The Washing of the Feet
The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. John 12.3
The storm clouds are gathering in the distance. The met office, in this case the red sky in the morning, has forecast a category 5 hurricane assembling itself off the coast of Judea. Jerusalem itself is under threat, not to mention coastal trading towns like Tyre and Sidon to the north. The skies are starting to darken.
Said Judas to Mary, "Now what will you do
with your ointment so rich and so rare?"
"I'll pour it all over the feet of the Lord
and I'll wipe it away with my hair," she said,
"I’ll wipe it away with my hair."
Some friends gather at the home of Lazarus and his two sisters, Mary and Martha. Contrary to popular tradition, this Mary was not a harlot. There was never any such person. Magdalene was not a prostitute either. Not, I hasten to add, that there is anything wrong with that!
Mary does a strange and beautiful thing.
In those times, standard foot wear was the sandal, and, not being British, they did not wear socks. Much travel was by shank’s pony; and so, when a weary traveller arrived, someone would bring water to wash sore and dusty feet. What bliss! … Inevitably, this being a menial task, the lot fell to women to do the washing bit. I expect the men loved it; or maybe they did not even notice.
Mary, the sister of Lazarus, anoints Jesus’ feet with nard, a very costly perfumed ointment, and carefully wipes it away with her hair. This is almost like anointing a King with oil, a kind of coronation. Judas is, at least, perplexed, if not outraged. In his role as keeper of the purse, he complains, “Why was this not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?”
Be it known that the denarius was the equivalent of one day’s wages for a common labourer. So we are looking at roughly one year’s salary. Or if you are on a government pension, almost 3 year’s salary. I fancy the household of Lazarus was not that wealthy, and very unlikely to possess such a large sum of money. This extremely costly gift lends narrative emphasis to the significance and meaning of Mary’s action. Yet, Judas may well have spoken justly.
"Oh Mary, Oh Mary, oh think of the poor –
this ointment, it could have been sold,
and think of the blankets and think of the bread
you could buy with the silver and gold," he said,
"buy with the silver and gold."
Sydney Carter’s evocative words offer a subtext of this story. Mary is the carer, the intuitive one, the one who puts people before most other things, who would, if she had been asked, have given her life for her Lord.
"Tomorrow, tomorrow I'll think of the poor
Tomorrow," she said, "not today;
for dearer than all of the poor in the world
is my love who is going away," she said,
"my love who is going away."
You may remember another occasion when Mary sits at Jesus’ feet, while her long-suffering sister, Martha, goes about the tasks of home making. Martha quite naturally complains about this. I have always thought Jesus’ response to be pretty unfair. “Mary has chosen the better part.”
Had I been Martha, I would have been crushed by that remark. Domestic chores were her way of loving. But then, Jesus was a man, if you will pardon the irony. St James had it right when he remarked that the balanced life of doing and praying is the better way.
Still, in today’s story, kindly as ever to Mary, Jesus takes Judas down a peg or two. “Leave her alone. She bought it so she might keep it for my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
Again, Sydney Carter’s poetic license fills in the very busy silence of the unconscious landscape.
Said Jesus to Mary, "Your love is so deep
today you may do as you will.
Tomorrow you say I am going away,
but my body I leave with you still," he said,
"my body I leave with you still."
Jesus’ thoughts are turning inwards. He was not clairvoyant, but he could obviously read the signs, and he knew what he was doing. He was committed in his own mind to a mission whose conclusion was becoming clearer by the day. Mary the sister of Lazarus was possibly the only person to discern this mission, and this dreadful end.
Indeed, Jesus is moving to a state of mind when he uses more and more plain-speak. No more parables to tease and cajole his followers into some deeper thinking and spirituality; but plain, downright goodness. No more metaphor; simple, plain, down to earth Aramaic.
"The poor of the world are my body,” he said,
"to the end of the world they shall be,
the bread and the blankets you give to the poor
you'll know you have given to me," he said,
"you'll know you have given to me."
It’s a plaintive song, is it not? But it does, I think, reflect the pensive mood into which Jesus is descending. As St Mark so compellingly describes, very few if any of his followers have truly grasped what he was on about. His disciples, the very men he chose to be with him on a journey of discovery have not managed to liberate themselves from the coils of mortality to freedom of spirit.
And so, we follow a profoundly misunderstood man as he makes his way to the end of the world. The Hero Journey, as Joseph Campbell was wont to say, is one that we take alone, through a dense part of the thicket, on a path that no one else has trod. This is the ultimate struggle of being human, to enter the thicket knowing that we are, indeed, on our own.
Ah! But the other side! The other side! The pearl of great price!
"My body will hang on the cross of the world
tomorrow," he said, "not today,
and Martha and Mary will find me again
and wash all the sorrow away," he said,
"and wash all the sorrow away."
Next week, we begin, through the action of our formal liturgies, the journey through the thicket. Palm Sunday, Holy Week, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and, finally on to Easter Day, the prize. I invite you to take part in this pilgrimage in any way that you can, even if it is to spare five minutes in your busy days to reflect on this keystone of our Christian life.
In the name of God.
Amen
Doug Bannerman © 2022