Yesterday, March 29, the gospel reading for the day was from John 12:1-11. In this Scripture, Mary, Lazarus' and Martha's sister, anointed Jesus with perfumed oil. In my reflection on this Scripture, I wrote the following story.
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We were all gathered in the great room of Simon’s house. The men were reclined around tables and on cushions throughout the room. We women served them the food: dried dates, nuts, warm fresh bread, cheeses, vegetables from Martha’s garden and sauces. The wine flowed freely.
People were laughing and talking. As I walked around the room with my tray, I overhead conversations about families and crops and the latest politics, but the greatest topic of conversation was about the crowds gathered along the roads yesterday when we entered Jerusalem. The crowd was so great, practically smothering Jesus as everyone pushed to see him. A couple of the men got the colt of a donkey for Jesus to ride so that he could get through the crowd. They were all singing, “Hosanna! O Lord, grant us your salvation! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the son of David! Hosanna!” They were waving palm branches as if Jesus was royalty. I know that they hope that Jesus might be the long-awaited Messiah. He certainly seems to be fulfilling many of the ancient prophesies about the Messiah: giving sight to the blind, making the limbs of the lame strong, opening the ears of the deaf.
When we finally entered the city through the gate, Jesus led us to the Temple so that we might pray and give glory to God for a safe journey. But as we entered the courtyard of the Temple, it was so chaotic. Lambs were bleating. Doves were cooing. Coins were clinking. All of a sudden, Jesus stopped. In mid step, he just stopped. Even though I was a few feet away, I swear I heard him let out a growling groan. Then he ran over to one of the tables and overturned it. He began yelling, “My house shall be a house of prayer, but you are making it a den of thieves!” He continued to overturn tables, flinging coins everywhere all the time yelling, “Stop making my Father’s house a den of thieves!” He opened the gate of the sheep pen and the sheep began dispersing through the street. He opened the cages of the doves, and they flew all around our heads. People were running everywhere trying to gather up as many coins as they could grab. Bodies were dodging animals and other bodies. Jesus shouted, “You treacherous fools! Why do you cheat the innocent? Why do you steal from the poor? Get out! Get out of my father’s house!”
One of the men grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the way so that I wouldn’t get trampled. We ran into the Court of Women and out of the crushing chaos. Catching our breath, we looked around for others from our group. I ended up finding Joanna and Salome. We went to the front of the Court of Women and prayed for Jesus and for all of Jerusalem.
Continuing to walk around the room, I filled the bowls of some of the men. I went to where a few of Jesus’ twelve closest friends were eating. I heard Judas and Andrew arguing about the possibility of Jesus overthrowing the Sanhedrin. Judas was saying, “He could do it! He has the followers! Didn’t you see the crowds yesterday? They would certainly follow Jesus and do whatever he asked of them. With Jesus leading us, we can overthrow those old Pharisees and create the kingdom of Israel as it’s meant to be!”
Andrew argued in return, “But Jesus isn’t here to take over! Besides, if he goes back to Jerusalem, they will surely be ready to take him and perhaps even kill him. Remember that he predicted that he would be taken and put to death?”
As I heard them talking about Jesus being taken and put to death, I panicked. I realized as Andrew spoke that if Jesus returned to Jerusalem, the leaders would surely arrest him. And if they arrested him, they would surely put him to death. They want to get rid of him, to silence him.
I ran out into the courtyard. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. I couldn’t breathe! O God, don’t let him return to the city! What if they capture him? They will surely kill him! Please, God, make him stay here in Bethany! As I cried and prayed, I realized that there was nothing that I, or any of us, could do or say to make Jesus stay out of Jerusalem. He had to enter the city in order to properly celebrate the Passover Feast. O Lord, Yahweh, what should I do? How can I protect my Lord, Jesus? How can I face what will surely happen?
Just then, I opened my eyes, tears still blurring my vision. But something caught my eye. The moon was shining on some jars in a corner of the courtyard. Most of the jars were water jars, used to catch rain or collect water from the well. But there was one small jar off by itself. I don’t really know why, but I went over to that jar and picked it up. I pulled the clay out of the mouth of the jar and my senses were overwhelmed with the sweet scent of spikenard. Genuine fragrant spikenard. One of the richest oils of the land.
Now I know that Simon is a rich man. After all, he is a centurian of the Roman army. But to just leave a jar of this ointment out in the open was crazy. At least, I thought it was crazy.
But maybe it wasn’t crazy. Maybe the jar was meant to be here. For me. And then I knew what I had to do.
I carried the jar into the room. I walked slowly, but deliberately up to Jesus. I knelt down before him so that we were eye to eye. I held the jar and gazed into his eyes. His beautiful eyes. A brown so light that they seemed to glow gold in the light of the lamps. I held the jar up. He smelled the fragrance of the oil. Then his eyes seemed to glow even brighter. He smiled at me and touched my hand. Tears welled in my eyes. My arms and legs tingled with sparkling energy. I rose up on my knees and touched the top of his head. He bent his head ever so slightly and closed his eyes. As the tears began to fall down my cheeks, I poured a little of the oil onto the crown of his head. And then I poured a little more. And then a little more. The oil streamed down the back of his neck, around his ears, over his face. I put the jar down and began to massage the oil into his hair, his scalp. Massaging the top of his head. Gently stroking his temples, his neck, his shoulders. He raised his face to me. His eyes were closed. I rubbed the oil into his cheeks and forehead, his lips, down his throat.
Never had I touched a man as I now touched my Lord. My heart was racing. I could barely see through my tears. My throat was choked with sobbing gasps.
The room was filled with the fragrance of the perfumed nard. All were still. It was totally quiet, save for the sizzling of some of the wicks of the lamps.
When all of the oil was rubbed into my Lord’s skin, I kissed his head and his eyes and his cheeks and his hands and his feet. Then, sobbing, I got up and ran from the room.
