Lent 5C.htm
Isaiah 43:16-21
Psalm 126
Philippians 3:4b-14
John 12:1-8
It was the smell that did it. That particular scent of perfume. Smells can bring it all back, can’t they? The smell of face powder that reminds me of my grandmother… The smell of bread baking that brings childhood back in a rush of memories. The smell of the temple, the stench of the animal sacrifices mixed with the heady scent of incense.
But the smell of pure nard…the sweet overpowering scent of that perfume brings him back.
It was shortly after my brother Lazarus had come back to life. There’s another scent in that story. The scent of rotting flesh. Lazarus had been dead for three whole days before Jesus finally came by. Martha and I were both full of grief and anger. Jesus was our friend…he came to our home when he needed a break and some good home cooking.
But now, when we needed him most he came too late. He cried with us that day. And that helped…but then we all went to the tomb and Jesus called out and Lazarus came out! Alive!! Stinky, but alive…
So now Jesus came again, to our home in
When the wind blew just so we could smell the sacrifices…the smell of death.
Jesus came to see us. Martha, of course, pulled out all the stops and prepared a feast of her finest foods. Lazarus was at the table with Jesus, still a little shell-shocked from all that had happened. The disciples were there…a crowd really. We worked very hard on that meal. It smelled divine…fresh bread, roasted meats, ripe figs…
And then, I don’t know what made me do it, but what else could I do? Jesus had always treated me as a real person…let me sit at his feet and learn just like the disciples. And he gave our brother back to us.
At the same time there was a strange mood about him, a shift in the air. A deepening of the wrinkles on his forehead…
I had heard the rumors…The chief priests were out to get him. My brother’s second life made them very uneasy and gave them a reason to kill.
Jesus should have been going the other direction, far away,
back into
I had this perfume, an ointment made of nard. I loved that ointment. I had saved for years just to buy it. I treasured it, sneaking smells of it when I needed to be refreshed. Using just a tiny dap to smell on my wrist whenever Martha started in on me. Or the village women would get to catty.
Oh Jesus, like another brother to us, a friend and teacher. Something is about to happen to you!
I snuck off to my room and pulled the jar out from under my mattress. I came into the room right after the last course had been served. The room smelt of fading food, rich wine, and fear…
I knelt at Jesus’ feet. Opened the jar, the house filled with the heady scent of nard…overpowering all other scents in the house…floating out the windows into the courtyard…
And I rubbed pure nard into Jesus feet…his calloused, travel worn feet. It was the best thing I had to offer. Then I wiped them with my hair.
The room was perfectly still, silent, shocked! Even Martha was at a loss for words!
And I, all I saw was Jesus feet. All I focused on was how much I loved him. And the tears fell, hidden by my hair, and mingled with the perfume.
Finally, Judas Iscariot, who had been fidgeting all evening, spoke up. “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?”
I just kept my head down and kept wiping Jesus feet. Jesus softly said, “Leave her alone. 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.”
There will be plenty of work to do for the poor. We know that well, Martha and I, and Lazarus
take food to whoever needs it. When
Lazarus needs work done, he always hires the person that needs the money the
most.
We know Jesus cared deeply for people in need, the poor, the hungry, the orphans and widows.
But on this night, everything fell away but my love for Jesus and my desire to serve him.
A week later, well, a little over a week, Martha and I were there, at the foot of the cross. My hair still smelled like that perfume. I kept it over my nose; the stench of the garbage heap was overwhelming. Jesus would indeed in need of anointing for burial.
I kept the empty jar. I still have it. If you close your eyes and sniff, you can smell the nard.
Jesus is gone now, we miss cooking for him, listening to him, learning from him. But we can still smell his presence in our midst. We know he is still with us. Alive again but no longer visible.
Lazarus is gone now to. Dead and buried. Martha and I visit his tomb on our way back from delivering food to the widows of the village.
When I bring the soup and bread to those in need, I also bring the story of Jesus. I tell them of what he did for me, and my brother, and the world.
He was not afraid of lepers and other outcasts. He was not afraid of life. He was not afraid of death.
I tell them of how much God loves them, how much God can forgive, how much pain God can hold.
I tell them of God coming to live with us, how Jesus was killed and yet how God brought him back to life, forgiving even the enemies of life.
And I take out my empty jar and remember that night so long ago now: the scent and the silence and the shock. I remember how Lazarus was there, in the room, alive. Lazarus, whose second chance at life was to lead to Jesus death. I remember the feel of Jesus rough feet. My tears mixing with the sweet perfume.
I remember the smell of pure nard, overcoming the smell of death, if only for an hour of two.
And then Jesus got up, and went towards
And we, left behind in this place, cleaned up the dishes and
swept the floor. I put my empty jar back
under the mattress. And we too went
quietly to
I thank God for Jesus, for that night in which I was able to give the very best I had to my friend and teacher and Lord. I would like to think that it helped Jesus face death, that he too smelled the nard over the scent of the garbage dump. And that it gave him some peace.
It’s time now, to gather up the bread and stir the soup one last time before we go out to the widows’ tents. It’s time to tell the story again, how they love to hear it. Maybe this time, I’ll bring the jar so they can smell that night. And together, we will remember, and believe.