An Economy of Extravagance - John 12:1-8

I will never forget the first death I attended as a hospital chaplain. My pager went off, so I called the number on the screen, and a very polite nurse explained to me that a man was nearing the end of his life and his wife and daughter might benefit from my presence. As I headed toward the man’s room, I imagined the scene that lay ahead of me. I pictured a bereaved mother and daughter embracing by their loved one’s bedside. I thought about what words of solace or prayer I might offer. But then, I rounded the corner into the ICU just in time to duck out of the way as an entire box of Kleenex flew past my head. 

As it turned out, it was not a bereaved mother and daughter, but a stepmother and daughter who loathed one another and had chosen the death bed of their husband and father, respectively, to… shall we say… unpack their strained relationship. Needless to say, it was a long night for everyone involved. Later, I spoke with my supervisor about the incident. I told her I was surprised because I would have expected a death bed to be a place where people put their grudges aside for the sake of their dying loved one. She replied that this was a nice vision, but the truth is that in the face of death, ours or someone else’s, our truest feelings and deepest anxieties come to the surface. 

This is absolutely true for Jesus’ friends and family as they get closer and closer to his death in John’s Gospel. In today’s passage, we meet the disciples just six days before Jesus’ arrest, and we witness a classic, tumultuous family dinner scene that rivals my Kleenex box incident. Even before the events of the evening unfold, tensions are running high. Lazarus has only been raised from the dead for a few days, so that astonishment is still fresh. Political and religious animosity towards Jesus is at an all time high. We learn in the previous chapter that he has paused his public ministry until his arrival in Jerusalem, and is lying low at the home of Mary and Martha and Lazarus. To top it all off, Jesus has been very open about his impending death, which we can imagine is a source of stress for those close to him. 

So, the atmosphere is tense. Those gathered are probably hoping for a calm, non-eventful evening. Instead, Mary sneaks out and returns with an unexpected item. She brings out a bottle of perfumed oil that costs more money than most of them make in a year. The scent is so strong it fills the whole house. The silent questions in the room are deafening. When did she buy that? Where did she buy that? How did she pay for it? Why is she bringing it out now? And then, as if things weren’t already awkward enough, she stoops down and starts rubbing the oil on Jesus’ feet and wiping them with her own hair - right in front of everyone. If public displays of affection make you uncomfortable, be glad you were not present at this dinner party. 

Eventually, it is Judas who breaks the silence. His anger about the perfume is as palpable as its scent. He rages that the expense was extravagant and wasteful, and that it should have gone towards the poor in their community. Caring for the poor is a central part of their mission after all. Now, our narrator claims that Judas has ulterior motives in his outburst, but Jesus never actually accuses him of theft or dishonesty in this instance, so I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Regardless, in the midst of the tension of the evening, with Jesus’ death looming ominously, both Mary and Judas have revealed their truest feelings and deepest anxieties. For Mary, no sacrifice is too big to show her love for her Lord. For Judas, all sacrifice must be cost efficient. 

In many ways, these sentiments are two sides of the same coin. We are called in baptism to worship our God without ceasing and to care for the least of these in our midst. And we often struggle to decide which path to choose at a given moment. Should I offer my thoughts and prayers to victims of gun violence or should I call my local representative to petition for better policy? Should I donate my money to altar flowers or to St. Francis’ House this month? Should I celebrate my many blessings while others in my community suffer? 

Inevitably, we try to weigh these options economically, as I’m sure Mary and Judas did. But in response to this dilemma, Jesus offers one of his best pieces of wisdom - though it is often misunderstood. Both of these realities are valid, he says, but one can never replace the other. That’s not how God’s economy works. Prayer alone cannot change public policy, and charitable giving by itself does not constitute a relationship with God. Preparing for Christ’s death in this public yet intimate way is a central part of Mary’s spirituality, and it is good for her to prioritize this and pull out all the stops for the occasion, because while the disciples cannot solve poverty in the next six days, they can certainly make the most of their last week with their Savior. 

John’s Gospel is full of foreshadowing about Christ’s Passion, not least of which is Mary’s anointing of Jesus’ feet just as she will do after he has died. We hear from John a lot during Lent, a time when we ponder our own mortality and the mortality of those we love. Today we find ourselves just one week away from Holy Week. We are in the midst of preparations for our own special observance of Christ’s death. And frankly, we’ve spent a lot of time thinking about death in general over the past two years. It is safe to say that our truest feelings and deepest anxieties are close to the surface.

So Christ’s wisdom from today’s Gospel passage is timely. Our life of devotion is important, and so is our service to those in need. But when we find ourselves facing the Cross, whether in the midst of Lent or at the death of a loved one, or any encounter with true sacrifice, the cost becomes irrelevant. We give everything we have to God. 

As we begin our journey of unmasking and reentering the world in a new and yet familiar way, as we return to classic, tumultuous family dinners, where tensions tend to run high and the anxieties of the past two years bubble up toward the surface, I invite you to consider Christ’s Lenten wisdom in your own lives. I invite you to let go of counting costs and give into God’s economy of grace. I invite you to face the reality of death and the cross with extravagant love and devotion for God, the one who will swallow up that death forever. Amen.