In Remembrance of Her--March 27, 2024

In Remembrance of Her--March 27, 2024

"While [Jesus] 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]

Even in a moment that is clearly all about him, Jesus has a way of making this scene not all about himself.

That is amazing.

In a bit of spiritual sleight of hand, Jesus slips out of the limelight and calls attention--good attention, mind you, in this case--to a beautiful act of compassion and kindness that the woman with the alabaster jar did. And not only to the act itself, as though it were done by a robot or a mannequin, but to her... to the woman herself. Jesus takes the time, especially when she is being belittled and demeaned by the Respectable Religious Folks at the table, to honor her, her generosity, and her insight into the moment. In a moment that is wholly unique in all the Gospels, actually, Jesus himself says that her action will be remembered, and "what she has done will be told in remembrance of her."

Those words have an almost haunting power for Christians, because they echo so closely what Jesus says about himself at the table of Jesus' Last Supper, words which are part of our weekly worship life now as Holy Communion. Week by week, Sunday by Sunday, we retell the story--on Jesus' own say-so, mind you--that we take the bread and the cup "in remembrance of me" (see Luke 22:19, for example). For whatever else is happening there at the Lord's Table, at least part of what Jesus intends is for us to remember, to retell, what he has done. And those words, "Do this in remembrance of me," are found all over churches, inscribed on altars, embroidered on banners, all over the world, and throughout Christian history. Interesting, to say the least, that Jesus uses the same kind of language for this woman's act of tender, insightful, humble compassion when he says that her action will be retold "in remembrance of her."

I say that here because this is perhaps an element of the Passion story that can be missed or go unrecognized. Jesus is undoubtedly the center of attention at this gathering--and yet, Jesus chooses deliberately to lift up the graciousness of the woman with the perfume. And notice here, Jesus doesn't do it because he is too shy, or timid, or afraid of being at the center of people's attention: he is not afraid. Neither does Jesus simply pity this woman or "save" her from others, but he praises here. He's not there to use her as a prop so he can come off as an even more winsome, charming, charismatic sort of fella. He actually wants people to see what she has done, and to see that she has had an insight about what he is about to go through that even Jesus' own closest disciples don't get yet. Jesus sees that she gets it.  She understands that Jesus is heading toward a final showdown with the powerful political and religious leaders, and she seems to understand what even Peter, James, and John don't yet understand: that Jesus will go to a cross over this. 

And so Jesus doesn't just say, patronizingly, "Oh well, she tried. At least she tried. But yeah, she should have taken the money from selling this and given it to the poor." He doesn't put on that act parents do when their kids make breakfast in bed for their mommies and daddies with garlic powder in the cinnamon toast and eggshells in the omelet, where they smile and say thank you but are really being gracious themselves by eating what is set before them. Jesus appreciates this woman--not just her "good intentions," as a sort of patronizing response to her, but he genuinely appreciates that at least someone around him understood what he had been saying about a cross, and that she was saying back to him in this gesture, "I get what you are doing... and I want to honor that." So Jesus honors her as well.

And maybe that is enough for us to consider on this day. Part of the following this Jesus is not simply to make ourselves the galactic center and turn all eyes on ourselves, even as martyrs. You know that habit we have sometimes, where we make as big a ruckus for ourselves as possible about how much we are doing, how much we are going through, and how tiring it all is... and we end up using serving as a way of stroking our own egos. "Nobody else understands how much I have to go through.... nobody else knows all that I do around here..." and that sort of thing. Jesus doesn't do that here. He is able to call attention to the good that someone else has done without turning it into a secret, back-channel way of bolstering some martyr complex or insecure need for attention for himself. He really does appreciate this woman, and he simply enough calls attention to her, on her own terms.

We live in an era where it is a rare thing to find this precious ability to genuinely appreciate and honor others... without making it still stealthily about me, without making ourselves martyrs, and without tooting our own horns. We are living with a lack of examples these days, of people who can use their position not to puff themselves up, nor to make themselves out to be overlooked and persecuted, but who can genuinely honor others whose gifts, whose actions, and whose character are otherwise going unseen. And even rarer to find someone who, like Jesus here, can lift up someone else and honor her, without it really being a way of patronizing them or pitying them.

Part of our own calling as we follow Jesus, then, is to learn how to see--to notice things--that others around may either not be recognizing, or may be deliberately ignoring or putting a bad spin on. Despite the peanut gallery's way of trying to make this woman into a fool or a wasteful prodigal, Jesus sees her action in the beauty of her intentions and the courage of her carrying it out, and he lifts it up for all to see, like turning a jewel in the light to make it sparkle. And then, as we let Jesus train our eyes to see what we had not noticed before (or did not have the courage to recognize before), then the way of Jesus leads us to speak--to say, to tell the stories, to honor, those who, like this woman, are worthy of being remembered. I know I have shared these words before, but this line from Marilynne Robinson's novel Gilead has become something of a touchstone for me on this subject. Robinson writes: "I think there must also be a prevenient courage that allows us to be brave - that is, to acknowledge that there is more beauty than our eyes can bear, that precious things have been put into our hands and to do nothing to honor them is to do great harm. And therefore, this courage allows us, as the old men said, to make ourselves useful. It allows us to be generous, which is another way of saying exactly the same thing."

Precious things, indeed, have been put into our hands... and to do nothing to honor them is to do great harm. Jesus gets that. He sees what others either cannot or will not see. And rather than stroke his own ego or make himself the focus, Jesus honors the good and brave and loving act of a good and brave and loving woman. And in contrast to the unrepentant public narcissism of our own time, Jesus calls our attention not to himself, but to honor a woman worth remembering. "When you tell my story," Jesus says, knowing his story will be told already, "now hers will be told, too... in remembrance of her."  Even mere days away from the cross on which the salvation of the whole world is hung, Jesus takes the time to call attention to someone else's beautiful act of kindness.  That's saying something.

Who are the people around you whose good, thoughtful, kind, loving actions are simply worthy of being lifted up and appreciated? What will we do or say today to honor the precious things that have been put in our hands?

Lord Jesus, give us the insight to see the gifts of others that have gone unrecognized, and give us the courage and freedom from ego to speak up and honor them.