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A Sermon by
Cynthia Bauleke
Extravagant Love
Mark 14: 1-11
Palm Sunday is a grand celebration. I
don’t know about you, but I am ready for a relief from the somberness of Lent.
Let the hosannas ring through the air as we recall Jesus triumphal entry into
Jerusalem. Many years ago, when I was still young, on a Spring Break visit in
California, we went to church and participated in an impressive procession which
began outside with palms waving and people singing as we paraded down the block,
through the parking lot, round to the church and into the sanctuary. Coming from
Seattle where the weather was never dependable enough for such an event, I
remember thinking, this is how it should be.
I imagine on that first Palm Sunday
celebration the disciples might have felt somewhat the same. After years of
stumping through countryside and villages, enduring hardships and challenges,
Jesus was finally being recognized for who he was, as he paraded into Jerusalem
with throngs of people lining the streets, throwing their coats down before a
colt carrying Jesus, waving palm branches, and shouting for joy, “Blessed is the
one who comes in the name of God!” “Hosanna!” “Hosanna!” The disciples knew, as
they walked behind Jesus with pride, this is how it should be. They had waited
years for Jesus to come into his power.
Meanwhile, those of us who know what
will unfold in Jerusalem, those of us who love Jesus, abhor violence, want to
say, “Turn back Jesus, before it is too late. Turn back Jesus, don’t go there.”
Yet the procession goes on, with
little children caught up in the excitement, empowered to become part of the
parade, because they had been blessed by Jesus. The man with the withered hand
is cutting down branches and passing palms out to others. The one who was deaf
and mute is leading the singing. The lame are dancing in the streets. The woman
who had been bleeding for years and had once touched the hem of Jesus’ garment
now runs alongside the colt singing. Those Jesus fed on the hillside, have
brought food to share. The little girl whom Jesus raised from her deathbed has
brought her parents to the parade. All sorts of people, Jesus healed of sickness
and doubt, restoring their relationships with God, all these people line the
parade route, as Jesus throws caution to the wind, allowing, and even
encouraging, the enthusiasm of the crowd as he rides into the city in majesty.
I’d like to linger here, in the joy of the parade, because the days which follow
are so frightening.
There were those at the parade who
had other reasons for wanting Jesus in Jerusalem. The religious authorities who
were threatened by the way Jesus talked about God and God’s realm, which
jeopardized their security. There were others who expected a warrior messiah to
free them from political tyranny who would come to believe Jesus had betrayed
them. There were the politically powerful who perceived Jesus as a threat.
Because they felt threatened and betrayed, these others sought to threaten and
betray Jesus - and the rest of the story is one of tragedy, even God is silent.
The disciples don’t really get it.
Although Jesus has told them once, twice, three times of his impending death,
they don’t get it. They are living in denial. They don’t understand the
importance of what is happening. So they join in the parade as Jesus heads
toward crucifixion.
As the week we call holy unfolds, we
find Jesus at the home of Simon the leper - which is in itself a radical act,
being in the home of a leper. Yet Jesus is doing what Jesus does, dining with
those who are ostracized by others, with outcasts, widening the realm of God to
include those who have been marginalized and excluded. The room would have been
filled with men lounging around the table, sharing a meal, and conversation,
when a woman emerges from beyond the boundaries, entering the male domain,
carrying a jar filled with precious perfume. Of all those present, she seems to
know who Jesus is and what he needs. Disregarding the embarrassment of the men
in the room, she walks right over to Jesus, breaks the jar and pours out all of
the costly ointment on Jesus’ head. It would have been customary to pour oil on
the hair of guests at dinner parties given by the wealthy, to anoint kings, to
prepare bodies for burial with perfume, yet hers was an extravagant act, as she
poured out the entire contents, anointing Jesus. This act reveals the woman’s
awareness of the extent of Jesus’ pain and her longing to help heal it. She
offers a prophetic act of beauty and grace which is both gift and sign. And
suddenly the room that had been filled with the odor of sweat and the steam of
men’s breath is filled with the thick, sweet scent of the fragrance of the
pain-become-passion.
The men recover from their surprise
and begin murmuring about the cost and the waste. “Why this perfume cost enough
to feed over five thousand people. Why was the ointment wasted like this? Woman,
don’t you know how costly this is? We could have sold it and given the money to
the poor. What a foolish and frivolous thing to do!”
Jesus response was quite different.
Jesus, preparing for the cross, about to do something really excessive for the
poor, told the grumblers that it was they who had misplaced priorities. “She has
done what she could,” Jesus said of the woman. “She has anointed my body before
burial. She has prepared me for my death.”
In defending her, Jesus does not
intend to slight the poor or relieve the rest of us from our calling to be in
community with them. Rather, Jesus points out that in addition to acts of
healing, of ministry, of hospitality, gifts of extravagant beauty can also be
important. Jesus honors the woman as a bearer of radical grace, reminding us of
what the woman already knows: that what is essential is the outpouring of
ourselves, our essence, with as much grace as we can possibly muster. Heartfelt,
grace-filled offerings are not frivolous. Any time we make ourselves vulnerable
to give of our very essence is a moment of grace.
In the act of anointing, the woman
affirms that Jesus is the Messiah, the anointed one, the child of God. She has
understood what the others have not, that Jesus is going to die, and so she
anoints Jesus for burial before death, because his body will not be anointed
after death, it can’t be - God will raise Christ from the dead before that is
possible. This woman’s action is a summation of the Good News of God’s love, and
this is why it will be recalled whenever the good news is preached. Jesus said
that wherever the Gospel is preached in all the world, this woman’s deed would
be told in remembrance of her. And so it has been.
Who is this woman? We don’t know.
What was her name? We don’t even know that. Somewhere in the patriarchy of the
culture her name has been lost, not important enough even to be recorded. It’s
interesting that we know the name of the one who betrayed Jesus, but not of the
one who was faithful. Her name has been lost through the years, yet it is the
story of her extravagant love which is important.
Her act of love is an example of what
God’s love is all about. In fact, extravagant love is what the passion narrative
is about. Here, we are at the heart of worship, the core of the church, the
center of our faith. We love because we have been loved. Love is extravagant. It
is about having a generous spirit, about showing forgiveness without expecting
anything in return, about giving to others without counting the cost and without
considering the worthiness of those to whom we give.
Love involves a willingness to put
one’s self at risk, and God was willing to risk suffering, willing to risk
betrayal and denial and desertion, willing to risk mocking and misunderstanding.
There has been no pain greater than what God’s love can bear. God does not
regret the price of love. Such vulnerability is not just extravagant, it is
perfect love, perfect for each one of us.
This love of God’s, puts God in a
place of vulnerability. Yet God is faithful, willing to risk suffering in order
to bring life out of death for you and for me. Jesus goes before us into places
we do not yet know and prepares a place for each one of us.
This God who goes before us, who
strengthens us, who knows us, who loves us, and who claims us as God’s own, this
God guides us to places where we, too, are asked to be vulnerable, to share our
lives, our essence, our love with others. The woman who anoints Jesus has done
what she could do. This sounds like tepid tribute. Yet, doing what we can,
demands courage and humility. It demands that we risk following a God who became
vulnerable for us - that we might be vulnerable with others - in extravagant
acts of love, perhaps even breaking our alabaster jars, to do what we can.
From the waving palms and hosannas,
we journey into Holy Week, filled with acts of love, as well as betrayal and
desertion and death. I long to protect us from the shame of what Jesus did for
you and me. “Turn back Jesus, you don’t need to go there, we already know you
love us.” This exposes my utter lack of understanding of God’s love, expresses
my arrogance at wanting to protect even God from the vulnerability of love. I
want to be protected from Jesus’ vulnerability. Yet, I imagine that the deepest
yearning of my soul, and perhaps of yours, is to witness Jesus’ vulnerability,
to hear those at the foot of the cross whisper, “Truly this was the Child of
God.” How else can we understand God’s love for us?
Amen.
References
Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schussler. In
Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins.
Crossroad: New York, 1983
Hooker, Morna D. The Gospel
According to Saint Mark. Hendrickson: London, 1997.
Kim, Eunjoo Mary Kim. in The
Abingdon Women’s Preaching Annual Series 2, Year B. Abingdon: Nashville,
1999.
Mendenall, Laura. The
Vulnerability of Love. The Protestant Hour, April 16, 2000
Richardson, Jan. Sacred Journeys.
The Upper Room: Nashville, 1998 |