I’ve been asked many times about that week. A week like no other. I’ve been asked about the excitement at being swept up among those joyful crowds as Jesus entered Jerusalem, acclaimed as King. And yes, it felt pretty amazing to have been at the centre of the joy that day – we felt like we could take on the world. I’ve also been asked about that Friday, although, honestly, I don’t have much to say. To my shame I was in Bethany with the others, in hiding, awaiting news. When the news came – it still hurts now – to hear how he’d died and how we’d run away in Gethsemane – yes, we were terrified – and with good reason – but we shouldn’t have left him alone. Of course, what happened on that Sunday unexpectedly, wonderfully, changed everything – but more on that another time.
What stands out to me about that week wasn’t so much what Jesus said or did in public, but the private moments away from the crowds, particularly the meals. You see, Jesus loved eating – and he didn’t seem to mind who he ate with. He just loved to share food with people – in fact, he got a bit of a reputation with certain religious leaders who thought he should have been more discerning about the company he kept around the dinner table. He ate with sinners, they sneered. They were scandalised by the idea that God might be interested in the so-called dregs of society who were, in their eyes, beyond saving, but Jesus saw these people as broken, hurting – and certainly within the reach of God’s transforming love. No one is beyond God’s love. No one is beyond redemption – Jesus showed us that – gave us regular lessons in this as day after day, the broken and hurting, forgotten and abandoned, found love, dignity and hope when they met him. They’ve become part of the family, part of the ragtag community that Jesus formed.
We were based in Bethany that week, a short walk from Jerusalem. Martha, Mary and Lazarus were the generous hosts – nothing was too much for them when it came to Jesus, not after he’d raised Lazarus back to life. Jesus saw their home as a sanctuary, a place where he could relax, centre himself and recover from the often bruising encounters he had in the temple precincts, sparring with the religious leaders. He’d told us about these debates before, when he’d visited Jerusalem before, but it was something else witnessing them first-hand that week – it was clear they weren’t interested in debate; no, they had more sinister motives – they were out to trip him up, discredit it him – it seemed nasty at the time – of course, we had no idea just what they were prepared to do to bring him down. Each day that week, it got more intense, more difficult, and you could tell it was taking it out of Jesus. So, he was grateful for the sanctuary and safety that Bethany offered – and that he could be himself with those who loved him, who’d journeyed with him these past few years.
That night, Wednesday, it was, we were actually in Simon’s house for a meal. I don’t remember the details of the conversation – we were probably just reflecting on the latest debates we’d heard – we’d just finished our meal, and were probably in that post-meal sleepy state when suddenly Mary came in with an alabaster jar of perfume. Before we knew it, she broke the jar and poured it over Jesus’s head as he was reclining at the table – I think he was taken by surprise as much as we were. The smell was overwhelming, filling our senses. At first there was a pause – we were all a little bit in shock – but then Judas Iscariot almost shouted, “There was no need for that! Why did she waste all that perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money given to the poor.’
And then he turned to Mary – “That’s so typical of you, Mary – you’re always so over the top – and you’ve gone too far now.”
But then, Jesus, his gaze fixed on Mary, who was almost cowering in the corner, spoke quietly but with absolute authority. ‘Leave her alone. Why are you bothering her? She has done such a beautiful thing to me. You will have the poor with you every day for the rest of your lives. You can feel free to help them any time you want. But you will not always have me. She did what she could when she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial. You can be sure that wherever the Message is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.’
No one really knew what to say then. I can’t say we fully understood what had happened – we didn’t realise the significance of what Mary did that night or why it touched Jesus’s heart – not until afterwards, that is. You see, women are second-class citizens. You’re grateful to be born a man or to have sons – that’s the kind of society we live in – but Jesus disregarded all that – he had given Mary – and others too – dignity, respect, purpose and acceptance – and I think that part of her act was an expression of gratitude. She wanted to say thank you in the way that only Mary could.
But there was more to the anointing than just a sense of gratitude – and Jesus connected with this – there was grief in Mary’s face. She could see what we couldn’t, even though Jesus had told us enough times by then – she could see that Jesus was going to be punished – she realised that those in power in that temple were out to get Jesus – they wouldn’t allow him to get away with challenging the status quo in the way that he had. No, they would punish him and make him pay the ultimate price. Mary saw it in a way that none of us could – perhaps it was because she herself as a woman, knew what it was to be downtrodden – she knew the cost of trying to break free. And she knew that this would end in his death, expressing her love and compassion for him in a way that only she could. Jesus was right – it was a beautiful act, and deserves to be remembered. Whenever I get the whiff of perfume, I’m taken back to that extraordinary night. I remember her worship, I remember how much it delighted Jesus, and I wonder what beautiful thing I can do for Jesus, because I want to delight him too.
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