Lent 5, Year C
Isaiah 43:16-21
Psalm 126
Philippians 3:4b-14
John 12:1-8
Lent is nearly at an end, and as we approach the sacred, emotional days of Holy Week, I find myself thinking about last things, the final moments before something in our lives changes forever. The Last Supper, which we will commemorate on Maundy Thursday, is the final act of fellowship between Jesus and his disciples before his Passion. Many churches will also commemorate the Seven Last Sayings of Jesus—his final words uttered on the cross before he breathed his last breath.
I have been thinking particularly about the last interactions Jesus' disciples had with him. By this point in John's gospel, a secret plot had already been set in motion to have Jesus killed, a plot that Jesus knew about but did not share with his followers. Judas Iscariot's last moment with Jesus was a betrayal with a kiss. Peter, in his last moment with Jesus, draws his sword to defend him. Mary, Jesus' mother, and John are presented to one another by Jesus as mother and son. Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus prepare his body and lay it in Joseph's own tomb.
Today, we read about Jesus' last moments with Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. We have no scriptural evidence suggesting that any of them were present for Jesus' fateful entry into Jerusalem, nor for his trial and death. This was it. These were their last known moments with Jesus in the flesh.
I can still remember my last moments with people I have loved and lost. This June will mark 15 years since my grandmother passed away, and I still remember the night it happened. The last week of her life, my mom and I knew the end was close, and we did everything we could to make her more comfortable. My grandma loved classical music and opera—a love she passed on to me—and so to fill the silence of waiting, we would sit together and listen to music. I lit candles in her room to help us forget the sterile smells of dressings and medication on the bedside table. On the night she passed away, the candles lit up the dark room, Maria Callas's arias played softly, and a wordless sense of peace passed between us. As the night wore on, I eventually had to go to bed, but I remember my mom waking me hours later to let me know my grandmother was gone. It was 4:44 AM. I think of her still 15 years later when I see 4:44 on the clock.
Did Mary know this dinner with Jesus would be the last time she would ever see him? John offers us no insight into her thoughts. All we know is that she does something remarkable here: she opens a jar of perfume that would cost the average worker a year's wages and uses her hair to spread the perfume on Jesus' feet. Judas scolds her, asking, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" John interjects with an editorial comment to the reader, stating that Judas didn't actually care about the poor and was, in fact, stealing from the common purse the disciples shared. But Jesus himself made no such accusation, even though he probably knew of Judas' illicit activities. Instead, Jesus states that this is the precise purpose for which Mary bought the perfume, "so that she might keep it for the day of my burial." Then he says one of those phrases that seems very curious coming out of Jesus' mouth: "You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."
This statement feels incongruous and flippant, given Jesus's tremendous emphasis on uplifting people in need throughout his ministry. However, we need to look at the events in the previous chapter when we examine Mary's actions and Jesus' reply. Just before today's reading, Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead in perhaps the most moving miracle recorded in the gospels. Jesus arrives in Bethany and meets the sisters Mary and Martha, whose hearts are broken with grief. "When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, 'Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.' When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved."
Both Mary and Martha tell Jesus, "If you had been here, my brother would not have died." But notably only Martha expresses her faith that Jesus is the Messiah and will raise the faithful on the last day. Mary is swallowed by her sorrow. "If you had been here, my brother would not have died." Her words are a lament without hope. Jesus had gotten there too late.
John does not explicitly say how the mourners reacted after Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, so we don't know if Mary responded with fear, gratitude, confusion, joy, or some mix of these. However, we do know that her sorrow would not be the last thing she would remember from this encounter with Jesus. Her last moment would be an act of singular love, gratitude, and devotion. When she remembered Jesus, she would no longer remember the bitter tears of hopelessness she had shed before him earlier. Her last memory with him would be the sweet perfume tenderly poured out for the one whose powerful love destroyed death itself.
"You will always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me." The brokenness of this world ensures that the first part of this statement will always hold true. But imagine if each of us had one chance to encounter Jesus in person. What final act or word would you want to take away from that profound meeting? What would you want to remember at the foot of the cross, just as the Savior gives up his life for all of us?
Our Easter season is a time of deep gratitude and joy for Christ's renewal of all creation. But these pivotal weeks leading up to it help us find the words to thank God for making everything new. May those words rise like a pleasant perfume and gild all our works and thoughts, lingering long after they are said and done. Amen.