Scripture:
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 enough money to pay 300 days worth of hard labor; 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 14:3-10
This is an odd little story, so memorable, so remarkable, but not one we ordinarily hear on Maundy Thursday. It’s told four times throughout the gospels, but never with the same exact cast of characters, and not always with the same point.
But tonight, let’s hear this story. And let’s honor this woman, because that is what Jesus wants us to do: to tell this story, in memory of her.
We know next to nothing about her. Jesus is at a dinner party, at the home of Simon the Leper. At the risk of setting some of you giggling, it’s likely that that Simon was, actually, an ex-leper, since he enjoys the company of guests at a dinner party in his home. He is probably a friend of Jesus—some believe this is another name for Lazarus—because Jesus is staying with him, for the Passover celebrations in Jerusalem.
Sometime during dinner, an unnamed woman enters, carrying an alabaster jar of nard. Nard is an ointment scented with the flowers of the spikenard plant. It is strongly fragrant, and extremely expensive. The jar is probably an orb with a long neck, which has been sealed shut. Think: The “I dream of Jeannie” bottle.
The woman breaks the neck of the jar and pours the ointment on Jesus’ head. Perhaps she is singing a psalm:
How very good and pleasant it is
when kindred live together in unity!
It is like the precious oil on the head,
running down upon the beard… ~ Psalm 133:1-2
It may be that all this woman wishes to do is to make an extravagant gesture of hospitality to Jesus—maybe it is Lazarus’ sister, Mary, and she wants to tell him, by this action, that he is welcome kindred in this place, that it is good and pleasant to have him there.
Imagine. The fragrance fills the room. It eclipses entirely the aromas of the food, the wood smoke from the fire. All anyone can take in is the strong, insistent scent of the spikenard flowers, the ointment poured all over Jesus.
And into all this… beauty… comes anger. Someone gets angry, and that person is unnamed, too… we don’t know which of Simon’s guests it is… is it a friend of his, or a friend or disciple of Jesus? The man—we know it’s a man—is indignant. Not about the perfume, but about the waste. Why, he asks, was this perfume wasted like this? And he mansplains. It could have been sold for 300 denarii. Think of all the poor people who could have been fed with that amount of money.
And he scolds her.
We don’t know who this woman is. Is she one of the women of this house? Is she Simon’s wife or sister or daughter? Or has she come as a guest to this table? Is she one of the women in Jesus’ company?
Mark’s gospel doesn’t mention the women who follow Jesus until very near the end. In the account of the crucifixion, we read,
“There were also women looking on from a distance; among them were Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome. These used to follow him and provided for him when he was in Galilee; and there were many other women who had come up with him to Jerusalem.” ~Mark 15:40-41
It’s entirely possible this is one of the women—the many women—who have been part of Jesus’ group of disciples all along, but whom the evangelist doesn’t think to name until they’re weeping at some distance from the cross.
Is it strange that a man who may have no connection with her, scolds her?
Probably not. This takes place in a cultural context in which a man may scold a woman—even a woman to whom he has no social connection—because men are the assumed authorities in all situations.
Whoever she may be, Jesus defends her, and he defends her action. And—don’t be distracted or misled by Jesus’ statement, “The poor are always with you…” That’s the first half of a verse from Deuteronomy that every person around that table knows well. The second half reads: “I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.’” (Deut 15:11). Jesus wants them—and us—to care for the poor.
But that is no reason to scold this woman for sharing what she has brought, for making an offering of kindness, hospitality, and honor, to a guest—to Jesus.
And Jesus—the authorty we want to hear speaking at this table—he sees the woman’s offering as a prophetic action. He knows the cross is at the end of this road, and soon. He experiences the woman’s gift as an only slightly premature anointing for his burial.
Jesus receives this gift with joy, from this disciple who happens to be a woman—a woman whose name has been lost in the mists of millennia—and that this woman is, herself, anointed in a way—that she is a prophet. And that her extravagant act of kindness, hospitality, even love, is seen. Her gift is counted. Her love matters. And it will be a gift Jesus bears with him to the cross.
Thanks be to God. Amen.