Lent 5 C 16

13 March 2016

St. John 12.1-8

Six days before Christ’s final Passover. This morning’s Gospel drama a prelude of the things to come – a prelude not so much of sound but of fragrances. The fragrance of a dinner at which Jesus, Mary, Martha, Lazarus, and Judas are in attendance – aromas of lamb and bread, leeks, rosemary, garlic, and thyme. Likely too, the fragrance of Lazarus – or should we say “the stink” of Lazarus only recently risen from the tomb. And then Mary with her pound of perfume – of pure nard – nard, an amber-colored essential oil distilled from a plant found only in the Himalayas – imported and costly – Mary’s pound of nard worth about a years’ wages. And Mary – anointing not Jesus’ head for a festive enthronement, but anointing his feet. And wiping Jesus’ feet with her unbound hair. An aroma of costly, generous, impractical love. But a whiff of scandal about it too: only men anoint men and women just don’t go around with their hair down and they certainly do not use it to wipe a man’s feet. Unheard of. An outrageous love. Undeniably too, the smell of an impending death, anointing Jesus beforehand for his burial, six days from now. Does Mary of Bethany comprehend what the rest of the disciples cannot?

And then the smell of . . . of what? Treachery? Judas upbraiding Mary for her extravagant love – the money should have been given to the poor says Judas – says Judas who has had his hand in the till – stealing from the very poor he pretends to care about. And in response to Judas, the smell of anger, Jesus’ anger. “Let her alone,” he thunders. “You will have ample opportunity to feed the poor.” And the smell of Judas Iscariot’s betrayal begins to ooze from his pores.

Too, there are other smells, other fragrances in the room; it would be logical for Peter to be there – after all he seems to be constantly at Jesus’ side. What would Peter’s smell be? That of one compared to Satan – and by Jesus himself. Too, the smell of Peter’s cowardice, the smell of one about to betray Jesus every bit as much as Judas will.

And we too, each of us, bringing our own smells to the drama. Part of us smelling like Mary with her costly essential oil – smelling of greatest generosity. Smelling of love unbound and overflowing. Passionately worshipping Jesus as he goes to his death. Yes, there is that lovely aroma here among us.

But other smells linger on our skin as well. Smelling perhaps a bit like Judas. Oh, but we object, we aren’t like him. For one thing, we don’t steal from the poor. But that’s not what the labels on our clothing say. Made in Malaysia, made in China, made in Guatemala, or some other country where the poor – including children – work for a pittance so that we might have cheap clothing. And grumbling about paying taxes so that the poor in our own country might have adequate food, decent health-care, a quality education, and a roof over their heads at night. Or perhaps just grumbling about the poor that surround this place, not only on Mondays, but every single day of the week as well. What is that smell that clings to us? Is it of fear? Or something not so easily named?

We come with the aroma too of betrayals large and small. Betrayals of other people – gossiping behind their backs – speaking ill of the neighbor rather than speaking well of our sisters and brothers and interpreting everything they do in the best possible light as we are enjoined to do in the eighth commandment. And betrayals of our core values – rationalizing our way out of loving the neighbor as ourselves, especially the neighbor with whom we disagree – easier yet to rationalize our way out of turning the other cheek and praying for those we deem our enemies. Betrayals of our neighbors as well by refusing to advocate for those who don’t have the same rights and privileges we do.

And we bring with us the smell of Simon Peter. Let’s get this body-on-the-cross business out of the way – it’s all too depressing. Heaven forbid Lord that you should suffer and die – to which Jesus replies ever anew, Get behind me Satan, for you think as humans do and not as God does. A sulfurous smell clings to our human-thinking bodies. And too, the smell of denial, like that of Simon Peter – our denying in myriad ways that we have been in the company of Jesus. Leaving his real presence on a Sunday morning to go out and break traffic laws put in place to protect us from one another. Speed through that light – it’s just barely red and there will be nobody in the way – and then you have an accident like I did – and a little girl is hurt – I denied the Jesus who commands me to love the neighbor as the self. I was in a hurry – self-absorbed, giving no heed to the safety and well-being of another.

Too, the smell of Lazarus’s tomb lingers about us – the smell of death – our own big death to come, for sure – but the death we deal to the planet each day – consuming non-renewable resources, pouring out carbon emissions with our cars and our airplane flights to places so much more adventurous than staying at home – warming the planet each day while leaving untold ecosystems to rot away and die. Smelling too, we white people are, of the daily death experienced by people of color because of our cooperation with institutionalized racism, we white folks reeking of the deadly smell of our obscene degree of unearned privileges – privileges that are ours simply because we have white skin.

Yes the smells, the fragrances of Mary and Martha’s dinner party all clinging to our skin – we, saints like Mary, and sinners like Judas and Peter. (I wonder whose sin was greater – Judas’s or Peter’s – or does it even matter? We’re all guilty just the same.) Yes, a myriad of smells both noxious and beautiful wafting between and among us. But another smell as well. The smell of bread, the smell of wine. The smell of Christ’s risen and glorified body. The smell of wheat ground and of yeast and of honey. The smell of grapes, ripened and crushed and fermented. Yes, the smells of things broken, shed, and given – the smell of God’s great and forgiving love for us lingering on our breath as we leave the table, a smell that drives out all smells but that of Mary’s great love – of Mary’s great love for Jesus – for Jesus whom we see daily in the eyes and limbs of others, in the eyes and limbs of the poor, the hungry, the homeless; in the eyes and limbs of those we love and of those whom it is not easy for us to love. And our love, like Mary of Bethany’s love, is extravagant, ridiculous, impractical, unconditional, costly, generous, and just plain out of this world.

Or at least that’s the way that God for the sake of Christ Jesus smells us to be – this day and unto the day of our heavenly birth.