Lent 5 Year C

This Sunday, called Passion Sunday, marks the point at which the focus of Lent shifts. During the first four weeks of Lent we reflect on the days Jesus spent in the desert, and consider themes of repentance, turning to God, and spiritual growth. Today we enter Passiontide; the focus turns to the events of Christ’s Passion and death, reflected in the Collect we prayed before hearing today’s readings:
Merciful God,
look upon your family as we travel to the foot of the cross:

Today’s gospel passage strongly focuses our thoughts on the theme of death... and on how to live.

Initially the setting feels familiar, a comfortable scene. The disciples and Jesus are gathered in a friend's house for a meal, with some taking up their familiar roles: Martha serves them, and Lazarus, the host, reclines with Jesus and the disciples. But the familiarity is soon disturbed.

Mary makes her way to the place where Jesus’ feet rest, and, kneeling down, she takes a jar of costly perfume made of pure nard, and pours the oil over his feet. She wipes his feet with her hair, and the whole house is filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

Throughout John’s gospel the evangelist works to bring readers to an understanding of who Jesus is; to recognise that he is Christ, the Son of God, and John’s telling of the anointing in today’s Gospel speaks this truth.

We are told it is six days before the Passover, a foreshadowing of the cross that turns our thoughts to death, Jesus’ death. And we are also reminded of another story of death, for Jesus and the disciples are in the home of Lazarus whom Jesus raised from the dead. This miracle had led many to recognise Jesus’ power, even his power over death and to become his followers. The authorities who increasingly see Jesus as a threat, begin plotting to condemn Jesus to death, and at the same time, in verse 10, we are told they plan to kill Lazarus. They want to silence Jesus and his followers.

When Mary anoints Jesus, the fragrance literally fills the house with scent. But the beautiful scent would also have carried the scent of death. Anyone who had buried loved ones would recognise this smell, and the fragrance would have been extremely evocative, as smells so often are. This house, where they’d gathered to eat together, becomes filled with the scent of death.

What could have prompted Mary to do this?

Anointing like this would have been reserved for coronations or burials, and so John, in telling this version of the anointing, points to Jesus’ forthcoming death and burial, and to his being the Son of God. But could Mary really have understood this? I’m not sure. Her action feels intuitive, a matter of the heart; I have a sense that for her it felt right. And so, prompted by gratitude and faith, she offers to Jesus (and to us) a gift of great beauty, generosity, intimacy and love. And might it be possible that Jesus, receiving this gift from Mary, received the seed of an idea of his last act, the washing of the disciples’ feet. For it is certainly true that one act of generosity and love seeds others.

But not everyone is happy. Judas challenges Mary and raises a question that was perhaps in the hearts of others gathered there. Surely she has done something morally wrong! For that nard could have been sold to feed the poor, and instead she has wasted it!

Jesus defends Mary, ‘Leave her alone! You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’

You always have the poor with you...

It can seem that the political and economic systems of the world continue to forge inequality, continue to maintain systems where the needs of the poor are only addressed insofar as they don’t disrupt the economic systems that ensure growth and good returns for the rich. What does it mean to fight against poverty when we face this truth: the poor you always have with you?

I’d like to interrogate this phrase, that could be used to justify apathy or inaction in the face of poverty, to account for outrageous expenditures, even sometimes in luxurious church buildings, to criticise movements working for systemic change. If Jesus says, “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me,” — so the argument goes — we should attend to spiritual needs over, above, or instead of tangible needs.

But this is problematic, because, when we read the Gospels, we cannot separate Jesus from the poor. Jesus brought good news in tangible ways to the oppressed and vulnerable. Throughout his ministry he challenged oppressive political and social systems. In his mission, he recognised and responded to the immediate needs of those around him. To focus on Jesus is to focus on the poor; to work for the kind of kingdom that Jesus established is to challenge systems of oppression, and to always side with the vulnerable.

Interestingly, the Greek word, ἔχετε, can be indicative (you will have) or imperative (have, or keep). Perhaps this statement, which has been used to justify disregard for the poor, is actually a direct command to his followers, to us, to always have Jesus’ mission for and among the poor at the forefront of our thoughts and actions. Not, ‘You will always have the poor with you’ (and so what can you do?), but ‘Always have the poor among you’. Never exclude, ignore, deny them. In all that you do, always work for their good, as Jesus did, as God did, when walking the earth, and be the hands, the feet, the eyes, the ears, the voice, the body of Christ on earth today.

I’d like to end by considering our first reading this morning in relation to what I’ve been saying.

This passage from Isaiah is spoken to the people in exile, and speaks of God’s faithfulness; no matter how terrible things are nothing will overwhelm them; not war, nor water, nor wilderness. But this people’s dreams have been shattered, lives have been lost, they have no security, and are filled with a deep longing for home.

Dreams shattered; lives lost; no security; deep longing for home.
Our news is filled with stories of groups of people in situations such as this today.

Dreams shattered; lives lost; no security; deep longing for home.
For the people to whom this word was given, the narrative of their history reminded them of God’s faithfulness, and the retelling of these stories remains fundamental for Jewish people. But Isaiah also says, ‘Forget the former things. See I am doing a new thing.’

This text speaks to us when we lose hope, when we cannot find God in the present struggle. This text speaks to Lent, when we come face to face with humanity’s rejection of God, and with humanity’s brokenness. This text speaks and says, in these places of hopelessness and disorientation, hope springs forth; ‘Do you not perceive it?’

Wars continue; lives are shattered; home is a far-off dream; and the poor cry out.

God’s call to us is to be people of action, working that all may flourish. To be people who dare to look beyond the present suffering, and be generous in acts of love, and trusting in God.

This can be through long standing commitment to organisations and movements that seek to respond to suffering, but it can also be, like Mary, listening to our inner voices and allowing them to speak to the present moment, and sometimes acting more intuitively, or even impulsively. We are called to be people of hope.

We are called to seek out these promised tender shoots of hope. It is so easy to race past, and in our busyness to miss the signs of God’s work, and lose hope. The challenge is to remain turned to God, to stay alert to God who does a new thing, within us, and beyond us. Already it emerges. Can we see it?