous to live. Rumours had circulated. Well-meaning neighbours offered hushed advice, that the family distance themselves from Jesus. Instead—and, of course, I speculate a little here—Mary went from door-to-door raising a collection; then to the market, where she bought an alabaster jar of perfume from an Egyptian merchant. A jar to open in Jesus’ tomb, to mask the stench of decomposition.

Now they were gathered. Martha, serving—just as she had done the first time that we met her, the first time they met Jesus. But Martha is no longer burdened by anxiety that all be perfect or else shame would fall on the family; no longer resentful of her sister. Martha has encountered Love, and responds now with love of her own.

Lazarus is at the table with Jesus, side-by-side. Can you imagine the conversation? If you knew that days from now you would be dead, and you were at a dinner party seated next to someone who had come back from the dead, what would you ask?

In the ancient world, at a formal meal, you did not sit on high-backed chairs as we would do; but reclined, lying on your side, elbow propped up on a low table, feet stretching out behind you. Mary assumes the role of a servant, approaches Jesus and washes his feet. As she does so, her tears mingle with the water. And then she stops; fetches the jar of perfume; pours it out.

Judas is horrified. He, too, knows that time is running out. He hopes that at these farewell dinners, the common purse will swell; that, when it comes to the end, he will be able to get away with the lot. He is from the south; the other disciples, from the north: their paths need never cross again.

Why does Mary change her mind? She had bought the perfume for the day of Jesus’ burial: so, why pour it out now, ahead of time? Did she panic? Or…had the penny dropped? As she listened-in on the conversation between Jesus and her brother, had she realised what Jesus had told the men three times now, without their comprehension? Had she realised that Jesus would be walking out of the tomb?

Was this act her secret way of letting Jesus know, ‘I know’? Or, at least, ‘I have an inkling’? ‘I have a hope!’