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In an earlier part of my life, I performed with a semi-professional opera company that did a kind of dinner theater. Based in central Florida we earned our living performing in retirement communities – regaling diners with popular opera arias and musical theater numbers between courses. One night, I remember, I was slated to sing the closing number – and I asked the director, “Could I sing this one instead?” No, he said, my second choice wasn’t appropriate. So I argued and demanded to know why. It’s simple, he said, our dinners always start and end on a high note!
The last word of Jesus at this dinner does not end on a high note. The poor will always be with you. What does that mean? It sounds like Jesus shrugs his shoulders, resigned to the world as it is. Sadly this verse can and has been misconstrued in that way – usually to justify a laissez-fair attitude towards Christian benevolence.
But as always, it’s important to remember – this isn’t a statement to the crowds – it’s a response to a particular person. That duplicitous disciple Judas. Who, Jesus surely knows, regards his responsibility to the poor as check-list charity. An obligation to the law born out of guilt. His remark about selling the oil because of its price tag is meant to shame Mary – and maybe Jesus – in her extravagance.
So Jesus points Judas to the extravagant nature of God – not, by shrugging his shoulders in acknowledgement of the perpetual problem of poverty – but by reminding Judas how God describes generosity in Deuteronomy. The poor will always be with you – is a summary of that ancient teaching –
If there is among you anyone in need, a member of your community in any of your towns within the land that the Lord your God is giving you, do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted towards your needy neighbor…open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be. Be careful that you do not entertain a mean thought…[or] view your needy neighbor with hostility…Give liberally and be ungrudging when you do so…Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land. (Deut 15)
What fills, propels, encourages – any of us – with the desire to give liberally – ungrudgingly – and without hostility? Love. And we can’t give what we don’t have.
The wholehearted generosity Mary shares with Christ – making use of her hands, her heart, her hair – is a first-order action. Her generosity reconnects and replenishes love – so that her heart – which will break in a few days – will not be hardened.
You see, Mary and Jesus seem to be the only people at this dinner who want to get real about what’s going to happen in the week ahead.
What is one of the first things you notice when you walk into a bakery – a coffee shop – a barn – a thrift store, sometimes – a restaurant – a hospital? The smell. The smell of a place or a person – can be as inviting as it can be off-putting. Smell conjures up more memories than any of our other senses.
And Mary’s extravagance – filling the house with the fragrance of perfume - ensures that everyone is reminded of something familiar. Spikenard oil is the historical name. And, as Jesus says it is used to anoint a body at burial. A powerful scent reminiscent for us of mint and ginseng that for everyone there would immediately call to mind a funeral. Except Mary has poured it all out before Jesus is dead.
Recently at a reception following a funeral someone said something to me I’ve heard before – and that I’ve said with my family members – maybe you have with yours. It’s too bad it takes a funeral to bring us all together for this party. I mean, it’s not a party – the reception – or wake – or whatever gathering you have after the service, after the burial. But it’s a really important part of the ritual of grief. You can’t help but be glad to see certain people. You can’t help but laugh remembering certain stories. You can’t help but wish the person who is gone could be there – to see – all the people who showed up, out of respect, out of love.
In those gatherings there is an extravagance – certainly of food – often times of drink. And especially an extravagance of time. Many times when we’ve had receptions after funerals here – followed by a reception in the parish hall – they always go long, past when the family thought they’d be done. When I’ve traveled to be with my family in those times – the gathering will last for days.
This dinner is that gathering with Jesus is sitting next to Lazarus. Martha and Mary’s brother. And, you’ll remember he died. Jesus had just raised Lazarus from the dead. Despite everyone’s panic that they would have to smell death when Jesus asked them to roll away the stone. Lord there will be a stench, he’s been there four days.
So maybe because she had already had four days of grief for her brother – Mary wants to have that kind of party – now. Maybe she doesn’t want to wait for the gathering after the burial – she wants everyone she loves to be extravagant and present while they are still together.
So she pours out that oil, that perfume. Sharing her expensive and extravagant gift so that everyone recognize the priceless time they have left together. She opens her hands – opens her heart. Gives liberally and ungrudgingly – without hostility towards those in the room who criticize her indulgence.
One of the reasons I think many of us wish we could have that kind of party with someone before they’ve died – is because we hold back in the giving of ourselves. We hold grudges and have unkind thoughts. We can be hard-hearted or tight-fisted with a variety of gifts. All those ways of connecting with the needy described in Deuteronomy – they’re not just about money.
It isn’t easy to be extravagant in our love – our forgiveness – our generosity. It can cause a spectacle. It can cause people, and that critic inside our heads, to make snide and judgmental comments. Extravagant love is vulnerable – because it leaves us open. And yet – because it opens us up – it is paradoxically the most fulfilling gift there is.
We have to wait a week – but in John’s gospel the next morning is Palm Sunday. When we’ll be shouting our Hosanna’s with the crowds before we join the mobs in yelling Crucify. And then Easter follows. And of course that is a day of extravagance – in terms of people in the pews, in terms of music we will hear, in terms of flowers filling this space. That is a day that starts and ends on a high note.
But our celebration of it – is so far removed from what Mary experienced. Perhaps Jesus allows his feet to be anointed for burial because he knows when the women come to perform that ritual in the tomb – on our Easter Sunday – Jesus won’t be there.
Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. – we heard in Isaiah
I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
Mary apparently did. And Jesus apparently prefers to be the guest at extravagant parties of the living.
For since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth us – go - give liberally and generously of yourself – so that God can do a new thing in you.
Let us give extravagantly of our time and sit with Mary at the feet of Jesus – so that we too can be filled and moved to share our many variety of riches out of love in the here and now.
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