Isaiah 43:16–21 Ps 126 Philippians 3:3–14 John 12:1–8
This is the last of our guided meditations for lent. Next week we return to the familiarity of Palm Sunday and then Holy Week, so for one last time, I invite you to close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Pause and do all you can to still your noisy mind and restless heart.
We enter the house in Bethany; the air is thick with voices, the warm hum of companionship, with the smell of food prepared for a funeral that never happened.
You see Lazarus reclining at the table.
Days ago, he was dead. Wrapped in linen. Sealed in a tomb. His body had begun to decay, and the stench of death hung around. But there he is – alive – eating and drinking. Jesus is here, too, surrounded by those he loves, the weight of what’s to come presses in on him. But for now, for this moment, he is safe. All is a bit strange, but strangely well. And then the mood shifts…
Mary comes in. Do you see her? Sense her? Moving with purpose, carrying an alabaster jar. Her fingers clutch the cool clay, her shoulders move with deep, measured breaths. She walks to Jesus and kneels. Then, without hesitation, she breaks the jar open. The crack of pottery as it splinters against stone silences the room. And then — The smell. Rich, deep, overwhelming.
The scent of pure nard rises, filling every corner, clinging to skin, seeping into cloth.
It overpowers the scent of the meal, the warm sweat of the gathered men, the lingering memory of death.
It is the smell of extravagance, of reckless love, of something poured out completely, with nothing held back.
Mary’s hands move over Jesus’ feet. She pours the perfume freely, anointing him, touching him. And then, in an act as intimate as it is shocking, she loosens her hair, lets it fall freely, and wipes his feet. Her hair darkens; heavy with the oil, fragrant with devotion. The act is servant-like yet regal, humble and anointing. She sees what others do not. She knows who he is. She knows what is coming.
This is the foreshadowing of another night, days away, when Jesus himself will kneel over feet too. Mary, in her love, takes the posture of a servant, just as Jesus will take the posture of a servant-king. But there is more. This is the anointing of one who is to die.
Smell the perfume again. Let it settle into your own skin, into your own memory. This is the scent of preparation, the smell of life pressed against death.
The house is full of expensive perfume. It’s excessive and extravagant, and Judas’ anger cuts through it; “Why was this perfume not sold for 300 denarii and the money given to the poor?” he snarls.
Three hundred denarii—300 silver pieces—a year’s salary— incidentally, ten times more than Judas will receive in the coming days for handing Jesus over to death.
Pause. How do you feel as you hear his words? Does part of you agree? The wastefulness, the impracticality—does it unsettle you? Or does it rile you. do you also understand something Mary seems to know instinctively?
Jesus defends her. “Leave her alone.”
Mary has anointed him, not as a triumphant king, but as one who will die. The scent of this moment will cling to him, will follow him to the upper room, to Gethsemane, to the trial, to the cross. As he prays in agony in the garden, will the fragrance seep from his pores? As he is stripped and beaten, as whips tear into his flesh, as he stumbles under the weight of the cross, will the scent of Mary’s love rise from his body? And as he hangs on the cross, gasping for breath, will this perfume mingle with the smell of blood and sweat and death?
And there is another mystery in that room: the breaking of the jar, the pouring out of the oil— a sacramental moment. What does it foreshadow?
Bread will soon be broken. Wine will soon be poured out.
“This is my body. This is my blood.”
The scent of Mary’s perfume lingers on. Even here in the present. Let it settle into your soul. Let it remind you that true love costs everything. Love breaks open; pours out; gives everything. The fragrance remains. Love is unending. The scent of death is overcome. The cross awaits. Let us go there with Him.
Amen.
Holy Adventures 