I haven't posted here in a while but I feel an increasing need to write again. Today I wanted to share a message I wrote for the last Sunday of Lent this year. It is written from the perspective of Mary of Bethany as she anoints Jesus' feet with the fragrant oil, nard. I hope you enjoy it...
The house is
full. People have been arriving all
afternoon. The men have eaten the meal Martha prepared and are lying on the
dining couches, at rest, talking softly.
I sit against
a wall, watching, listening. My sister
continues to clear the dishes and left over food. She loves having a house full of people to
feed and fuss over. I know I’d only be
in her way so I stay where I am, watching my Lord.
He is
listening intently to John right now.
But I know that his beautiful smile and wonderful laugh could burst
forth at any moment. Jesus is so full of
the joy of life. His smile always comes
so easily and it lights up his face, it lights up the whole room. I could watch and listen to him forever.
But I know
that is not to be. The Master has been talking
more and more about his own death. This
is a real possibility. The Jewish
leaders have made no secret about their hatred for this man who proclaims
himself to be the Messiah.
To me, he is
Yeshua bar Yoseph, my friend, my mentor, and so much more. He is Emmanuel, God with us, real and
tangible.
Lost in thought, I hear his musical
laugh and look up. He is smiling but
there is a sadness around his eyes. He
knows. He knows the end is near.
How can they all sit, eating and
drinking and talking as if nothing is wrong, as if their Master isn’t afraid
and worried, as if he isn’t facing a great and terrible future? I can see the sorrow behind the smile. It breaks my heart.
I can hear the clattering of
dishes. Martha, clearing another
table.
Martha. Always busy when she is stressed. I know she senses the impending crisis,
too. And I know she is worried for
Jesus, just as I am. She shows it with
this busy-ness. She shows her love in service…feeding
people, serving them…it’s her act of devotion.
I look back to
Jesus. He is sitting quietly now. The conversation has moved away from
him. His friends are arguing good
naturedly about something, again. They
are always debating and discussing.
I know it frustrates Jesus sometimes,
but he so obviously loves them, these friends who have followed him faithfully
for three years now. He watches them and
the sorrow creeps back into his eyes.
I can’t bear
it. I love him so much. He has done so much for me, for my
family. As I look across the room I see
my brother, Lazarus. He wouldn’t be
here, eating with us, if not for the love and grace of this wonderful man.
The power of God that flows through
our Rabbi is overwhelming to behold.
Many who did not see it for themselves have simply refused to believe
it.
As I look back
to Jesus an idea comes. I know what I
can do for him. I know how I can show my
love.
I get up and head into my private
chamber. Under my bed, hidden, wrapped
in cloth, is a beautiful box of alabaster.
Inside there is something so precious, so priceless, that I had been
saving it for a special and sacred day.
Today feels like that day.
I unwrap the cloth and the scent of
the nard seeps through the seal of the box, musky and deep and reminiscent of
death.
This sacred
oil has been used for years in the rituals of anointing. As a woman I have never been past the women’s
court in the temple but I have heard that the priests use this same nard on the
sacred altar.
I walk back
into the dining room. The men are still
talking, Jesus is still listening quietly, reclining on his couch. I come up silently behind him, not sure how
to proceed.
Usually a guest is honoured by having
oil poured over his head, but I dare not.
That is too much. He is too holy,
this man of God, to be anointed by a poor and weak woman like me.
As I look down
at him I see his feet, dusty from the road, resting at the end of the
couch. Yes, that’s what I will do. I will wash his feet with this most precious
nard.
I kneel down
and break the seal on the box. I pour
some of the oil over his feet, not daring to look up at him, not sure how he
will react. Will he reject me? Will he chase me away? Will he be angry?
As I begin to
spread the oil the scent of it becomes almost overpowering. It begins to waft through the room, filling
up every crevice, every corner.
Slowly, the conversation dwindles and
then stops as the odor of the perfume catches everyone’s attention. They all know what it is. They all know what is used for.
I finally dare
to look up at Jesus. He is watching me
with the kindest eyes I have ever seen.
His love overflows and wraps around me like the scent of the nard.
I begin to cry in the face of this all-encompassing
love from my Lord. My tears fall onto
his feet, mingling with the fragrant oil.
I realize that
I haven’t planned this well. Jesus’ feet
are now covered in my tears and the sacred oil is dripping onto the floor. But I have nothing with which to wipe his
feet clean again.
Everyone is watching. His friends are beginning to look
annoyed. I begin to feel
embarrassed.
Quickly, I take the ribbon out of my
hair, letting it fall free, ignoring the gasps of the crowd. I know that only a woman of low character
would show her hair in public like this, but what else can I do. I begin to use my long dark hair to wipe the
oil from Jesus’ feet.
Judas is
walking over. He frightens me. Always so sour. Always so harsh with his tongue. Always criticizing. His eyes more on the coin box than on our
Master.
I can tell he
is angry with me and I prepare myself for his criticism and censure. I can barely hear what he says in my
fear. Not fear of Judas, but fear that my Lord will realize that what I am doing is
inappropriate. I can handle Judas’
rebuke, but I don’t know what I would do if Jesus turned to me with
disappointment on his face.
Judas is
complaining about the cost of the nard.
It is very expensive, more than most men make in a year. He feels that I should have sold it and then
used the money for the poor. Of course
he thinks of the cost.
Does Jesus realize, I wonder, that
his friend takes a percentage of all the alms given for the poor? Does he know that his trusted treasurer
betrays at every turn? Does he know the
true character of Judas? He must not, or
he would not trust him with the coin box.
And maybe
Judas is right. I hadn’t thought this
through. I hadn’t considered the cost of
my actions.
Jesus will probably feel as Judas
does. After all, he loves the poor as no
one else does. He is always telling us
to care for the least among us. I am a
fool.
I glance up at
my Lord. He is still looking at me with
the same love and kindness as before. I
begin to cry harder.
Then he turns to
Judas and rebukes him! As I listen to the Master’s words I realize
that he knows! He knows why I did
this. He knows how precious that oil was
to me. Maybe he even knows that is was
the last gift my own father gave me before he died.
And he knows that I have seen his
sorrow; that I am already mourning with him and for him. He knows that, as Martha shows her love in
her cooking, this is my act of love for him…giving to him that which has been
most precious to me.
I hear him
telling Judas to leave me be. Jesus, my
Lord, protecting and defending me, a weak and foolish woman! I am humbled and overcome with love.
I can see that
Judas does not understand. Jesus
understands. He knows that he will soon
die. He knows that his time with us is
short. He is trying to tell Judas that
the good work for the poor will continue, as it always has, but there is so
little time left for all of us to be together with Him, with the Messiah.
But Judas, as
always, has missed the point. He turns
away, angry. The rest of Jesus’ friends
seem confused, unsure of how to react.
Then Jesus
looks down at me, still crouched at his feet, my hair, slick with the sacred oil,
still draped across his ankles. And he
smiles. That beautiful, wonderful smile
so filled with love and understanding.
He is looking in to my soul. He sees me, truly sees me. And I know that I do not need to say a
word.
But the sadness is there, too, behind
the smile, never quite gone from his eyes.
And as he reaches out to put his hand on my head, stroking my hair, I
can see the tears glistening in his eyes.
My own tears continue flow.
As we sit looking into each other’s
eyes I know as I have never known before what this is costing him. I sense with an awful foreboding that the
price that needs to be paid in order for me to enjoy his love will be a truly
terrible price indeed.
I want to beg him not to do it. I want to tell him that he doesn’t have to,
not for me. But I know that my protests
would be useless.
I can see the love in his eyes, not
just for me, but for all us, all of us there in that room, all of the people
gathering outside, even for those who are plotting to kill him.
And I know
that that love needs to pay the price for us.
I know that I have to let him pay that price for me, even as it breaks
my heart.
I break his
gaze, lowering my head, and finish wiping the oil from his feet with my hair,
as the house is filled with the fragrance of the perfume…..
Long pause…..Prayer
