Sunday, April 6th Worship: "Full to the Brim: Brazen Acts of Beauty"

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 The First United Presbyterian Church

“Full to the Brim: Brazen Acts of Beauty”

Rev. Amy Morgan

April 6, 2025

John 12:1-8

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 reclining with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’s 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.” 

“I’m going to get my Spider Man stickers.” That was my son, Dean’s, response when I told him we were going to visit a woman in the church whose husband had died. Dean was about 4 or 5 years old. Being a pastor’s kid, he knew enough about death and funerals. But Fred, the man who’d died, was special. He counted all the cash for the annual Rummage Sale, and he’d pull out special quarters that came in and slip them to Dean. He told stories about riding his horse to the same elementary school Dean attended. His wife, Marge, would make sure Dean got his cookies and juice at fellowship time, and maybe a few extras if mom and dad weren’t looking. They were pillars of the church, and we mourned with Marge when Fred passed away. Typically, I would go to a family visitation after a death in the church alone, in my pastoral role. But for Fred, for Marge, we wanted to go as a family. I explained to Dean that we were going to visit with Marge and the rest of Fred’s family because they were sad and we wanted to comfort them. But before we could go, Dean had to find his Spider Man stickers. 

He'd just gotten the stickers from the little corner shop we’d stop at for special treats after school. He saved them for several days, waiting to find just the right place to put them. They were his little treasure. Which made them the perfect thing, in his mind, to bring to Marge to comfort her in her grief. When Dean solemnly presented these stickers of great value to Marge at the funeral home, she accepted them with equal solemnity as though they were made of pure gold. It may not have seemed an appropriate gift for the occasion, but it was a brazen act of beauty nonetheless. 

Jesus’s visit at the home of his dear friends Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, looked to all the world like cheerful break in the action, a place to rest and be restored after all the traveling, teaching, and healing Jesus had been doing. After all the hubbub caused by Lazurus’s resurrection, Jesus and his band had to hide out for a bit on the outskirts of civilization. Maybe people thought Jesus was just coming by to check in on Lazurus, see how the whole coming-back-to-life thing was working out for him. Crowds of people were still on the lookout for him, hoping to catch a glimpse of this miracle-worker and the one he’d worked a miracle on. Maybe it was time to go public with Jesus’s powers, for him to really show the world, and especially the powers that be, that Jesus was here to establish God’s kingdom on earth. Maybe this was a power lunch, where the major players in Jesus’s party would strategize for their takeover of Jerusalem. 

It seems only Mary recognized this gathering for what it truly was: a funeral visitation. The gathering of loved ones grieving a death. Only the death hadn’t quite happened yet. No matter. Mary brings something valuable and costly, however inappropriate it might seem at the moment, and solemnly anoints Jesus for burial. And Jesus receives this lavish and strange gift with equal solemnity and acknowledgement of its great value. 

There are so many ways Mary’s actions are massively inappropriate. Men and women ate separately in first-century Jewish culture. It seems that Martha is doing what women were supposed to be doing – serving the meal. But recent scholarship has revealed that in the original Greek text of John 11 and 12, the name Mary was changed to Martha by early scribes with the alteration of one letter so that Mary was divided in two and a second sister was created to dilute Mary’s significance. We conflate these sisters with the Mary and Martha story in Luke’s gospel, where Martha serves and Mary sits at Jesus’s feet. And in the context of this story, that all makes sense. But Luke’s Mary and Martha are from an entirely different region, and they don’t have a brother named Lazarus. 

So when we read this story in John 12 as the story of one woman, Mary, it becomes even more radical. Mary is serving the meal. She is fulfilling her appropriate role in the household. And then she drops the trays and falls at Jesus’s feet. She decisively STOPS serving to do something she deems to be more important. And in the ancient near-east, men’s feet carry sexual overtones, making this intimacy even more shameful. Jesus also states that Mary bought the perfume herself. In a time when women could rarely own anything, Mary took her precious personal resources and purchased burial ointment. She didn’t sprinkle some on Jesus to make the point and save the rest for later. A pound of perfume could have anointed more than one body, it could have gone a long way. Instead, she spills all of it on Jesus. 

Jesus sees the meaning, the beauty in this wildly inappropriate act. In fact, he mimics this behavior later on when he washes his disciples’ feet. It isn’t appropriate, as Peter points out when Jesus tries to wash his feet. No, it’s a total disregard for what is proper, respectable, or decent. But Jesus sees that it is also a brazen act of beauty. It is a precious gift of comfort in the face of death.

Sadly, at least one person at the table could not see the meaning or value in Mary’s offering. Judas criticizes this waste, claiming that Mary’s purchase should have been sold and donated to charity. In light of this scandalous misuse of resources, Judas assumes management of Mary’s property. 

The writer of John’s gospel slyly points out that Judas’s remarks were insincere since his only real concern was lining his own pockets, not helping the poor. Thus, Jesus responds, “you will always have the poor with you,” not as an abdication of responsibility for caring eradicating poverty but as a recognition that there will always be Judases around profiting off of people’s good intentions and preserving the status quo of rich and poor. Tragically, there will always be those who disparage gifts of comfort and generosity because their only lens is self-preservation. 

As we go about our lives, looking cheerful and respectable, gathering for meals and visiting with friends, we don’t, I hope, give much thought to death. That would be morbid. And depressing. We gather together for refreshment and encouragement, to check in on each other and make plans. Maybe we even have that occasional power lunch where we plot out some important action. 

But I would challenge us, now and again, to drop a tray, to stop doing what’s expected of us, and recognize each moment for what it is. Because each moment is full to the brim with both life and death. Each moment we have the opportunity to recognize how precious the people around us are, how fleeting our existence is. Each moment, we can be filled with grief and pour out comfort. 

There will always be those who, like the religious and political powers of first century Judea, plot to destroy all that is good and healing and life-giving. There will always be those who, like Judas, only seek their own gain. There will always be the specter of death in every moment of life. 

And, God willing, there will always be those who offer up what is most precious to them for our comfort. Whether it is a handful of Super Man stickers or a jar of costly perfume. Because death is woven into the fabric of life. And not all deaths involve a casket or even a body. 

When I suffered a miscarriage, the shawl ministry of our church gifted me with a beautiful, soft, shawl to wrap me in comfort at this invisible loss. And when, years later, we left the church to move here, they presented me with another shawl, recognizing that our parting was a different sort of death that still deserved comfort. 

Whether the death in our midst looks like the death of a loved one or the death of a dream, the destruction of our self-image or the end of a career, the decline of our body or mind, or the severing of a relationship, there are experiences of death all around us. Even if they haven’t happened yet, we know we are not immune to these possibilities. 

And so, why don’t we drop what we’re doing, forget about what’s right and proper, and perform brazen acts of beauty all the time? We don’t have to wait for death to arrive to lavish love and comfort on each other. We can prepare each other for whatever is to come by pouring out our most precious gifts right now. 

Because, honestly, what are we waiting for? Why would we save up our Spider Man stickers to maybe, someday, stick them on a lunch box that will eventually fall apart and be thrown away when we could instead use them to comfort the grieving? Why would we save up precious perfume for a dead body that can no longer enjoy its fragrance? Why would we withhold whatever is precious and beautiful for someday when we might need it when someone we know and love needs it right now?

Whatever we have to offer, no matter how great or small, no matter how appropriate or inappropriate, is precious when it is offered in love and comfort, when it is offered in the face of any kind of death, any sort of grief. 

Because the most precious thing of all, the greatest comfort we can offer, is seeing one another’s grief. Whatever we give – whether it’s a hug or a helping hand or a home-made meal – is simply a sign that says, “I see your sadness. I get that this isn’t a party. I know you are grieving a loss.” 

If we could all care for each other with that kind of tenderness and vulnerability, perhaps all our losses would be a bit easier to bear. Perhaps we would have the courage to follow Jesus to the cross. Perhaps we could hold on to hope in the resurrection. 

To God be all glory forever and ever. Amen.