Lent 5

A sermon based upon John 12:1–8

In the name of Jesus; amen.

Maybe it was purchased for Lazarus when he was sick and dying, or it was the family’s stash for use when one of them died. It was a good spice to use for the dead, because it was so strong and fragrant and covered the smell. Perhaps it was money in the bank. Expensive and pricey it could have been sold in the event of an emergency or turned into cash for other investments. Or it could have been used for retirement or as a dowry for marriage.

Whatever reason this family had it, it was of great value to them. It might have even been the single most valuable thing this family owned… and there she was, at his feet, pouring it over them… every last drop.

Good God, what was she doing? The oil, worth a year’s salary, dripped from his toes, his ankles, the soles of his feet and she was wiping them with her hair.

A stunned silence permeated the air alongside the smell of it; it filled the whole house and their sinuses. It got into their clothes, in their hair, and on their skin. It was the smell of death and love mixed together.

Have you ever been hit by a strong, unmistakable smell? One that filled your nose and took over your senses? One that pulled you so deeply into the moment in which you were in that it stopped you cold?
They say that the sense of smell is perhaps the strongest of our senses. We taste almost as much with our nose as we do with our tongue. The sense of smell has the ability to weaken our stomachs, elate us, and pull us into memories of things we have long forgotten. And this smell would have filled their very souls.

It was a sensual, intimate, extravagant act that Mary performed; done right in the middle of dinner, in front of all the company. As a custom, people ate while reclining; everyone would have seen what she was doing and if their view was obscured so that they missed seeing it then they would have smelled it, put down their food, stopped talking in the middle of what they were saying and watched as Jesus looked at Mary wiping his feet with her hair.

What happened in that moment between them was deep and emotion-filled… it was a holy and personal moment… and then Judas opened his mouth.

John, the gospel-writer/story teller tells us his motives: Judas is a thief who steals from the common purse which has been entrusted to his care by Jesus and the other disciples.

Judas saw Mary wasting what could have fetched a large amount of money, at least 300 denarii, what might be equivalent to about $2,000 today. It was money he could have used to line his own pockets and so he spoke out against her actions. “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” Maybe he was a thief, but it’s quite possible that he wasn’t the only one in the room with that or a similar thought.

Jesus talked a lot about the poor. He often told people that they should give all they had to the poor. Jesus criticized greed and waste. And there he was… letting this woman pour out her family’s most valued asset onto his feet. There he was, letting her wipe it away with her unbound hair.

John does not share Mary’s reason for doing what she did that night at dinner, but Jesus does, “Leave her alone.” He tells Judas and the rest. “She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

Maybe she knew. Mary was a listener so maybe she had heard him talk about what was about to happen when he reached Jerusalem. What she did know was that not long before he had arrived at her home and called her brother out of his grave and so maybe this was her way of saying thank you, or I love you, or I know you are going to die and I have to do something for you that matters, really matters.

Whatever her intentions, she poured out for him her thing of greatest value and it filled the room with its scent and lingered.

The extravagance of love lingers. It lingered with Jesus, who on the night he was betrayed stooped down and washed the feet of his friends. It lingered with Jesus and mixed with his sweat as he carried the cross to the place of his death. It lingered with Jesus in his dying breath. It lingered with him in the tomb where the extravagance of God’s love did something that lingers with us today.

Can you smell it? The smell of God’s grace filling the house, entering our nasal passages, seeping into our pores?

Can you smell what extravagant love can do; extravagant love for God, love that unbinds our hair, and our senses, and brings us to the feet of Jesus?

Love that says, thank you, and I love you, and I know that you died out of love for me.

Be extravagant with your love; do not hold it back. Jesus says that Mary bought the perfume for the day of his burial, but she doesn’t wait until he is dead to use it. Be extravagant with your love; pour it out for others to smell and taste and see and hear and feel.

For God is extravagant with love for us, love that lingers and lasts for all time.

Amen.