John 12:1-8
Isaiah 43:16-21
Psalm 126
Phillipians 3:4b-14
I have chosen to focus my commentary on John's Gospel.
Six days before the Passover Jesus
came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There
they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the
table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed
Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the
fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who
was about to betray him), said, ‘Why was this perfume not sold for three
hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ (He said this not because he
cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and
used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus 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.’
This particular text from John’s Gospel is
full of themes that make for fascinating sermons. There are themes of Mary
breaking gender roles by touching Jesus. There is a discussion about the
extravagance of using a pound of “nard” to wash Jesus’ feet. Which means
nothing to us now, perhaps saying something like “took a pound of saffron and
put it into pancakes for Saturday morning breakfast” would make more sense. Taking
something that is extravagantly expensive and using for the most ordinary task.
Then there is a discussion about serving the poor and appropriate use of
resources. But I do not want to talk
about that. I want to reflect upon this text in my context as a healthcare
chaplain.
This story has the title of “Mary Anoints
Jesus.” About a week before Jesus is to die upon the cross, Mary anoints his
feet with the most pure and costly oil. Anointing, the ceremonial marking of a
person with oil or by symbol alone, is a practice with a long history. We hear
in the Hebrew Bible about priests being anointed. The disciples are said to
anoint the sick after healing them. And
in this passage, Mary anoints Jesus.
The Catholic church has entirely different
connotations of the practice of anointing, so I will not go into those here.
But in my practice of ministry, anointing is something that I do frequently. It
is part of the commendation of the dying liturgy, something that I find myself
doing about once a week, as well as part of a blessing that I give to my
patients. Anointing happens in the baptisms that I provide for the sick and
dying. Sometimes I use oil, sometimes I use water, sometimes it is just my
fingers, smelling faintly of alcohol rub from my hand hygiene ritual. Anointing
is a physical representation of a holy manifestation. It is a proclamation of “This
moment is sacred. God is here. We are setting aside this moment as something
outside the ordinary.” Anointing takes the most ordinary of things, one person
touching another, and imbues it with a sense of the holy. It is a mark of God’s
presence.
Mary is the only one that sets aside this
sacred moment in the bustle of a large group dinner and the disagreement about
the use of the nard. I think about how I often make eye contact with a dying
patient or their family members as I am anointing someone’s forehead. I
tenderly make the sign of the cross and resting my palm on their head, I say, “Well
done good and faithful servant. To God you belong.” Quiet words amidst the
chaos of a trauma room, the alarms of an ICU or the oppressive air of a nursing
facility. An anointing of a moment. God is here.
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