A Prelude to Hope--March 30, 2020

A Prelude to Hope--March 30, 2020

"While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. But some were there who said to one another in anger, ‘Why was the ointment wasted in this way? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.’ And they scolded her. But Jesus said, ‘Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her'." [Mark 14:3-9]

It was a small gesture, in hindsight. 

This woman's act of kindness for Rabbi Jesus, it didn't change or prevent Jesus from dying.  At this point in the story, it is no longer a question of "if" but rather of "when" the tension between Jesus and the political and religious authorities will ignite.  (In fact, the previous two verses just before this story make it clear that the Respectable Religious folks are actively looking for a moment to snare Jesus, whom they see as nothing but a dangerous troublemaker.) And yet, even though this woman's act of tenderness will not stop Jesus from being executed by the state, it is worth her doing it anyway.

In fact, you could say that it is exactly because it will not stop Jesus from dying that her action is particularly beautiful.  She is not trying to stop him from making the sacrifice he is headed toward making; she only recognizes--even if only in part--that he is worthy of honoring, and she does this small kindness to offer her thanks.  And in a curiously beautiful bit of paradox, Jesus says she is preparing his body for his burial in advance.  Jesus appreciates her gesture, enough to make sure her story and her kindness are remembered now forever.  (And isn't that an equally beautiful bit of divine reversal? We don't remember the individual roles of the religious authorities who conspired against Jesus, but we remember this woman's small gesture even after twenty centuries!)

What I want to ask you to focus on for just a moment is that her action matters--it means something--even if it does not stop the terrible thing unfolding around her.  Even if her action is offered precisely because she cannot stop the terrible thing that is about to happen to Jesus.  She does not cast herself as some kind of action-movie hero, taking matters into her own hands to fix what is beyond her ability to fix.  But she does do something to bless and honor the life of Jesus, as he heads into the gaping maw of hatred that is intent on swallowing him whole on Good Friday.  She takes the time, she expends the effort, she offers up the most precious thing she has, and she places herself in this position of unashamed, unblushing tenderness.  And Jesus realizes what she has done--and appreciates it.  He lets her act of kindness comfort him in this moment, and he receives what she intends as compassion.

Dear ones, most of the time in this life, all we get are moments for small kindnesses like that.  Rarely can any of us singlehandedly prevent the terrible thing unfolding from erupting around us.  And in those moments, it can feel like anything we do is futile against it.  It can feel like there's no point, no use, in doing small things--small acts of compassion, small gestures of love, small words of honesty and truthfulness, small works of beauty.  I know it often feels that way in the midst of the tsunami breaking around us called COVID-19.  We watch the numbers of cases climb, and the numbers of deaths rise with it. We hear the news reports of another extension of closures, and we worry about the cascade effect it will have on businesses, on the jobs of our friends and neighbors, on the churches and schools and communities that root our lives.  We find ourselves overwhelmed with conflicting or confusing information about what we are, or are not, supposed to do (Masks, or no masks?  Should I have gloves at home or leave them at the store for someone else who needs them? And on and on...).  And in the midst of all of it, it can feel helpless, because we can't all go somewhere and get together to "do something" to fix this.  We can support first responders and hospitals, but not in person.  We can pray, but we don't have magic words.  We can practice good precautions in our own homes, but we can't make other people do them, too.  And against so many things that seem beyond our power, it can feel like it isn't worth it to even offer whatever little gestures of goodness are, in fact, in our hands.

But the story of this brave and loving woman stops me from giving up.  Jesus' response to her action gives me hope--or at least, a prelude to hope.  He says that her actions do matter, that they are worthy of remembering, and that indeed, they are a small act of life-giving compassion that Jesus needs exactly at this moment.  Her act of pouring out her perfume, Jesus says, is the only funeral anointing his body will ever get--because on Easter Sunday when the other women come to do the burial rite properly, he is already risen from the dead and missing from the tomb!  In other words, her action here doesn't exactly set Easter into motion, but it is something of a foretaste of resurrection.  It is a prelude to hope, even if she doesn't know it.

These small, everyday kinds of actions we can each take in our respective worlds--they matter.  They do mean something.  They are, to borrow Saint Paul's way of describing it, not in vain.  The time you take to encourage someone else in their endurance these days... it is worth it.  The energy you put into being patient with a person or situation that is wearing you down... is worth it.  The love you put into writing a note or making a phone call or reaching out to someone who might feel left out or left behind... is worth it.  Not a one of these actions will "fix" all that is broken around us, or magically stop the progression of the sickness and the chain reaction it is causing in our common life these days.  But each of them is worth the doing just because they are moments we can choose to bring others to life rather than to give into the power of despair and apathy.  We don't get to save the world or die for anybody's sins--only Jesus gets to be Jesus.  But the woman with the alabaster jar knows she has something to contribute because of what Jesus is about to do and to go through--and she dares to believe that her contribution matters, even in the midst of all that is terrible.

I pray you are given the eyes to see the same about the day that is in front of you.  I pray you will be able to see moments where you can expend love, energy, effort, time, and caring for someone else and to bring them--even if for just a moment--a little more fully to life.  It won't be a full-length, final production Easter pageant--but it will be a little resurrection you can bring to the world, against the tidal wave we sense is breaking on the shore. It isn't time to sing our Easter "alleluias" yet--but maybe, today is a prelude to hope.

Lord Jesus, call to our minds the remembrances of those who used small actions to do good because of your infinite goodness, and let us see moments for such kindness and goodness today, too.