The Nard Commission

Dear friends in Christ,
grace to you and peace, from God our Father, and His Son, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

So, next week is Palm Sunday, and the following week is Easter, yes? And as much as I enjoy those grand festival days of the church, I will tell you today, as I have told you before, that my favorite worship service of the year at Our Savior’s is the late service on Christmas Eve, held in our small sanctuary. The mood is quiet, but not sleepy; Christmas joy is richly present, but in a more reflective way. I love that hour of worship more than any other.

There was one Christmas Eve, however, when a bit of drama ended the day. After the candles had been extinguished and the worshippers had left, I was collecting my things from the pulpit when the ushers came in and told me that something rather remarkable had just happened. While the ushers were bringing the evening’s offering to the safe, a man approached them and asked if it was too late to share his gift. Of course not, it’s never too late for that! He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of currency and handed the ushers one thousand dollars in cash, and walked out.

As they reported this, my mind raced to a multitude of questions: Who was this man, member or friend? Where did the cash come from; casino?, drug deal?, theft?, a child’s piggy bank perhaps? Why didn’t he give a check instead of cash, and therefore receive a tax-deduction? Or why didn’t he purchase groceries and gifts for a needy family in our community? Should I gather a task force to investigate the incident; we could call it “The Manger Money Study Group?” Do I write a “Gift Acceptance Policy?” Do I report this gift to the police, to the church board, to the bishop?

And while all these questions are turning, turning in my mind, the usher is still speaking, and the last thing I hear her say is this: “Isn’t this gift wonderful, Pastor Steve? Isn’t this gift just wonderful?”   Yes it was; it was a beautiful, extravagant, grateful gift from an anonymous man on a quiet Christmas Eve. It was a love offering is what it was, and it was very wonderful indeed.

I mention this because of the gospel lesson that stands before us this morning. In real time, it was just six days before Jesus would be nailed to a cross in Jerusalem. Already he was on his way to the Holy City to die, but first he had to stop in a small village called “Bethany” to share a dinner with some good friends. Bethany was hometown to Lazarus, and his sisters Mary and Martha. If their names sound familiar to it’s because they pop up several times in the gospels. Mary and Martha had an argument one evening when Jesus was joining them for dinner. It seems that Mary sat at Jesus’ feet and listened to him teach, while Martha was toiling in the kitchen, and she wanted Jesus to scold her. They’re upset again when their brother Lazarus becomes gravely ill and they send for Jesus, but it takes Jesus three days to get there, and by then, Lazarus had died. When Jesus visits the grave, he weeps at the loss of his friend, and then he raises Lazarus from the dead.

That’s the backdrop for our scripture lesson today, when Jesus is having one final meal in the home of this family with whom he has shared so much.   Maybe they sat around and laughed at that petty argument Jesus had to settle. Maybe Jesus asked Lazarus what it was like that day he died, and met God face to face. Maybe they ate in silence, or maybe there was singing; the gospel writer doesn’t tell us. What he does tell us is that, inexplicably, Mary stands up and does a dramatic thing; four dramatic things, actually, and each of them was scandalous.

•Mary brings out a jar of perfume; “nard” it was called, expensive stuff imported from the Orient, and she pours it over the feet of Jesus. Scholars say it was probably a pint, and that the cost exceeded one year’s wages. One year’s wages; how much would that extravagant foot-washing stunt cost you? 30,000 dollars? 70,000 dollars? More?

•The second scandalous act occurred when Mary rubs Jesus’ feet with her hands. A woman would never touch a man in public in first century Israel, not even her husband, not even holding hands. Yet Mary massages the dusty, weary feet of Jesus, and in so doing, the air is filled with the sweet fragrance of the nard.

•Then, perhaps most outrageous, she lets her hair down, out of the bun that was wrapped atop her head. Only a prostitute would do such a thing in public, and she might have been stoned to death for doing so, yet Mary takes this risk.

•And finally, she kneels at the feet of Jesus and wipes the nard, and the grime, and the tears she had cried; she wipes it all away with her hair.

The disciples watched from a distance, astonished at what they saw. Others who had gathered peered in through the open windows and they gasped too! Immediately, the tongues began to wag in criticism. Judas, the disciple, was feigning disgust because the nard money could have been given to the poor instead of wasted in this way. But Judas didn’t care about the poor; he was the treasurer among the disciples, and also a thief, skimming the treasury for his own purposes.

The religious purists were feigning moral disgust at Mary’s provocative actions, yet through their hypocrisy, they surely stared at her in lustful desire. Should they call the religious police? Should they gather a task force to study such sensual behavior; they could call it “The Nard Commission.” Or should they just watch and enjoy?

Undoubtedly, Martha and Lazarus chastised their sister for embarrassing their houseguest. Perhaps they, too, were worried about what the townspeople would do when the news of this scandal spread.

But Jesus saw this action for what it was; an act of loving, compassionate devotion from a longtime friend. “Leave her alone” Jesus announced. “Don’t you see that she bought this ointment for my funeral, and she is paying her respect to me in this way?”

It is an act of love is what it is. It’s an act of unselfish servanthood and worship. And ironically, five days later, and just three miles away in Jerusalem, Jesus would gather with his disciples, to share a final meal with them. And now Jesus takes a bucket of soap and water, and kneels before his disciples and washes their feet. And isn’t this even more scandalous? The Son of God, the Messiah, humbly kneeling before 12 adult men, including the one who would hand him over to death, and wash their dusty, grimy feet! It was an example of love, and servanthood, that the disciples were commanded to carry to the world.

This gospel story has been passed down through the corridors of time, and now it comes to us. How do we respond to this dramatic description of Mary and the anointing of Jesus’ feet?   With criticism, or disgust, or chilly indifference? Because I can tell you that the same Jesus that raised Lazarus to life has given us new life. The same Jesus whom Martha and Mary fed at their table now invites us to eat and celebrate at His table. The same Jesus whom Mary anointed now asks us to anoint the feet, and the hands, and the hearts of others. How do we respond?

Well, I see the answer to those questions every day. I see the mountains of food you have brought to share with those who have not. I receive the phone calls from The Salvation Army, and Plymouth Christian Youth Center, and countless others, expressing gratitude for you generous gifts. I constantly hear the buzz in this community about how great our children and family ministry programs are, even for those who are not our members. I watch visitors come into this church on Sunday mornings and be welcomed like they are long-lost family. I see worshippers put gifts under a tree, or gifts in a KFC bucket, or gifts in anonymous envelopes, simply because they can. This Jesus whom Mary anointed cannot receive our human touch in person, and yet he can. Do you remember what he said? “In as much as you have done it for one of the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you have done it unto me.” And you have done that. And you continue to do that. And the Nard Commission cries “Stop! Stop!” but the King of Creation says “Thank you, carry on.” Thanks be to God. Amen.

©2010 Steven Molin