Mary’s Extravagant Gift

A sermon by Lanny Peters

Pastor, Oakhurst Baptist Church

The Fifth Sunday of Lent: March 28, 2004

Isaiah: 43: 16-21

John 12: 1-8

When I was a boy, I spent much of the summer barefoot. Even when it was often inconvenient, such as when you had to sort of run and hop across a steaming asphalt road, it was worth it. Being barefoot was a sign that it really was summer and you did not have to go to school or many places where shoes were needed. At the end of the day, my feet would be grimy and weary, and it felt so good to stick them in some water and clean them good. In the Middle East during the first century, at the end of every day your feet would look and feel that way. Most folks wore only sandals and walked everywhere they went; so thoughtful hosts always provided for travelers a way to wash their dirty, tired feet at the end of the day.

But as we heard in our Gospel reading today, Mary took this tradition to a rather extravagant level. The setting was in the home she shared with her sister Martha and her brother Lazarus. Jesus had frequently visited them. When he was there, he was very much "at home." This particular visit was infused with emotion because of what had happened the last time they were together. Then Jesus had been summoned because Lazarus was very sick, only to arrive too late and receive the news from Mary that Lazarus had died. Jesus wept at the news. And then he dramatically raised Lazarus from the dead.

On this occasion, Jesus and his disciples were on their way to Jerusalem for Passover. Jesus had become a controversial figure, and they all suspected there could be trouble in Jerusalem. These friends receive them into their home and provide for them some welcome hospitality. Martha did what she knew best; she fixed a grand meal in honor of Jesus. The disciples and his family were there at the table amazed to be with Lazarus. Once dead, he now looked more alive than ever. They no doubt had questions for Lazarus. “What is it like to die? What is it like to be reborn?”

Mary must have watched her brother eating and laughing and enjoying life and looked at Jesus who had made it possible. Suddenly, she arose, went to her room and returned with probably the most special thing she owned. Mary took out a vessel of expensive, perfumed oil—used only on important occasions. Mary quietly moved behind Jesus Taking his tired and callused feet, she touched them and covered with the wonderfully fragrant oil. What a tender and sensuous thing it was. Then she wiped the excess with her hair. The whole room was filled with the fragrance of the oil, and it seemed like this act enveloped the whole company. It surely surprised everyone, including Jesus, and even Mary.

What she did was unthinkable. A respectable Jewish woman would never unbind her hair in public. Mary did not carefully weigh the alternatives. She was too caught up in loving Jesus to be concerned with her own scandalous behavior. It was spontaneous, extravagant act of affection and devotion.

But not everybody saw it that way. Judas Iscariot speaks up. He says that much of that precious perfume was worth about three hundred denarii. Given that a denarii was about a days wage for a laborer, what we have here is Mary pouring on the feet of Jesus, approximately a year's income for the average person. Judas makes an excellent point that it could have sold and been given to the poor instead of being wasted.

He is a good liberal and is the voice of reason and practicality. And one would think that Jesus would agree, given his tendency to speak out on behalf of the poor himself.

The writer of the gospel tells us in an aside that Judas did not really care about the poor and in fact, had been stealing from the disciples’ common purse, but Jesus does not mention this. Jesus says, “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.” Jesus realizes what Mary has done is a prophetic act. Kathleen Norris has said of this: “Maybe monks and poets know, as Jesus did, when a friend, in an extravagant, loving gesture, bathed his feet in nard, an expensive fragrant oil, and wiped them with her hair, that the symbolic act matters; that those who know the exact price of things, as Judas did, often don’t know the true cost of anything.”

This brings to mind two works of literature. Most of us know O' Henry's short story, The Gift of the Magi. Jim and Della, a poor young couple, lived in a sparsely furnished little flat. Having little of this world's goods, they were proud of two of their possessions—Jim's gold watch, a family heirloom, and Della's long brown hair. Christmas was at hand, and neither had the money to buy the other a gift. So Della sold her beautiful hair and with the money bought Jim a platinum fob chain for his watch. Jim bought a present as well—a set of jeweled combs for Della's hair. And to pay for the combs, Jim sold his watch. What they discover is how much they are loved by each other.

Another great illustration of our text is Babette's Feast, a short story by Isak Dineson made into a wonderful film by Danish director Gabriel Axel. The setting is a small village on the coast of Denmark many years ago. Two spinster sisters provide leadership for a small Protestant sect, which was founded by their now dead pastor-father many years before. The group has dwindled to eleven sour-faced, self-righteous, elderly people filled with piosity and suspicious of each other.

One stormy, rainy night Babette arrives at the door of the sisters. She is drenched, exhausted and needing refuge. She is a middle-aged refugee from France bearing a letter of recommendation from an old friend of the sisters. The letter simply says, “Babette can cook."

Babette ends up staying 14 years with the sisters, cleaning and cooking for her own room and board. Then comes the exciting news that a lottery ticket, which a friend in France has renewed for her every year, has won 10,000 francs. The two sisters celebrate her good fortune but begin to grieve what they believe will be the leaving of their friend, Babette.

What Babette does next is an exuberant expression of love and gratitude. She proceeds to give an extravagant gift to the sisters and the small group of pious elders. She asks permission from the sisters to prepare a meal in honor of the 100th anniversary of their pastor-father's birth. Furthermore, she wants to pay for this with her own money. Reluctantly, the sisters agree.

The eleven members of the church and a few other guests are present at this feast. As the cold wind howls outside Babette treats them all to an incredible, gourmet dinner of turtle soup, caviar, quail, pastries, champagne and rare aged wine. It is unlike anything the village has ever seen. After the feast Babete reveals that she was once chef at a world-renowned cafe in Paris. The sisters are aghast to discover that she has spent her entire 10,000 francs on the feast.

At first glance it would seem that this extravagant gift is wasted on an unappreciative group of pious sour-faces. But, that's not the way it turns out. The gourmet dinner has a transforming effect. The amazing grace of turtle soup and caviar creates a space in which old feuds are settled, friendship and love are rekindled, and metanoia and koinonia are experienced.

In Isak Dinesen's words: "Taciturn old people received the gift of tongues; ears that for years had been almost deaf were opened to it. Time itself had merged into eternity.

Long after midnight the windows of the house shone like gold and golden song flowed out into the winter air."

(From Lectionary Homiletics, March , 2004.)

Babete’s extravagant gift was one of genuine love. Jesus’ experienced Mary’s gift just this way. Jesus cared deeply about the poor as we see consistently in his life and teachings. When he declares, "The poor you will always have with you," it is not an excuse to ignore their plight. If anything, Jesus showed us how to live in such a way that that the poor are truly with us, not as objects of our charity, not as forgotten fringe players; but truly with us, with our fellowship, with our mission, integrally related to all we do and are as a family of Christ. As Ron Baesler says, “In this way Mary's action is a challenge, a call to ministry: to be with the poor as she was with Christ, to construct your fellowship in such a way that they are welcomed and valued as participants in the church's ministry….The poor you will always have with you, is not an excuse for neglect or patronizing. It is a call to solidarity, to be with those on life's edge, united in pain and in the promise that God is doing a new thing, forming a people that might forever declare God's praise.” (Isaiah 43: 16-21)

Mary is the first one that seems to realize that in Jesus God is doing a new thing.

When Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, it created such a stir that he came to the attention of those high up in power that were less impressed than they were threatened. After this, we are told that there was a plot brewing to kill him. Mary sensed that things were coming to a head. This kind of expensive perfume was used only on special occasions, one of which was a burial. She knew somehow deep in her soul that Jesus would not be with them much longer. Mary may have been the first to really get it. Just like the woman in a parable Jesus once told, she realized the kingdom is like a treasure hidden in a field. After seeing the treasure, nothing else matters.

Her sacrificial gift came from a prophetic awareness of the cost of what Jesus was willing to sacrifice for love-even his own life. Gail O’ Day has said, “She gives boldly of herself in love to Jesus at his hour, just as Jesus will give boldly of himself in love at his hour…The vision of a community shaped by love and grounded in gratitude is first enacted by a female disciple who has no claim to that position.”

Note: Sermon ended with Karen Peters singing from balcony: “Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small; Love so amazing so divine, Demands my soul, my life my all.”  (From the hymn When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.)

Invitation to Communion

This is a table of remembrance. At his last supper with the disciples, Jesus asked them to remember him when they ate and drank this meal. But this is a meal of remembrance in another way as well. Each Sunday during Lent, we have been recalling one on Jesus’ last words from the cross. Today, we heard the story of a criminal who was hanging on a cross beside Jesus. In that most horrible circumstance, he recognized who Jesus was and asked, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus told him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” This is a table of remembrance for at this table, we also ask Jesus to remember us.