Lavish Grace: Extravagant Love

John 12:1-8

First Church in Belfast

April 6, 2025

Artist: James He Qui

Imagine you were there, that you were invited to this dinner party at Mary and Lazarus’ house; a dinner party thrown in honor of your mutual good friend Jesus. He had just been there a few days ago and raised Lazarus from the dead. You were part of the group that unbound him from his tomb bands and now you are celebrating this miracle, this return to life.

The house still has a lingering smell of death, but Lazarus is fine now and laying on the couch. You are happy to return to your friend’s house. Right before the meal is served Mary does this strange thing. She brings out the alabaster jar of spikenard, the oil reserved for anointing the body of the dead. It must have been the one reserved for Lazarus. One bottle is worth a year’s salary. She puts the jar down and then unties her beautiful black hair. This is scandalous because a woman never shows her hair in public; this is reserved for the eyes of her husband. And then she pours the fragrant oil on Jesus’ feet, letting the precious oil drip onto the floor. You are amazed by the sight and now the fragrance. She uses her hair to anoint his feet, swishing it back and forth. You watch in amazement and fear as she caresses and touches him with such tenderness, such love. The smell of perfume replaces the stench of death, betrayal, jealousy, and even the looming violence. The preacher/poet Andrew Kin imagined it this way:

While the fragrance builds and builds, ascending like the

incense in the temple, rising from this altar of bones and skin,

skin a shade of road dust, veins the color of sorrow which you drape with your hair of midnight, letting it fall

and tumble, and as you use your hair like a towel the fragrance soaks you both, smell of awe and holiness, smell of love and sacrifice,

Into this holy scene, which you are witnessing, comes the voice of Judas, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denar and the money given for the poor? And as soon as he says it, you begin to think, “Yes, why not? This is a good question.”

But then he, Jesus still dripping with nard says, “Leave me alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor, but you do not always have me.”

What? What is he talking about? Is he going to die? How does he know? What does he mean we will always have the poor? And you are wondering, like Judas, we could have made some money from this expensive perfume. We could have bought some blankets and bread. But Jesus says no, this is right for her to anoint him for death. He knows what is coming and so does Mary.

She has been listening and has literally sat at his feet when he spoke about God’s mission. Mary risks it all in an act of passion, which is both embodied and political. She sees how salvation must be grounded in the here and now, on earth as it is already in heaven. She shows her love for God, as Rev. Chane Tetzlaff says “In a scandalously bold and confident display of affection in pouring out her heart as she mourns what Jesus will soon endure…As she lovingly prepares him for death, then finally for burial, she grieves openly and shares in his suffering.” She also revels in laying open her soul before Him and all the others. She risks condemnation and judgment for her extravagant, lavish, and extravagant gift of her soul. It is more precious than the oil she has just poured out.

Dear Ones, Mary participates in Christ’s “Passion” by handing herself over to Jesus in this intimate act of love. He accepts her and challenges Judas and all of us who think that we should hoard or sell the oil for the poor. She knows he is the Messiah so must anoint him. She re-enacted the ancient rite of anointing a king. Israel’s kings were anointed on the head but not the feet.

There are many ways to understand who the poor are or why Jesus says, “You will always have the poor.” One of the reasons I chose the hymn, Said Judas to Mary, from our UCC hymnal today, is the way the hymnist Sidney Carter explains the connection between our physical bodies and the body of Christ in verse 5: “The poor of the world are my body,” he said, “to the end of the world they shall be. The bread and the blankets you give to the poor you will know you have given to me,” he said, “You’ll know you have given to me.”

Jesus asks us to feed his sheep, welcome back the lost, or liberate the oppressed and the poor not because they are marginalized and vulnerable only but because this is where we will find Him.

Mary stands in a long line of women who are extravagant or generous givers. There is the Samaritan woman at the well whom Jesus engaged in the longest recorded conversation in the Gospel. There is his own mother of course who sang a lullaby, a hymn of revolution of how the world would be turned upset down by his birth----his mother who later would remind him about who he was and that need should be met with extravagant giving at the wedding in Cana. She reminded him that celebrations deserve our best, including our best wine. Then there is the widow who gave all her money; or the Syrophoenician woman who taught him a thing or two about his own racism, about how even the dogs and children deserve more than crumbs from the table. And of course, now Mary Magdalene, who is anointing him and will later be the first proclaimer of the resurrection

But Mary’s story is unique in that it is she who reminds us that we must be willing to be handed over in intimacy, by anointing others or allowing ourselves to be anointed. It is Mary who acts out the commandment, “Love one another as I have loved you.” Her sacrifice not only prepares him literally for death but mirrors the unconditional love He will soon make in the sacrifice of his own body.

Dear Ones, I invite you this morning to be aware of the smell of grief and fear pervading our every day lives as we try to name each and every way we are being attacked or persecuted, where we have become numb to the news about Gazans dying under yet another bombing or from hunger. Hands Off we declared in Belfast and across the globe. So many different signs pointing to so many problems, violations, attacks.

Into this world where we are all vulnerable and dying, bouncing between grief and rage, Mary reminds us that we are called to be extravagant with our love, to bring our fragrant gift or beauty to all who need it. Dear Ones, what gift or beauty are you bringing to anoint those who need it? Food? Shelter? Your signature on a petition? A kind word? A word of shared rage or grief? A Blessing? How will you meet God’s lavish grace?

May our fragrance, our small acts, float out reverberating, may it spill out to touch others reminding all of the sacred gift of life. May we give back with extravagant love.