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Extravagance. It is not something we talk about much at church, especially during Lent. And yet, last week and this week we have heard stories from the Bible of extravagance. What else could you call the patriarch of a family running down a dusty road to hug and kiss a son who has brought only disgrace to their name? What else is the best robe, the ring on the finger, the killing of the fatted calf? No wonder the older brother (who behaves a lot like the puritans of this country) was aghast at his father’s behavior. This was over the top, too much. And yet, it seems Jesus is saying this is exactly how God behaves with us. Extravagance. Extravagant love.
This week, in a story from a different gospel (John instead of Luke), we hear of an extravagant gift, an extravagant act, from a disciple to Jesus. And maybe her action is a lesson for all of us about how we are to act toward God. See the beautiful symmetry? God loves us more than we can imagine and we are to love God back with the same abandon.
We find ourselves, as we often do with Jesus, at table. It is the home of Lazarus and Martha, and Mary. Just a short time ago, Lazarus had died, and been put into the tomb, and Jesus had called him back to life. Here he was, sitting at the table with them! So when Jesus comes you can imagine that they put out the best for him. They are so grateful. Martha, who was the cook of the family, served (actually the word in Greek is diakoneo—so it really should be translated “ministered”). Martha ministered to Jesus with sustenance for his body. Seeing Lazarus alive, indisputable proof of his call from God, may have ministered to his spirit. For it was six days from the Passover. He was near to the end, and he knew it.
All of a sudden, mixed into the wonderful aroma of a Mediterranean feast came an overpowering sweet smell—a smell you couldn’t mistake, the smell of nard, expensive perfume, usually reserved for burial, a way to cover over the stench of death. Scientists have proven that smell is one of the most powerful memory-makers. As the smell of nard filled the room, did they have a flash-back to the last time they smelled it? When they were anointing Lazarus’ body for burial? I can imagine a whiplash effect. “Who had opened another jar?” Must have flashed through their minds. It was supremely expensive—a year’s salary some said. No one had died! What was going on?
Then Mary, following in her sister’s footsteps, ministered to Jesus. She took the nard, and spread it on his feet, and wiped it with her hair. What a scandal! How provocative to have Mary showing her hair in public, touching the Master with something meant to be hidden except from your beloved. And what a waste! Judas is quick to point out. We could have used the money for the mission. I know that the Bible says he was saying that because he was the treasurer and wanted to steal the money—but I hear older brother puritan here as well. Why “waste” our energy on anything nice when it can be put to work.
Jesus doesn’t agree. Love can be extravagant, and sometimes we are too stingy. Mary’s action is meant as a thank you, as a blessing, as an act of over-the-top emotion, maybe even as an acknowledgment of what is to come (although that is not mentioned in this version of the story). Jesus is quick to defend her, and her use of her money, “Leave her alone. She bought it [this costly nard] so she might keep it for the day of my burial.”
Jesus sees this gift from Mary, her ministering to him, in the context of the commandments to all people of God. His statement: “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me,” of course is reacting to Judas’ whining about the abuse of money that could have been used for the poor. And in a Judas and older brother tradition, some have used this verse as an excuse not to do everything possible to alleviate poverty, saying “Even Jesus knows that the poor will always be with you.”
I was surprised to find out that Jesus was probably quoting his scriptures, the book of Deuteronomy, the last book of Torah. It is within the section where Moses is instructing the people of God how to live in the world. Listen to Deuteronomy 15:7-11:
“7If 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 toward your needy neighbor. 8You should rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be. 9Be careful that you do not entertain a mean thought, thinking, “The seventh year, the year of remission, [Jubilee] is near,” and therefore view your needy neighbor with hostility and give nothing; your neighbor might cry to the Lord against you, and you would incur guilt. 10Give liberally and be ungrudging when you do so, for on this account the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in all that you undertake. 11Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.”
“Give liberally and ungrudgingly—Open your hand to the poor because there will never cease to be some in need on the earth,” so says God through Moses. “You always have the poor with you,” says Jesus.
Then he adds “You will not always have me.”
I imagine:
Mary has bought the nard because there is talk about the priests putting a price on Jesus’ head. She is afraid that Jesus will be killed, and after experiencing the heartache, the terrifying rush of dealing with all that came with Lazarus’ death—
she goes and buys nard so that she will be prepared, no matter what.
But here he is, in her house, defying all the threats from Caiaphas, defying the well-intentioned suggestions from his disciples to stay away.
He is here.
The nard is the most expensive thing she has.
She wants him to know that she gives her all to him.
So she pulls out the stopper and spreads it on his feet, so aware that they are warm, the feet of the living. She spreads it with her hands, and then, pulls her hair out of its covering, and wipes the excess off, so now they are both enveloped in this rich cloud.
It is a scandalous moment—this act of love, this extravagance. So scandalous, so memorable, that when the writer of the gospel of John introduces Mary, in the chapter prior to this story, he says:
“Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. 2Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. (John 11:1-2)
It is true. The story sticks in your mind. How amazing. How beautiful. How extravagant. Even Jesus will give his ultimate approval of such an outpouring by using it as a model as they gather at table for the Passover Meal. Only in the gospel of John do we hear that Jesus insisted on washing the feet of his disciples that night.
Extravagance.
Maybe it is something we should talk more about in church.
Maybe it is something we are called to do,
be extravagant in showing our love,
for God,
for each other,
and for the poor and needy on this earth.
May it be so. Amen.
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