I don’t know about you, but over the years I’ve been to some strange dinner parties. I’ve seen good behavior, bad behavior, some serious acting out, not to mention genuine weirdness, our local specialty. And I’m only talking about myself, forget the other guests. But this gathering we just heard described stands alone. A strange woman is rubbing a man’s feet with her hair. He, the guest of honor, claims to have made a dead man live, and in case you wondered about this, that’s him sitting over there. We’ve heard story so often, the extraordinary context is a bit dimmed for us. What do we make of this?

This Gospel always seems an unforgettable glimpse into the shared life of Jesus and his intimate followers. Mary washing Jesus' feet with her hair is an image fixed in our minds. The story has a vivid “you are there” quality. You can imagine yourself among Jesus and his friends at dinner. And yet, there is something disquieting here. Mary’s action is so entirely arresting. You can intuitively feel this is a profound and holy moment. Her gesture is so beautiful. And yet, there is something disturbing in an act so extreme and intimate. We feel perhaps we should turn away from so private a moment. There is an element that shakes you deeply. There is nothing precious about it.

In counterpoise and opposition to Mary we have Judas. We learn he is a thief. He objects to Mary’s wasting costly perfume. Now we all know about Judas and we are told here that he was about to betray Jesus, though he may not have done it yet. We don’t like to stand on Judas’s side, but in this case he does seem to make some sense. Mary’s move is radical. You could say over the top. Embarrassing, really. Foot washing was the most humble of tasks. A ritual of welcome relegated to slaves. The fact that she lets loose her hair and uses it to wipe Jesus’ feet seems erotic and inappropriate now and was even more so then. It seems to be about her need, and a somewhat ostentatious display. Why not use the money for a good and useful purpose? Wouldn’t that be the more largely loving thing to do?

The preceding chapter provides background for this occasion. Martha and Mary are sisters of Lazarus. John tells us Jesus loved them all. When Lazarus becomes ill the sisters send for Jesus. But, Jesus does not immediately respond. He waits two days By the time he comes to Bethany Lazarus had been dead for four. Martha, hearing he is coming abandons her household of mourners and runs out to meet him on the road. She tells him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” This is an extraordinary statement. She can’t quite verbalize, because it’s so unbelievable, but she is saying she believes Jesus could bring her brother back from the dead. When Jesus arrives at the house Mary greets him saying, “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.” Both are statements of faith, but in Mary there is a hint of rebuke. Though she knows with certainty he could heal, it does not enter her mind that Jesus could transcend death. She is wounded that he came too late to save her brother.

Then a miracle beyond all rational expectation happens. Jesus says to Martha, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” With that, Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. From this all the rest flows. There is no doubt now about who Jesus is. Miracle worker, sage, teacher, however people chose to understand him, all is blasted away. They are in the Divine Presence. God has made himself manifest in the world in the person of Jesus. He is real, alive, and supremely powerful, limitless. His gift, the gift of life, is the supreme gift of God. God incarnate is among them.

How do we respond to this? We know God and sense God and are in relationship with God. But we respond in different ways. We relate to God in different ways. In this case with the such a physical fact before them in the person of Lazarus, the consequence is extreme. In the irrefutable presence of God, everybody begins to react. Martha, Mary, all the disciples are present. The family friends and former mourners witness this. Word spreads. The first news we have is of the Jewish authorities, who, instinctively sensing a power that is a threat to their own and knowing the Romans would feel the same way, immediately decide that Jesus must die. And so the celebratory dinner in honor of Jesus takes place knowing he is in mortal danger.

The dinner is at once an intimate gathering of family and friends but it is also a celebration acknowledging the Divinity of Jesus in praise and thanksgiving. God is among these people. His gift of new life sits and talks and moves before them. Sorrow has turned to joy. Love of Jesus and his love for them is present in a way we can only imagine. Imagine the sweet delight of being in the Divine Presence of love, filling you inside. And so, to mark the event, they share a meal with their friend. Joined together in food and drink and in love.

It seems to me there are two ways in which we tend to react to God. Power, majesty, love, and especially authority trigger responses that we’re not always conscious of. We can’t always accept the reality of who God is and who we are. Now in the certain knowledge of God how does Mary respond?

Mary makes a conscious decision to give herself entirely over to God in the person of Jesus. Her soul burns with love, responding to Jesus’ gift of her brother. Hers is not simply a spontaneous act. She has planned this. She has chosen a way. For the occasion she has gone out and bought the costly perfume. And so when the important evening comes she let’s Jesus know in her own way who she knows him to be and who she is in relation to him. And so, her entire identity abandoned, loosing everything that defines her as sister, householder, freeborn, respected woman, she takes the role of a slave. Letting down her hair abandons the dictates of respectablilty. What seems like an expression of self is in fact the opposite. It is the absence of self.

All she has to offer is herself. Not her illusions, not her personality, not her station. She let’s it all go. In relation to Jesus she knows her true humility. The gulf between them can be expressed in no other way. He is God and she a person. And yet, she is not in any way demeaned. She meets love with love. All she really possesses is herself offered in service to him in love. This is who she is. Her gesture is so natural, an outpouring of the love and intimacy between them, the perfection of their relationship. There are in divine harmony together. They have traveled to a place beyond words. Mary is reborn. She knows the truth. Divine Love is the only reality. She is alive. The room is filled with the most exquisite perfume. She is reborn.

And Judas, how does he respond? He asserts himself. In the face of God and the ultimate authority of God, he resists, he rebels. He can’t give in to God. And so, he is angry. He lashes out at Mary for wasting money. He seeks to publicly nullify her offering of love. It is foolish and ridiculous in the face of real need. The symptom of his dark condition is judgement. He judges and rebukes Mary and by implication even Jesus for participating in the scene that has unfolded in the hushed and fragrant room. He sees the truth before him and calls it a lie. He puts himself before Jesus. In truth, he hates Jesus. He can’t respond to love so he counters it with its opposite. For some time he has rebelled and resisted in the stealing from the common purse, the source that makes Jesus’ ministry possible. But now in the face God revealed before him, he wishes Jesus dead. Where Mary offered love, Judas responds with hate. Where Mary moved into right relationship with God, Judas brings chaos, discord, and violence. And yet, he puts himself forward as the sensible one, the one with his eye squarely on the mission. He knows best.

Judas lives in fear of being found out for who and what he is. Mary’s unbounded courage allows her freedom to shed her former self and opens her to love. Mary’s sole authority is Jesus, the mandate of love. Judas is his own authority, an authority founded on hate. Mary is reborn. Judas is cut off from love, cut off from God. Judas is a man already dead.

There is a conscious choice to make between love and hate, death and resurrection. For most of us we are neither entirely Judas or entirely Mary. We swing back and forth, giving in and loving, resisting and acting out. Our love of God comes and goes in our attention. We forget. The reality alludes us. Then something happens and we’re called back. That is because God calls us and calls us again. Leading us on sometimes gently, sometimes in ways that are hard to bear. But we can choose to give in. And, give in more and more.

Paul tells us, “Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ.” Like Mary, he allowed himself to know the reality of God and give into it. Whatever he thought he was, whatever he accomplished, the proud identity as a righteous man, all was nothing in the face of Christ. He prays the he may “gain Christ and be found in him, not having any righteousness of my own but one that comes through faith in Christ.” For faith we can read the word love. If we let ourselves go, see ourselves in our limitations in a just humility love will fill the void. Christ is just waiting. If we join with Mary in that longing for the divine beloved new life awaits.

As the last days of Lent approach perhaps it is a good time to be mindful of the Mary and the Judas in ourselves so that we might in ways great and small die to ourselves so that we might be resurrected into new life with Christ. And so we pray that we can open our hearts wide and give ourselves over to the divine beloved. So we can join with Paul in “forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.

Amen.