Text: John 12:1-8
In our gospel reading today, Mary presents a sensuous gift to Jesus as a way of offering thanks for Jesus' resurrection of her brother, Lazarus. She wets Jesus' feet with her tears, dries them with her hair, kisses them, and anoints them with them with very expensive perfume. Like a pouting child Judas Iscariot objects by pretending he would have preferred that the perfume had been sold and the profits given to the poor – maybe even a street person. That sounds good but Judas didn't mean it. Judas was what used to be known as an Indian giver. In today's lection, John could have been soft on Judas, saying he was "ethically challenged" or lacked "honesty enhancement," but he didn't. He called Judas a thief—exactly what he was. No need to pretend otherwise.
Judas' pretended concern was an attempt to cover his pilfering. As the Gospel narrator points out, it was pure pretense. Judas was greedy, it was a fatal flaw in his character and let to his terrible act of treachery. Instead of kissing Jesus' feet in thanksgiving like Mary, Judas will kiss Jesus cheek so the Roman guards know which one to arrest—the ultimate act of betrayal. The stingy spirit expressed by Judas is as small and mean as Mary's was expansive and giving. It's okay to be extravagant in our generosity. That's what Mary was doing. It was a beautiful act of sacrificial generosity.
Some years ago, there was a small tribe of Native Americans who lived in the state of Mississippi. They lived along the banks of a very swift and dangerous river. The current was so strong that if somebody accidentally fell in, they would likely be swept away to their death downstream. One day this tribe was attacked by another hostile Indian tribe. They found themselves literally with their backs up against the treacherous river. They were greatly outnumbered. Their only chance for escape was to cross the current, which would mean sure death for the children, the elderly, the weak, and the ill and the injured and likely death for many of the strong.
The leaders of the tribe huddled up to devise a plan. The logical thing, the reasonable thing, the expedient thing, the sensible thing was to leave the weak ones behind. They were going to be killed anyway why risk losing the strong in a futile effort to save the others? That was the rational answer but they couldn't do it! Instead, they chose to be extravagant in their generosity and they decided that those who were strong would pick up the weaker ones and put them on their shoulders. So, the little children, the elderly, those who were ill or wounded, were all carried on the backs of the stronger. With great fear, they waded out into the rapid waters of the river and they were met with a great surprise. To their astonishment, they discovered that the weight on their shoulders enabled them to keep their footing through the treacherous current and to make it safely to the other side. Their own extravagant generosity saved them. What they did was not the reasonable thing to do, but it was the right thing to do. The point is: If we who are strong and comfortable and well-fed, will reach out in generosity and help somebody in need, we will be surprised to discover that the life we save may also be our own.
In words and action, Jesus taught us that sometimes it's O.K. to be extravagant in our generosity. Speaking of generosity, I heard about a woman who was a "reverse tither." She lived on ten percent of her income and gave away 90% to worthy causes to her church and to religious schools and colleges, and orphanages and hospitals. She was extravagant in her generosity and she was one of the happiest persons you'll ever meet.
In a city church the pastor was confronted for the umpteenth time with the presence of a street person. A woman. At the end of the day. A busy day. He was heading home. But he was dedicated. It was not within his power to dismiss her, all bent and worn, war-wounded from the city front. She wanted a handout. That much was clear. But maybe she needed more, a place to sleep, perhaps. And were the shelters full? He knew they were. He was tired and wanted to go home. But he took seriously his calling and her presence as God's child needing a Christ-like touch. If only he could, he prayed silently and quickly. If only he could mediate such a touch. How many times he had prayed such prayers. How many times did it seem that they fell on deaf ears. If only once he could see result, some decisive and long-lasting life change. He greeted her. She looked at him, said she wanted the minister. He was trying to remember how much he had in his wallet; he would like to giver her at least a ten; he was hoping she would not need a place to stay as his resources were depleted, and the regular shelters he knew were full. All this flashed through his mind as she told him what she wanted. "Pray for me." Said she wasn't hungry. Said she had a place to stay. Said she had a bag full of "stuff." "Pray for me." He never saw her again after that day. Her only request was "pray for me." Physical appearance aside, she wanted prayer. She wanted anointing. She wanted a rich, fragrant spiritual blessing to drench her head to toe. "The poor you always have with you," the Master taught. And the Christ we won't have if we forget the fact of the Spirit. The most decisive work is done when a desperate life is drenched in the presence of Christ, by God's grace, in the Spirit with eternal hope. In this case it was through a simple prayer.
What about you--do you need a spiritual blessing? Do you need a prayer? Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead--that's why Mary anointed his feet--it was an act of thanksgiving. Christ has the power to renew your life. Don't pretend that prayer is meaningless. Don't pretend that you are so insignificant that Christ has no miracle for your life. God loves you. Surrender your heart to the love of Christ. Let the Spirit of Christ anoint your life with a fragrant spiritual blessing. Open your eyes and see how Christ has blessed you. Then walk on in thanksgiving for what God has done.
A third grader went home and told her mother she was in love with a classmate and was going to marry him. "That's fine," said her mother, going along with the gag. "Does he have a job?"
The little girl replied, "Oh yes. He erases the blackboard in our class."
Don't pretend that your job is unimportant. God has called you to serve God in the world. That means you are called to live a Christian life where you work--in the home, in the office, on the factory floor, in the school-house, on the farm, on the open road. Wherever we work, we represent Christ to the people around us. When they look at us, they see Christ. Don't pretend your job is unimportant. God has put you where you are for a purpose: To serve God where you live and where you work.
A group of children, confined to a basement play area on a rainy day, decided to "play church." One child was the preacher, another the organist, a couple kids were ushers, and the rest served as the congregation. One little guy said, "What about Jesus? Shouldn't Jesus be in church?" The rest agreed and the child who made the point was made "Jesus."
"What do I do?" he asked. "How do I play Jesus?"
He was told by some of the older children that they would tie him up to one of the support posts in the basement, pretending that it was the Cross. Then the others would call him names, throw things at him, and be mean to him in other ways. The little boy thought about that a minute and then said. "I don't want to play Jesus; let's just play church." As the Lenten season draws to a close and we confront once again the Crucifixion of Jesus, we are reminded of the cross each of us is asked to take up and bear in the name of Christ. To leave out the Cross is just to play church. Let's not pretend otherwise.
Next Sunday we will enter into Holy Week. It is a week when Jesus demonstrated the greatest generosity possible. As he himself put it: "No greater love hath a man than this, that he lay down his life for a friend." Now, that's the kind of generosity Christ wants from us. Christianity is not an easy religion. This is not a child's game we are playing. Real lives are at stake. Real sacrifices are required. Let's not pretend otherwise.
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Dr. Jon Burnham preached this sermon at St. John's Presbyterian Church in Houston, Texas on March 21, 2010.
