Cicada Shells

John 20:1-18 (NRSV).  Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb.  So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him." Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb.  The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first.  He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in.  Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb.  He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus' head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself.  Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes. 

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you had laid him, and I will take him away." Jesus said to her, "Mary!" She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabbouni!" (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, 'I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'" Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord;" and she told them that he has said these things to her.


You can’t imagine what we had been through. Jesus was dead.  Crucified.  The worst of deaths physically, like hanging on the end of a rope for hours.  The worst of deaths--personally, socially.   For the worst of criminals, the outcast of society, tarred and feathered, Letter A on your dress for adultery, crucify him, you fraud, you cancer on society.  

And we had put all our eggs in that one basket.  Jesus.  Especially me.  It was I who said.  You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.  I was the leader, or at least one of the leaders.   The kingdom of God was at hand.  But now.  Well, the future was cut off.  DEAD.

And then Mary Magdalene came on the third day.  We were still sleeping in our beds.  There’s some sense of comfort in sleeping in, and she came to me and John and said some grave robbers have taken the body.    But let me tell you about Mary M. There was something about her. She could see into Jesus' eyes and know him. More than any of us, she knew his compassion, his forgiveness. She knew how "alive" he was. And the boldness of her devotion---well, it out shown ours last Friday. We ran. she stayed.

But now this crazy story- grave robbers- she was a woman, right, and so by definition, not be trusted to have accurate recall of events.  We all know there is a reason that women were not allowed to be witnesses in the court. Mary M really loved Jesus.  He had totally turned her life around, and so, I’m sure her emotions clouded her --- rationality. 

Nevertheless, we loved her too and well, we humored her.

Ah, Peter. Yes, well, Peter and I have an interesting relationship.  He often called me Mary M., just to distinguish me from all of the other Mary’s.  I was the Mary who Jesus had healed from seven demons.  After that happened, well, I and several other women followed Jesus and the rest of the disciples and helped take care of them. 

In another time, we would have been considered their equals. Yet, in that time, we kept our place. But, with Jesus.  Well, with Jesus it was different. There never seemed to be a distinction.  In fact, at times, it seemed as though Jesus and I were closer to each other than he was with the others--with the male disciples. We were very close. 

On that horrible day, when he was dying on the cross, I was there along with his mother and only a few others.  I was there and witnessed life draining out of his body.  His very life...

But, back to the story...that morning it was dark when I went to the tomb.   There had not been time before sundown on Friday--the start of the Sabbath--to anoint his body.  (This was something we women did.  We never anointed men when they were alive--only when they were dead.)  So, that morning, I went there in the dark to finish what we should have done before Jesus was placed in the tomb. 

I arrived there just before the dawn.  You know that time of day, when the light is just beginning to break through the darkness.  It’s such a hopeful moment.  Yet, when I arrived at the tomb, I was stunned.  It was open! The stone had been rolled away! 

My first thought was grave robbers.  (They were becoming a big problem.  They would steal valuables buried with the bodies.)  I was heartsick.  I immediately turned around and ran back to get the disciples--well, to get Peter and John.  I trusted them.

Well, we ran.  John got there first,  and lo and behold, Mary M was right.  The tomb was empty,  John got there first, but he stayed at the opening, but I rushed right in.  No surprise to you who know me.  But it was a strange site for grave robbers.

Let me compare it to cicada shells.  You know those cicadas. The 17-year locusts that come out of the ground.   As a kid I would go through the woods and collect those shells they would leave behind.  I liked them because they were evidence that a miracle had occurred. They looked dead, but they were just shells. Everyone one of them had a neat slit down its back, where the living creature inside of it had escaped, pulling new legs, new eyes, new wings out of that dry brown body and taking flight.  At night I could hear their high song in the trees.   If you asked them, I’ll bet none of them could tell you where they left their old clothes.

How like Peter, a man, to use a cicada as an example!  Me, well, I might have used a butterfly--that beautiful creature that emerges from this brown, dingy cocoon.  Cicada shells.  Oh, Peter (shaking her head).

But that is what we found in that tomb.  Two piles of old clothes.  Mary didn’t even see it.  She was crying--too emotional.  She just saw the wide-open tomb and ran for us.  “The body is stolen”-   Grave robbers. 

Only why would grave robbers have bothered to undress him first?  When I went in, I saw the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head was rolled up in a place by itself.  Why go to that trouble if you’re stealing the body?

Me, emotional?  Well, maybe. 

Finally, he admits it.  He WAS emotional.  We were ALL emotional.  Over the past few days we had witnessed our beloved Jesus tortured and mocked and, finally, crucified on the cross.  We were devastated.  And, on top of that, we were terrified.  Why do you think I went to the tomb in the dark?  We were afraid that we would be next. 

None of it was making any sense.

Because, at that point, all we saw was the empty tomb. All we saw was a cicada shell. Really, we saw nothing, but emptiness and absence.    It was a pretty fragile beginning.  A mighty fragile beginning for a religion that has lasted 2000 years.  Resurrection had to be more than an empty cicada shell, empty grave clothes and empty tomb.

As hard as it is for me to accept it, it seems that the rest of the story belongs to Mary.  Thanks be to God for Mary M! 

At the time, Peter and John didn’t know that I had quietly followed them back to the tomb.  I followed them to see what they would find.  They first saw ME when they came out of the tomb and I was there crying.  After they returned home, I looked inside.  What I saw then might have knocked someone else to their knees.  There were two angels.  Dazzling white.  Dazzling bright.  Yet, it’s as if I didn’t even notice their presence.  My focus--my ENTIRE focus--was on the fact that Jesus’ body was gone.  Gone!

They, then, spoke to me, and asked me why I was weeping.  I told them why.  Could they have even known how devastated I was?  How grave robbers had taken the most precious thing, the only thing we still had--the body of our Lord and Savior?  Why would they do something like that?

I turned to leave. As I did, well, there was this man standing there.  He looked like a gardener.  It seemed right to assume this.  After all, Jesus’ tomb WAS in a garden. 

He, too, asked me why I was crying?  (Why is everyone so focused on the fact that I was crying?  Really!)  So, I was a little irritated when I told him.  When, I accused him, really, of stealing Jesus body.  I don’t think I actually believed he had taken it.  I was just so emotional.  And, then, he said my name.  Mary.  When he called me by my name, by my own name, by my very own personal name, well, then, I knew.  I knew it was him.  He was alive.  Jesus was alive! 

I said, “Rabbouni.”  (This means teacher, it’s a title used by students speaking to their rabbi.)  In that very moment, when he called me by my own name, I knew his voice and I knew I was being called--called into a new kind of relationship.  That I was being called as his apostle.  Called to share the news--to tell the others that he was alive!  And that’s what I did. I was the first to tell them that Jesus had risen!

He had outgrown his cocoon (smiles at Mary), which was too small a focus for the resurrection. The risen One had people to see and things to do. The resurrection starts with the cry of grief, an empty place, but it’s all about a familiar voice.  It’s tiny… like the fingers of a newborn. Seemingly insignificant.. Like the grain that lands in the clam’s open mouth.  Often overlooked...like a gardener.  

What happened in the tomb was entirely between Jesus and God.  For the rest of us-- for you, resurrection, new life, really began the moment the gardener said “Mary.” 

When that happened...when the crucified and risen Jesus called me by my name, well, I could feel God’s love poured into me--God’s unending, infinite love.  It’s the same for all of us--when we hear the voice of boundless love speak to our loneliness, when we hear the voice of overflowing comfort speak to our hidden hurts, when we hear the voice of soaring challenge speak to our meaninglessness and busyness, when we hear the voice of abundant life speak into our cocoons of grief, fear, anxiety, illness, depression, and addiction---when we hear God’s voice speak to us, well, that’s when the resurrection begins for each one of us. 

Whatever it is that causes you to want to curl up in bed in a fetal position and hope it all goes away.  Whatever it is, whether it’s the threat of terrorism, fear-mongering leaders, overwhelming busyness, fractured relationships.  Whatever it is. 

Today.  This day.  This Easter day we are offered more than cicada or cocoon shells, more than an empty tomb.  Our crucified and risen Lord comes to us in our baptism, calls us each by name and claims us as his own. (Walk to baptismal font.) “You are my child.  You, my beloved, are sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked with my cross forever.

And in the bread and wine of Holy Communion, our crucified and risen Lord calls us each by name and offers life and promise.  (Walk to altar.)  This is my life, my loves.  My deepest desire is to give it to you.  Take and eat.  Take and drink.  This is all I have, given and shed for you. 

Called by name. Given in love.  For you.

Amen. (Said together.)

(Preached on Easter Sunday, March 27, 2016, with Pastor Mark Docken.)

Chaos and Darkness

John 20:1-18 (NRSV). Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus.Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

Chaos.  That early morning in the darkness, it must have felt like chaos.  For three years, Jesus and his followers had walked the roads and streets of the countryside and the cities, teaching, learning, ministering.  From the north to the south, they lived together as families do, arguing, forgiving, loving.  The disciples, men and women, had developed a deep bond with each other and had been fully yoked to their rabbi, Jesus. 

And, then, in just a few short days, everything had fallen apart.  In just a few short days, everything had disintegrated.  Disintegrated into chaos.  Chaos and darkness.

But when chaos and darkness happen, well, that’s when God seems to be at his best. 

We just heard this.  In the stories we just listened to, we heard God at work in chaos and darkness.  Out of chaos and darkness, God forming all of creation.  Out of chaos and darkness, God delivering his chosen people from slavery and abuse at the hands of the Egyptians.  And on and on and on in the stories of our faith.

Chaos and darkness.  It is in chaos and darkness that God seems to be at his best.

It was no different that early Easter morning.  In the midst of the chaos and darkness of the past three days, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb, preparing to anoint the dead body of her beloved Jesus. And there, she found the large stone covering the entrance removed.  Grave robbers.  As if there wasn’t enough chaos. 

We know the story so well.  She ran to get Peter and John.  The three of them returned to the tomb and discovered that the body of Jesus was, in fact, gone.  Peter and John returned home, beginning to believe, but yet not fully understanding. 

After they returned home, well, Mary remained. And, as the day began to dawn, Jesus called her by name.  Mary.  And she knew who he was.   Out of chaos and darkness and into the light.

In the decades and centuries to come, this why the early Christians, as they celebrated the passover of Jesus from death to life.  As they celebrated what we now know as Easter, they began at sundown, which, for them as Jewish Christians, was the beginning of their day.  These early believers would wait in vigil in the darkness.  And as they waited, they would tell the stories.  The stories of their faith.  The stories of God at work in chaos and darkness.  The stories of God delivering his people out of it and into the light.  The stories of God’s faithfulness. 

And, then, at the crack of dawn, as the light was just beginning to break into the darkness, the baptisms would begin.  All those who had been fasting and learning for the 40 days of Lent, in intense spiritual preparation for this very moment, they would be fully immersed in pools of water, drowning their past lives and emerging into new lives as claimed children of God.  Members of God’s family.  Members of the body of Christ.  Out of chaos and darkness and into the light. 

Four years ago I was deeply engaged in my work in labor and social justice along the border in south Texas.  I had been doing this work for over twenty years and had relocated from Southern California to Texas to continue it in an area where there was little justice for people of color.  After two years of working nearly 7 days a week, we were just beginning to see progress.  And, then, everything fell apart.  And I was laid off. Chaos and darkness.

But, in the midst of it, well, God was at work.  Although, at the time, surrounded by it, I was no different than Mary.  I couldn’t see God at work. 

Yet, because of that layoff, I was pushed, literally pushed, by the Holy Spirit back to seminary to finish my studies.  And, two years later, to end up right here in this very place, preparing to enter into full-time ministry in the church.  In looking back now, I CAN see God at work in the midst of it.  God’s hand moving me out of chaos and darkness into the light. 

Where in your life has God been at work in the midst of chaos and darkness?  Perhaps you can’t see it now.  Perhaps you may never see it.  Yet, somewhere, in the midst of it, you can trust that God is present there.  Working. Faithfully.

Tonight, as we now move into reaffirming our baptism and as we receive communion, we can trust that God is at work in our midst.  At work forming and shaping us so that we, like Mary and those early Christians, might go into the world and proclaim Christ in our words and our actions of love.  Supporting the Holy Spirit in transforming our world into a new world.  Not one of chaos and darkness.  But a world of light.  A world transformed by the light of the resurrected Christ.

Amen.  That is, yeah, yeah, so shall it be!

(Preached for Easter Vigil, March 26, 2016.)

Dropping the Facade

Luke 19:29-40 (NRSV).  When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen,saying,

“Blessed is the king

    who comes in the name of the Lord!

Peace in heaven,

    and glory in the highest heaven!”

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

Wait a minute.  Hang on just a second, before I get started.  I want to take a picture.  I want to take a selfie for my Facebook page.  Pastor Mark, will you come up and take a picture with me so I can post it?   Cool.  A picture of me and my supervisor!  But wait.  You’ve gotta make a selfie face. 

Hey, I have an even better idea. How about all of you??  What about the entire congregation? What if I stand up here and turn around and all of you can smile and wave and be in my selfie?  Ready?  Make the selfie face!  Perfect.

Now, let me post these pictures on my home page. 

Great.  Now everyone can see how great my internship is going--that I have a great relationship with my supervisor and with the congregation.  They’ll think I’m doing really well and that I’ll be a really great pastor.

Now everyone can see what a success I am! Because that’s what everyone expects, right?  That’s what the world expects, what our culture demands.  That we should all be successful, be the best, be number one.  Pull yourself up by your bootstraps!  Be the winner!

And, it’s not only us as individuals, but our country, too.  That we should be the best and the biggest and the most powerful in the world.  We hear it everyday on the news, don’t we?  “Make America great again!”  Losers don’t count, especially in this season of March Madness.  Who, after all, cares about the team that lost in the NCAA championship game last year?  Gotta be a winner.  Not a loser.

The situation wasn’t much different in New Testament times.  Both of our texts for today are set in the midst of a similar setting--the Roman empire.  In the previous hundred years, this powerful empire had grown dramatically and was experiencing a period of unprecedented political stability and prosperity--a time called the “Pax Romana.”  The Romans believed they had brought about a “golden age” for all of humanity. 

It was a time when social standing was everything--that the most admired were those who were strong and self-reliant, the ones who “pulled themselves up by their bootstraps” regardless of their humble beginnings.  Humility was a flaw.  To be successful in this world meant that you did what it took to get ahead. 

But, even though some enjoyed this time of peace and prosperity, it had come at a price to many others.  The empire generated deep feelings of hatred and contempt among those it had conquered--in particular, the Jews.  As one ancient historian wrote: “The Romans rob, they slaughter, they plunder--and they call it ‘empire.’ Where they make a waste-land, they call it ‘peace.’”

Under the empire, Israel had been subjected to many burdens placed upon them, both financial and political.  They grew increasingly angry and frustrated. It is no wonder that their hope for the Messiah translated into a desire for a powerful king who would free them from hated Roman rule.

Could Jesus have been that kind of king? Yes.  There’s no doubt. But this wasn’t the plan.  This wasn’t God’s plan.

Instead, in our Philippians text today, in the words that come from a hymn in the early church, we read that “he emptied himself by taking the form of a slave and by becoming like human beings” and then “he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” 

He emptied himself.  He humbled himself.  Jesus came to earth completely vulnerable.  Empty.  Humble.  Vulnerable. 

Over this Lenten season, in our Wednesday worship and in the Sunday morning adult forum, we’ve been exploring the history and ritual of the Easter Vigil service.  We’ve connected this ancient ritual to our understanding of our worship today--an understanding that is deeply grounded in the teachings of Luther’s Small Catechism.  Over and over, we’ve explored in different ways the themes of death and resurrection that are present in both the Easter Vigil service and in our own worship today.  Themes of loss and gain, brokenness and wholeness, dying and rising. 

I’ve challenged many of you to be vulnerable as Jesus was--to look into places of death, brokenness, and loss in your own lives and to identify where God has been or may still be at work, transforming those dark places into new places, places of beauty and light. 

And I’ve challenged some of you, in particular, confirmation students and mentors, to be vulnerable enough to share these really hard things with each other.  It is not easy.  I know that.  It is not easy to drop the facade.  To drop the Facebook facade that everything is perfect.

It is not easy for us.  It was not easy for Jesus. 

As we begin our Holy Week journey today on Palm Sunday, there is much joy and celebration.  With the early disciples, we celebrate Jesus’ kingly entrance into Jerusalem.  With those disciples, we also journey through the rest of Holy Week, knowing, perhaps better than they did at the time, what lay at the end--that Christ would humble himself and take on our brokenness and that of the whole world.  To be a king in a way that the world did not then and does not now understand.  A king who was fully humble.  Fully open.  Fully vulnerable.  

There is a hymn in our hymnal, which we’ll sing more fully this week.  However, the opening verse reads like this:

Will you let me be your servant,

Let me be as Christ to you?

Pray that I may have the grace

To let you be my servant, too. 

When we go against our culture, which tells us to be strong and self-reliant. When we are like Christ and we drop the facade...when are fully vulnerable with each other, open and honest, sharing all of our heartache and brokenness, well, we are being Christ to each other.  And, as we know from that early Easter morning, that when we are vulnerable just as Christ was vulnerable, well, amazing things happen.  This we know. And on this, we rest secure.

May God grant you a blessed Holy Week as we enter it in all vulnerability, learning more about our Savior and, in turn, more about ourselves.  Amen.

(Preached on Palm Sunday, March 20, 2016.)

The Woman with the Long Hair

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” (John 12:1-8 NRSV)

I knew that visit was different.

Perhaps, it didn’t seem very different.  Jesus had visited our small village often.  It was convenient for him.  You see, Bethany, was so close to Jerusalem, only a mile and a half away.  And it was so small and secluded, just a few hundred people living across the Mount of Olives, east of Jerusalem.  So peaceful.  Full of palm trees rustling in the breeze coming out of the valley.  Hidden away from the bustling noises of the nearly 50,000 people who lived in Jerusalem.  Bethany was a beautiful place.  And it was only an hour’s walk from Bethany into the city.  So, it was a perfect place for Jesus to come and rest and be refreshed. 

He would stop to visit my sister, Martha, and I.  Or he would stay overnight in our village, sometimes with Lazarus, our brother.  Or with our neighbor and friend, Simon, who Jesus had healed from leprosy.  

But, that visit.  Well, there was something different about that visit.  Something different from all of the rest. 

It had only been a few weeks since Jesus had raised my brother, Lazarus, from the dead.  I think you know the story.  How Lazarus had become sick and we had sent for Jesus, who was across the Jordan, east of Jericho.  The road from Bethany to Jericho was 45 miles--a three day’s walk.

We sent for Jesus when Lazarus became sick, thinking that he would respond immediately.  That he would come to heal our brother, who we knew was one of his closest friends.  Yet, he didn’t come until several days later.  Until after our kind, sweet, quiet brother was already dead and in the tomb for three days.  

I’d anointed his body for the burial.  Our family had accumulated a large amount of anointing oil--over a pound of pure nard.  Or, as you measure it, over 12 ounces. 

Nard was a rare oil.  It was imported from Nepal, northeast of India.  We imported nearly all of our spices from the Far East, but nard--well, nard was something special.  Along with frankincense and myrrh, nard, made from the spikenard plant, was very rare.

Because it was so rare, it was also very expensive.  We had saved up small quantities of it, so that we might use it to anoint the bodies of family and friends for burial.  We were so frugal in our use.  Over time, we had accumulated a pound, which was a large amount--an amount that if sold in the marketplace would bring half of a year’s salary, which in your currency was nearly $30,000.  

We were not wealthy people.  This was the most expensive thing we owned.  It was very precious to us.  I kept it in an alabaster jar, stored away in a small cupboard.  Only Martha and I knew where it was kept.

After Lazarus died, I was nearly inconsolable with grief.  The professional mourners in our village had long since left, yet I continued to grieve.  I was so distraught over his death.  But, even more than that, I grieved that Jesus, in whom I had trusted and believed and who loved Lazarus like a brother, had not come when we called.  And there was no message.  Nothing.  Lazarus had died.  So had my faith in Jesus. 

And, then, he came.  My sister, Martha, greeted him with an accusation, in such a loud voice I could hear it from inside our house.  “Where were you?  If only you had been here, Lazarus would not be dead!” 

I went outside.  I was crying.  When I reached Jesus, I crumpled at his feet, sobbing.  He looked at me.  And, then, he, too, began to cry.  He started to walk to the tomb where Lazarus was buried.  We followed him.  When he arrived, he ordered the stone removed from the entrance.  Then, in a loud voice, he called for Lazarus to come out. And he did.  Alive.

Jesus had raised my brother from the dead.

Things began to change from that point.  The story spread.  Large crowds of people began to follow Jesus and his small group of disciples.  Crowds numbering in the thousands.  It was as though this sign--this raising of my brother from death to life--this was the sign the people needed to truly believe that Jesus was the Messiah to us for thousands of years.  It was him!

The more people saw my brother, the more the story spread.  And the greater the crowds became.  Our religious leaders began to feel threatened.  You see, Jesus had not hesitated to challenge them.  He had not hesitated to stand up to them and to publicly accuse them of corrupting our beliefs.  They hated him.  And, then, when Jesus said he was the Messiah and they saw Lazarus alive, and the crowd of believers growing--well, things began to happen.  Their hate turned into action.  They made a plan, a plan to kill both Jesus and Lazarus.  A plan that even involved Judas, our friend and one of the twelve.

But, at the time Jesus came to our house on that Saturday evening, six days before the Passover, I didn’t understand all of this.  You have a saying--that hindsight is 20/20.  That’s very true.  I understand everything now.  But, then, I didn’t. At least not fully.

Yet, I could feel that this visit was different.  There was something in the air.  Tension, sadness, excitement? All of these wrapped into one? It’s hard to name, but I could feel it.  I could feel it just like I feel the wind blowing.  And, perhaps, it was the wind that blew into me that evening, that breathed in me and caused me to do what I did.  

You see what I did was completely improper.  No woman of good standing would have let down her hair like that.  No woman of good standing would have even considered anointing a man with oil.  Men anointed men.  Kings anointed kings.  Women--well, women only anointed dead men and dead kings. 

Yet, Jesus never seemed to care about these rules and conventions. He never seemed to see me, a woman, in any way that was different from from any man or from anyone else.

So, as Jesus and Lazarus and the others reclined around the table after dinner--a dinner served, of course, by my dear sister, Martha--as they reclined there, I went to that small cupboard and I took out that alabaster jar that contained everything of value to us. 

And I broke it open and poured it onto Jesus’ feet.  Not his head, but onto his feet.  As a slave would have poured oil onto the feet of her master.  And, then, I let down my hair and I used it to wipe Jesus’ feet. 

Perhaps, my gestures were too intimate.  Perhaps, they were too extravagant.  Yet, in that moment, I looked into his eyes and I knew that they were right.  And, in that room filled with the beautiful fragrance from the oil, I knew that I was deeply loved by him. I felt like the bride hearing the bridegroom speak the poetic words to her from Song of Songs: “Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates with pleasant fruits, fragrant henna with spikenard, spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with every kind of incense tree, with myrrh and aloes, and all the finest spices.”

The reaction from the others was immediate.  Judas--that betrayer, that non-believer--led it, condemning me for using all of this expensive oil on the Jesus’ feet, instead of selling it to help the poor.  As though I had never helped the poor in our village. 

But you know what that’s like--when you give wholeheartedly to help the poor or the hungry and are immediately criticized by those who talk about helping others, but do nothing about it.  It seems that good and true actions always bring immediate criticism. 

Jesus’ reaction was immediate, too.  He told Judas to leave me alone.  And then he said these words, words that I didn’t understand then, but do now.  “This perfume was to be used in preparation for my burial and this is how she has used it.”  I didn’t know then what I know now--that we would never have had the opportunity to use this oil to prepare Jesus’ body for burial.

Jesus said something else, something that may seem confusing.  “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”  Those of with him, we knew what he meant.  We understand that he was quoting only part of a verse from Deuteronomy, a verse that reads in full, “Poor persons will never disappear from the earth.  That’s why I’m giving you this command: you must open your hand generously to your fellow Israelites, to the needy among you, and to the poor who live with you in your land.” (Deut. 15:11, CEB)   

We understood at least this much then.  But there was so much more to understand.  And that’s why this visit was so different.  Because, from this visit things began to happen that allowed me and the others to understand why Jesus had come to earth.  It began with this visit. 

You see, the very next day, Jesus would ride a donkey into Jerusalem, into the crowd of thousands gathered from the countryside to celebrate the Passover and to celebrate this man about whom they had heard so much.  And then, just as quickly, to turn on him and crucify him. 

In hindsight, I now understand everything.  I understand that Jesus generously and abundantly gave his own life on the cross for me and for you.  Generously and abundantly.  Sparing no expense.  

And I also understand that I should live and serve just as he did--giving generously and abundantly of myself and my gifts to serve others, especially those in need. 

That’s why this visit was so different.  May you go and do the same.