The Smell of the Good News

 John 12:1-8
The stench of death almost overwhelmed Jesus and his friends.  They had all gathered outside of the tomb, Lazarus’ tomb.  Mary, Martha, Jesus, the disciples and the crowd—all were hit in the face by the strong smell sucking the oxygen out of the air.  Martha, Lazarus’ sister, had tried to warn Jesus.  When she heard him command the others to take away the stone, she had walked up beside him and quietly remarked, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead three days.”  But Jesus had not let Martha’s warning stop him.  He was not letting anything stop him. 

 His disciples had tried.  They had tried to keep him from coming back to Bethany even after hearing about Lazarus’ illness.  They knew the Pharisees were circling, round and round, as they waited for Jesus to slip up and give them the evidence they needed to hand him over to the Roman authorities.  The disciples did not want Jesus to walk into that trap and they tried to warn him. 

 But even smelling the scent of betrayal and the faint aroma of his own impending death did not dissuade Jesus from returning to his friends.  They were in need, in need of his healing presence.  They were in need, in need of his power of life.  They were in need, in need of the fragrance of his overwhelming love.  For the strong stenches of death and ending were all they could smell that day.

“Take away the stone,” he bellowed.  “Lazarus, come out!”  And Jesus’ dead friend walked out of his tomb, his hands, his face, and his feet bound with strips of cloth.  “Unbind him, set him free,” Jesus commanded.  They did.  And Lazarus was alive again.  The whole thing was unbelievable, a miracle, right there in front of everyone. 

 The stench of Lazarus’ death faded for a moment, briefly replaced by the sweet fragrance of life and reunion.  All the bystanders who saw it and smelled it were amazed and believed.  Well, almost all.  Where some smelled the sweet fragrance of miracle, a few smelled the distinct odor of threat and rebellion.  And those few went off to tell the Pharisees.  And the circling got faster and tighter.  And from that day on, John tells us they planned to put Jesus to death.

 Jesus must have smelled the change in the air again.  He knew he was no longer safe.  So he needed to disappear for a bit, regroup, rest, and wait until it was time to make his final trip into Jerusalem for the Passover festival.  So he and his disciples snuck back into Bethany and went to his friends’ home.  It must have been a sight to see.  They come in the door and there sits Lazarus, still a bit stunned, I am sure, over his recent past.  It takes a while to shake death’s stench off of your imagination and to inhale a chance at new life. 

 Martha welcomed Jesus and the others and decided it was high time to celebrate with a party.  After all, her brother had been dead and was now alive again.  He had been lost in the tomb and was now found in resurrection.  Of course you have a party.  She ran around the kitchen like a madwoman, working hurriedly.  The smells of meat cooking, bread baking, and olive oil sizzling filled the air.  It smelled like a feast.  But Martha did not allow herself any time to breathe in those smells of celebration.  She knew that people were on the lookout for Jesus.  Martha figured none of them had much time until the word got out that he was in town.

 Mary, like usual, was not much use in the kitchen.  She seemed even more distracted than normal.  She did not want to cook or serve.  On the contrary, she felt drawn to go into the room with the male disciples and Jesus.  He was talking to them and she wanted so badly to hear what he was saying.  His words had always given her such hope and courage—even when they had been hard words to hear. 

 But Mary knew that to go in there would be to take a big risk.  Not with Jesus—with the other 12.  They would all be offended by her actions.  Her proper place was with Martha, not with Jesus and the male disciples.  She knew the storyline about where she belonged.  She had heard it her entire life.  It was as normal to her as the air she breathed. 

 And yet, Mary still had the distinct sense something was different on that night.  She could not put her finger on it, but she could not help but feel she was being called to do something that evening.  It was no ordinary dinner party. Granted—her recently resurrected brother was sitting in the next room.  Resurrection always changes the dynamics.  Maybe that was why she felt so distracted.  But, it must have been more than just that.  She smelled change in the air and knew something else was going on.

 Martha called her sister to come and help her serve.  They took the food to the men and watched with delight as the disciples filled their plates and their glasses.  Jesus was telling stories, like usual, though he seemed more subdued.  His normally free laughter sounded a bit forced.  The two women left the room so the men could continue with their business.  Martha walked to the kitchen.  Mary, however, walked to the back of the house.  She decided it was time.  It was time to take a risk and do what she felt called to do.

 The next thing Martha heard was a gentle crash in the dining room.  The next thing she smelled was the sweet perfume as the fragrance filled the house.  Martha rushed in to find her sister at Jesus’ feet, holding a broken bottle of expensive nard.  Everyone was silent, staring at Mary. 

 Times slowed down for Martha and Mary’s actions seemed to her to be in slow motion. 

--First, Mary let down her hair.  Martha became nervous because respectable women don’t do that.

--Then, Mary poured the balm on her rabbi’s feet.  Martha flashed back to doing the same on her brother’s body—but he was dead when they anointed him.  Jesus was alive.  What was Mary thinking?! 

--Next, Mary began to caress Jesus’ feet and wiped them off with the strands of her long hair.  By that point, all Martha could think about was if she was going to be able to get Mary out of this mess.  Mary’s behavior was not even appropriate among friends.  It was certainly not appropriate between a single woman and a Jewish rabbi[i]. 

 Martha smelled her own fear.  Mary had really done it this time.  She was out of bounds with her behavior and certainly out of bounds with her extravagance.  She used an entire bottle of perfume equal to a whole year’s worth of wages.  It was like buying a birthday gift with your annual food budget.  Out of control extravagance.  And the strong smell of the perfume in the room almost took their breath away.

 Judas was shocked by Mary’s bizarre act “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?”  Judas was certain Jesus would agree with him.  Jesus was all about helping the poor.  Justice was his middle name.  Their outreach budget could have increased tenfold.

 But Jesus sat silently.  He took a deep breath and filled his nostrils with the sweet scent of the perfume.  He looked into Mary’s eyes and read her heart.  “Leave her alone.  She is anointing me for my burial.  You will always be able to care for the poor.  I am running out of time.”  Jesus stared at her.  He knew why she had done it, taken that risk, probably better than Mary understood.  He knew that she had withheld nothing of herself out of her gratitude for him.  By walking into that room, she had stept out of her place.  By using the entire bottle, she had given up her resources.  By letting down her hair, she had risked humiliation and degredation.  By touching his feet, she had thrown away any honor.  And by wiping them with her hair, she had made herself completely vulnerable to attack. 

 Jesus looked at Mary, smelled the sweet fragrance in the air, and saw that she embodied what he had been trying to teach every single day of his ministry.  Mary knew that to be a disciple meant she had to take risks and hold nothing back, even when she smelled fear and death in the air.  Just as Jesus had shown everyone his power of new life by raising Lazarus from the dead, Mary showed everyone her faithful discipleship by her wildly extravagant act of anointing.

 But Mary had also revealed something else at that dinner party—something she did not even know.  Mary had prophesized Jesus’ death.  Good Friday was right around the corner.  And like Mary’s act, Jesus death was bizarre and imprudent.  All he had to do was recant his statements about being God’s Son.  All he had to do was stop eating with sinners, proclaiming justice, and rocking the religious boat.  If he would just stop being who he was called to be, then his life could be spared. 

 But, like the bottle of perfume, his precious life was also not meant to be saved.  It was going to be opened, offered, and used, at great price[ii].  It was going to be raised up and poured out for all humankind, emptied to the last drop until the fragrance of his sacrifice takes the world’s breath away.  There is nothing practical or frugal about God’s extravagant love for humankind.  God had decided it was time to act and to bring us back.  God had decided to take a risk, to become vulnerable in power in order to be strong in love.  And when you let it, the fragrance of that Love can hit you in the face and almost suck all of the oxygen out of the air.   

 At that strange dinner party that night, and later, on the rough wooden cross, we see that our God is a God who does not know how to love frugally, but who only knows how to love extravagantly.  We smell that our God is a God who replaces the stench of death with the sweet fragrance of new life.  We see that our God is a God who does not hold back a single drop of God’s very self from us or the world.  And, hear God’s call to love both God and each other that same extravagant way in return.  Like Mary, we too are invited to live a life of extravagant discipleship, not holding back one single drop of ourselves in our following on the Way.

 I am not sure Mary completely understood what that meant for her, not even on that night.  I don’t know what not holding back means for you.  Frankly, it makes me nervous because my own discipleship can be way too frugal and practical.  I tend to give of myself carefully, counting the cost all the way.  But I pray that sooner than later, I might be more like Mary.  I might have the courage to love God and others extravagantly, inhaling the sweet smell of new life, no matter what the cost.  But I know that is a scary thing to pray.  For loving extravagantly means taking risks and being vulnerable.  Loving extravagantly means stepping out of your place and maybe even losing your life.  For even in these days, our days, the air is still often mixed with the stench of fear and death.

 And yet, as the sweet fragrance of new life fills our souls, I am not sure there is really any other way to truly live as a child of God, other than a daily attempt to attempt to love extravagantly.  For I think that living that way smells an awful lot like Easter.