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John 12:1-11

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.”

When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus.

There’s a lot here. First, Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. Ok. THAT’s HUGE! Then he is going to be killed, AGAIN. But all that doesn’t stand out to me though it is important. I don’t interpret this passage as most do, so I apologize in advance. Mary. Mary and her super fancy super expensive perfume. It smells earthy and musky. It’s sexy. I’m sorry, but I look at this as a sensual moment between two people who love each other. She is washing the feet of the man she loves with her hair with a very special oil. In front of everyone. It’s an intimate moment. Yet that is not what is shocking to Judas, it’s about the expense. Then Jesus sticks up for his lady.

Jesus isn’t worried about the money. He is letting Mary have her moment. Because he knows he is not going to be around much longer and they will not have many more of these moments. He didn’t want to deprive her, or himself of this special moment. He knows she will be suffering a great loss soon enough. If we knew when we were going to die, and our loved ones didn’t, wouldn’t we be in pain for them as well? Wouldn’t we do anything and everything we could to cherish or even create special moments? We don’t have to know we are going to die, or live in fear, to treat our loved ones with extra kindness and respect. Do it now. Stick up for a moment because it may be the last, allow it to happen as sensual or intimate or weird it might be. Additionally, it may seem counterintuitive during Lent, but I think Jesus is saying, expensive stuff is ok. Don’t laugh! And this isn’t a message to my husband, truly! Once, once in a while, we must honor and appreciate fine things for ourselves and our loved ones because it is part of the moment, the special memory, not a material thing. We will always have the poor, but we won’t always have each other, and we most certainly will have our memories, so let’s make them special, like Jesus did for Mary.

Psalm 142 

¹ I cry to the Lord with my voice; *
to the Lord I make loud supplication.
² I pour out my complaint before him *
and tell him all my trouble.
³ When my spirit languishes within me, you know my path; *
in the way wherein I walk they have hidden a trap for me.
⁴ I look to my right hand and find no one who knows me; *
I have no place to flee to, and no one cares for me.
⁵ I cry out to you, O Lord; *
I say, "You are my refuge,
my portion in the land of the living."
⁶ Listen to my cry for help, for I have been brought very low; *
save me from those who pursue me,
for they are too strong for me.
⁷ Bring me out of prison, that I may give thanks to your Name; *
when you have dealt bountifully with me,
the righteous will gather around me.

My spirit languished today. My spirit wallowed. I was weighted with tears and sorrow. I’m not sure why today the anvil came back out and oxygen became tar because it had been a “good couple of days”  (those of us who suffer from depression may recognize that feeling, for the lay-person it means you “didn’t cry and actually showered”).  Then it hit me: I don’t have a job. My work, which I love, which defines most of who I am has ceased to exist. No one wants to buy sell, or rent a home right now. No one needs me to sponsor a concert or buy an ad. I haven’t had a meaningful conversation with my beloved team in days; I haven’t put new keys in a new lock for weeks. One thing is to fight feeling sad when things are ok but another is to fight sadness when there is death, illness, hatred, and lack of purpose. My right hand did not know me, as the psalm said. I had “no place to flee to and no one who cares for me” which meant, to me, there was no “work” no clients needing me.
 
The word “languish” means “to lose or lack vitality; grow weak or feeble” or/and “suffer from being forced to remain in an unpleasant situation” and this is exactly what was happening to me today. I was weak with being forced to remain in an unpleasant situation (as we all are). Then I was done with feeling sad because I genuinely and for real asked God to help me out of my prison and restore my faith, as I have done a number of times before during my depression. After that supplication I  felt His love and my faith, and somehow, I  physically got  out of bed and roasted a chicken for family which is truly my purpose. I went to put music on my phone and ‘siri’ decided to play Keepin’ The Faith by Billy Joel. I read a text from a client who is so excited to move into her first new home, asking me how I am.  And then there was email from Deacon John asking me to write a reflection about “bringing me out of prison” and giving thanks. So, yes, you can wallow and languish  and feel sad, but try to ask for help. You will be lifted out of the darkness--all you have to do is decide to ask.