Fifth Sunday In Lent

JOHN 12: 1—8

¹Six days before the Passover, Jesus arrived at Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. ²Here a dinner was given in Jesus' honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. ³Then Mary took about a pint^[a] of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus' feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

⁴But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, ⁵"Why wasn't this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year's wages.^[b]" ⁶He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.

⁷"Leave her alone," Jesus replied. " It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. ⁸You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.”

Last night I went to dinner at the Pearsons’. And the fragrance filled the house. As soon as you got off the elevator, you could smell the corned beef and cabbage. It was the fragrance of a good meal, of good friendship. It was a comfortable smell, a smell of invitation. And the fragrance filled the room. That is what the scripture says about the home in Bethany (a suburb of Jersualem.)

Just the week before, there had been a different smell in the house. In this house was the stench of death. Lazarus, Mary’s brother, and Jesus’ dear friend, had died. You may remember the family had sent for Jesus to help. Jesus seemed to take his sweet time getting to his ailing friend. When he arrived, it looked as if all was lost, that he was too late.

“Open the tomb, unbind him and let him go…” was our Lord’s commandment.

“But Lord,” they said, “he has already been dead for four days and there is an awful stench.” (As the King James Version says, “He stinketh.”)

Was that the odor that had permeated the house, the smell of death and decay?

I’m sure that many of you had food spoil this week, as a result of the power failure turning refrigerators into lockers of decay. The gag reflex is real, as one tries to rid the house of a smell that tends to linger no matter how much baking soda you use. This foul fragrance permeates the room and remains even after there is no trace of the spoiled food.

The dinner at Bethany must have had the smells of a well-prepared meal. But the odor of death could not have been far away.

Against this backdrop, Mary takes a jar of costly perfume (300 denarii, a year’s salary for most people), and in a lavish and radical act, lets her hair down and anoints Jesus’ feet.

And the fragrance filled the room. What was it about this fragrance that overcame the lingering smell of death and decay?

It was Mary’s selflessness. It was her faith, her act of praise for her brother who had dies and been returned to the table. It was her giving all she had in grateful res.

Not everyone knew or could appreciate this fragrance. To Judas, it smelled like money, and a big waste of money. The most selfish people usually care the most and complain the most about money. The Lord reproached him and told him, “there are plenty of resources to take care of the poor and celebrate.”

To the disciples, this fragrance smelled of impending doom. But to Mary and Jesus, the fragrance filled the room.

Notice something here: This is the day before Jesus leaves suburban Bethany, crosses the Jezreel Valley, and heads into Jerusalem.

Jerusalem, Jerusalem. The place of death for prophets and the place of the crucifixion of Jesus, a place of horrible smells, city smells, and the smells of torture and unbelievably violent death. Later generations call this day Palm Sunday. Jesus says something very important: “She has bought it for the day of my burial.” Meaning that death was still lurking, and a whiff of it was in the air. A smell that the disciples were deathly afraid of.

The real fragrance beginning to waft through the room is from the impending crucifixion of Jesus, of which his disciples have caught only a faint sniff. All too soon, everything will change. No longer will they sense his physical presence, but as he is lifted up, a time of crisis for all, the scent of salvation will pervade the world.

The fragrance in the room that day did not hide the smells of death and the pain and fear that was to come. The fragrance that filled the room did make the pain bearable. The act of kindness and servanthood lessened the immutable reality of the broken world in which they found themselves.

Sometimes life stinks. It really stinks that we lost Jerry last week. It really stinks that Roswitha is so sick. It really stinks that there is so much brokenness all around us. It really stinks that the people of Haiti and Chile continue to suffer. It really stinks that we continue to be mired in endless wars. Disease stinks. Unemployment and homelessness stinks. Suffering stinks. Injustice stinks. Poverty stinks.

For Christians however, this stench is soothed with the fragrance of promise. The promises that life is stronger than death, that Jerusalem would not be the end but only the beginning, that Lazarus will again eat at the table. It is not an unreal room deodorizer spray smell that hides and covers the decay.

Instead, it is a smell that permeates the whole house, as if to say there is something much stronger than the smell of loss.

No doubt there are things in your life that just stink right now. If not, there will be.

For Christians, it is an odor that we not only endure, but cherish, because permeating through this stench is another smell, the smell of hope, the smell of life restored.

The fragrance that fills the room.

Amen.




		JOHN 12: 1—8 ¹Six days before the Passover, Jesus arrived at Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. ²Here a dinner was given in Jesus' honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. ³Then Mary took about a pint^[a] of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus' feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. ⁴But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, ⁵"Why wasn't this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year's wages.^[b]" ⁶He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it. ⁷"Leave her alone," Jesus replied. " It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. ⁸You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.” Last night I went to dinner at the Pearsons’. And the fragrance filled the house. As soon as you got off the elevator, you could smell the corned beef and cabbage. It was the fragrance of a good meal, of good friendship. It was a comfortable smell, a smell of invitation. And the fragrance filled the room. That is what the scripture says about the home in Bethany (a suburb of Jersualem.) Just the week before, there had been a different smell in the house. In this house was the stench of death. Lazarus, Mary’s brother, and Jesus’ dear friend, had died. You may remember the family had sent for Jesus to help. Jesus seemed to take his sweet time getting to his ailing friend. When he arrived, it looked as if all was lost, that he was too late. “Open the tomb, unbind him and let him go…” was our Lord’s commandment. “But Lord,” they said, “he has already been dead for four days and there is an awful stench.” (As the King James Version says, “He stinketh.”) Was that the odor that had permeated the house, the smell of death and decay? I’m sure that many of you had food spoil this week, as a result of the power failure turning refrigerators into lockers of decay. The gag reflex is real, as one tries to rid the house of a smell that tends to linger no matter how much baking soda you use. This foul fragrance permeates the room and remains even after there is no trace of the spoiled food. The dinner at Bethany must have had the smells of a well-prepared meal. But the odor of death could not have been far away. Against this backdrop, Mary takes a jar of costly perfume (300 denarii, a year’s salary for most people), and in a lavish and radical act, lets her hair down and anoints Jesus’ feet. And the fragrance filled the room. What was it about this fragrance that overcame the lingering smell of death and decay? It was Mary’s selflessness. It was her faith, her act of praise for her brother who had dies and been returned to the table. It was her giving all she had in grateful res. Not everyone knew or could appreciate this fragrance. To Judas, it smelled like money, and a big waste of money. The most selfish people usually care the most and complain the most about money. The Lord reproached him and told him, “there are plenty of resources to take care of the poor and celebrate.” To the disciples, this fragrance smelled of impending doom. But to Mary and Jesus, the fragrance filled the room. Notice something here: This is the day before Jesus leaves suburban Bethany, crosses the Jezreel Valley, and heads into Jerusalem. Jerusalem, Jerusalem. The place of death for prophets and the place of the crucifixion of Jesus, a place of horrible smells, city smells, and the smells of torture and unbelievably violent death. Later generations call this day Palm Sunday. Jesus says something very important: “She has bought it for the day of my burial.” Meaning that death was still lurking, and a whiff of it was in the air. A smell that the disciples were deathly afraid of. The real fragrance beginning to waft through the room is from the impending crucifixion of Jesus, of which his disciples have caught only a faint sniff. All too soon, everything will change. No longer will they sense his physical presence, but as he is lifted up, a time of crisis for all, the scent of salvation will pervade the world. The fragrance in the room that day did not hide the smells of death and the pain and fear that was to come. The fragrance that filled the room did make the pain bearable. The act of kindness and servanthood lessened the immutable reality of the broken world in which they found themselves. Sometimes life stinks. It really stinks that we lost Jerry last week. It really stinks that Roswitha is so sick. It really stinks that there is so much brokenness all around us. It really stinks that the people of Haiti and Chile continue to suffer. It really stinks that we continue to be mired in endless wars. Disease stinks. Unemployment and homelessness stinks. Suffering stinks. Injustice stinks. Poverty stinks. For Christians however, this stench is soothed with the fragrance of promise. The promises that life is stronger than death, that Jerusalem would not be the end but only the beginning, that Lazarus will again eat at the table. It is not an unreal room deodorizer spray smell that hides and covers the decay. Instead, it is a smell that permeates the whole house, as if to say there is something much stronger than the smell of loss. No doubt there are things in your life that just stink right now. If not, there will be. For Christians, it is an odor that we not only endure, but cherish, because permeating through this stench is another smell, the smell of hope, the smell of life restored. The fragrance that fills the room. Amen.