This sermon has a rather Jane Austen title: I’ve called it “Passion and practicality”. And like Jane Austen, I have made up what the characters involved might think. My starting point is the extraordinary thing that Mary did in anointing Jesus while he was staying in Bethany. It’s based on the gospel narrative, but from there on in it’s my invention, and may be a long way from the truth. Nevertheless, I hope some of it will speak to you, as you consider how passion and practicality interact in the lives of three of those involved: Martha, Judas and Mary.
MARTHA’S NARRATIVE
Who’d have sisters? Mary really is crazy! I love her dearly, but she is entirely off her rocker. She did something today which I could never have done in a thousand years. You see, Jesus came here to Bethany, and so naturally we invited him to dinner with us. After all, it’s wonderful when your dear friend can also be your honoured guest – and he brought us honour too by coming to be with us.
Not that we could ever begin to repay him for what he did for our brother Lazarus! But of course we did what we could. I planned a good nourishing and sustaining meal – well, I know how he goes on, day to day, out with people and never really knowing whether he is going to go to sleep hungry or not. So I must say I raided our stores rather, and even asked some of our friends if they could help us out a bit. I got the room ready to receive him. I did all the cooking and preparation, and then, when everyone was here – however many was it? – I was the one who brought it in and served everyone.
Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t begrudge the food, and I don’t begrudge the time and effort spent in making all of them comfortable. I mean, someone’s got to do it, and I’ve given up expecting that dreamer of a sister of mine to do very much in that regard. No, it’s my job, and I’m good at it. I can manage the economics of the household; I know how much things are worth, how much we can spare, and how to get things organised. I enjoy it.
I haven’t forgotten what Jesus said to me that other time, you know: “You are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better…” How could I forget those words? They really rankled. I was – I admit I was – totally stressed on that occasion. It wasn’t until afterwards that I realised that what I shouldn’t have done was complain about my sister. She isn’t the same as me; it’s like, her priorities are different, she sees things in a different way. Jesus says it’s a better way, and that’s still hard to take, because, how can I change my nature? And anyway, hasn’t someone got to do these things?
Sorry, I didn’t mean to come out with all that. I was going to tell you what Mary did this evening. It was much worse than last time. Last time, all she did was sit listening to Jesus while I did all the work. This time it was just unbelievable extravagance. I still can’t get over it. It’s a miracle I didn’t lose my temper, but in some ways this was just too extreme. I was gobsmacked – I still am!
You see, we had, over the past I don’t know how long, got enough together to get a large quantity – actually it was a whole pint – of very expensive perfumed oil. It was a kind of oil made from the roots of valerian. And when I say expensive, I mean one ounce of it was worth eighteen denarii. The amount we had was worth the equivalent of a year’s wages. You work that out!
And Mary just tipped it all over Jesus’s feet – the whole bally lot – every drop of it. And then she wiped his feet with her hair. What good was that? Just a handful would have been quite enough for a very delightful foot cleansing and massage. I must say the house smelt a good deal more fragrant than when Jesus was last here, when dear Lazarus had been, you know, dead for four days. Do you know why we had that oil? We had it set aside so that when Jesus died, somebody – hopefully not us at all – but somebody would be able to do his body due honour. But where is it now? It’s – all – gone – into the floor.
The only real objection was made by Judas. He was absolutely flabbergasted. But when he said what a waste it was, Jesus told him not to criticise her. I have to say my heart went out to him a little bit – though of course I knew better than to say anything. Jesus made it very clear that he thought the thing she had done was beautiful. Well, as I say, there’s no way I could have done it, beautiful or not. There’s lots of times I don’t really understand what’s going on in Mary’s head. But today was more extreme even than usual. What on earth was it got into her? What was the passion that drove her to such an act?
JUDAS’S NARRATIVE
I’ve had it. I can’t take any more. That Jesus. Who does he think he is? He’s certainly not who I thought he was, and tonight he’s shown himself up for good and all. You wouldn’t believe what happened. I tell you, I feel betrayed. We’ve all been betrayed. Everything we thought we were going to accomplish together has been shown up to be a lot of insane and pretentious words with no reality behind them. We all thought Jesus was the one who was going to change life for good – bring in a golden age of justice and peace and plenty – get rid of these Roman despots and restore Israel to its rightful independence and its true glory. And what is he?
When I think of the sacrifices I’ve made in these last years! I was called by Jesus to follow him, you know. And I did. I left everything and followed him with hope in my heart. My work – I left it. My family – I left it. Countless friends have rejected me. But I believed in Jesus, and I thought it was all going to be worth while. Not now, though. Now I have seen who the real man is behind all those fine words. And it would seem he’s just as self-interested as the rest of us. Apparently, it’s OK to waste things as long as they are wasted on him.
You know I care passionately about the welfare and prosperity of our nation. How long we have suffered at the hands of one conqueror or another! And how we have been sustained through all these centuries by the promise of a saviour, a Messiah who would save us from our troubles and usher in a new millennium. I hate the fact that so many lives are held in, cramped by foreign domination. I want freedom for all, and prosperity. I want the widows and orphans to be cared for, and the poor to be lifted out of their poverty. It shouldn’t be too hard. All we need is a real leader to inspire and organise people so that they will unite in rebellion.
After that it would be easy. I know it can be done. I’m a practical man. All it requires is a careful management of resources. I’m speaking from experience. I know about money matters. At least Jesus had the sense to put me in charge of the disciples’ money. I know how to save, and how to get a good deal. I know the value of things.
And Jesus has talked so much of the way the poor are going to be blessed, and so on and so forth, that I really thought we had him on our side. But here, tonight, we’ve had a real indication of how much he cares for the poor when he gets the chance to enjoy himself. We’ve been here at this dinner party, guests of Lazarus, a great friend of Jesus. His sister, Mary, who clearly has a very soft spot for Jesus, wastes a whole pint of pure spikenard by pouring it on his feet. That’s a colossal waste. It was completely irresponsible. It was worth a whole year’s wages. If they couldn’t think of anything better to do with it, it could easily have been sold – I’d have organised that, no trouble – and I could have set up a fund to distribute the proceeds (or at least some of them) to many, many poor people.
And if Jesus cared a button for the poor the way he says, he’d have stopped her. Or at least he would have said something afterwards to make Mary understand what a dreadful thing she had done to waste all that perfume – and that above all he didn’t need that kind of attention.
When I saw it happen, I looked across at Martha – she’s got a sensible head on her shoulders – and I saw the look of horror on her face. So I said, “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor?” And what Jesus said after that horrified me. Not only did he shame me in front of everyone, not only did he justify the waste – and why? because it did him honour – but to cap it all he made it quite clear he wasn’t going to change anything. “You will always have the poor among you,” he said.
Well, when I heard that I could hardly think straight. What a betrayal, eh? And when I heard a group a chief priests discussing how they’d like to silence Jesus once and for all, I suddenly thought, “Yes, I can see where you are coming from now. What if I was to go to them secretly and discuss some practical possibilities?”
MARY’S NARRATIVE
My heart has been full to breaking. Jesus, my darling Jesus, has been in our home tonight. Martha, bless her, arranged everything so perfectly, and Jesus was there radiant with life. We wanted to honour him, but his presence there with us was an incomparably greater honour for us. And I was suddenly filled with an enlightenment that artists speak of: of knowing at the same time both the fulness of life, and also its impermanence. As Jesus reclined at our table, full of grace and beauty, I couldn’t get it out of my heart that I was going to lose him. He was going to be taken from me, indeed taken from all of us.
Scarcely knowing what I was doing, I did something that is usually not done until after someone has died. But I couldn’t help behaving as if he had already died. I suppose it was my way of trying to come to terms with that terrible sense of loss that was already overshadowing me. I anointed him with our precious oil. I was swept along by such a passion of mingled love and grief that I was in no state to consider the practicalities of what I was doing. My whole desire was to honour him in the best way I could. No way would have been too good for him.
I heard my sister gasp, and while I made myself part of the honouring by wiping his feet with my hair, I heard, as if from afar, the voice of Judas complaining what a waste it was. But then Jesus rose to my defence, appreciating what I had done. He knew instantly how I was feeling, and that it was something I just had to do – that honouring him was not so much for his benefit as for mine.
Now, dear Jesus, you who fill my mind, and my heart and my soul, and whose very presence quietens all my longings, when you are taken from me, and I can no longer honour you in the same way that I can now, may I at least have one sweet memory to give me comfort.
MY NARRATIVE
As I think about that extraordinary story, and try to work out what it means to me, I find I cannot resolve the questions that confront me. I feel I must be in the presence of something deeper that I can fathom. Of course I accept the words of Jesus, Mary’s act of love should be respected, and I do see her as a role model, as someone who gave Jesus her all. And I know how far from that I often feel.
But you could argue that it’s only because Martha had the practicalities so well under control, that Mary was in a position to express her passion. Or is that putting the cart before the horse? When Martha complained about her sister not helping, I suppose what was really happening was that Martha was filled with a sense of the importance of what she was doing in looking after everyone. So she felt, in a way, morally superior, and justified in complaining. And what Jesus did was to rectify the balance, and give respect to those who have other priorities. He certainly made it clear that Martha was in no position to feel morally superior.
But we can’t brush away the fact that Jesus said Mary’s was “the better way”. Now whether Jesus was truly disrespecting those who are involved with the practicalities of life, or whether he was kind of exaggerating to make the point – which you could say was one of his techniques – it’s hard to decide. There’s no suggestion that Jesus didn’t enjoy the supper that Martha served, or that she should stop bothering with all that and come and listen to him. Thinking back to the wedding in Cana, we can be sure that Jesus did have a respect for practicalities.
And then what about Judas? Well, I have to admit that there’s a part of me that says, “Yes, well, he was right, wasn’t he?” The perfume could have been sold and the proceeds used charitably. Judas no doubt had a great sense of moral superiority. It seems as if Jesus is telling us, “It’s no good getting on your high horse and criticising others just because you feel you are in a morally superior position.” If that leaves us to conclude that we have no right to make moral judgements, that doesn’t seem to be very helpful – or healthy – either. What is in no doubt whatsoever is that it is a very dangerous thing to act against others in the firm belief that you are right. It may have to be done, but it is nevertheless dangerous. Our history is littered with tragedies so caused, both at the political and at the personal level.
So it seems as if these two, passion and practicality, have to exist side by side. There is probably a Martha and a Mary in all of us. But they have to learn to live with each other with mutual respect and tolerance. Otherwise we are in danger of tearing ourselves, and each other, apart.