I love the fact that Jesus had some very close friends who were not among the twelve disciples and other followers.  Among these friends were Lazarus and his two sisters, Martha and Mary. Jesus was a familiar guest at their home in Bethany, just outside Jerusalem.

Not long before the gathering that we read about today, Lazarus had been seriously ill.  Martha and Mary sent word to Jesus, but by the time he shows up… Lazarus has died.  Jesus goes to the tomb where Lazarus’ body had been placed and orders the stone to be rolled back from the entrance.  The sisters protest that the stench would be overwhelming, but Jesus persists, “Lazarus, come out!”  And the un-dead Lazarus, still wrapped in grave clothes, comes out – alive.

The story of the death and raising of Lazarus, told in John 11, is – as Jesus himself puts it – a sign story.  The story about Lazarus points beyond itself to Jesus – and to what God is up to through Jesus.  That is what sign stories do.  They point beyond themselves to tell us deep things about God.  It’s what Passover does for the Jewish people – it is the re-telling of the story about God’s people being delivered from Egyptian slavery.  But the story points beyond that event to reveal deep things about God.  Passover is a sign story.

Communion… is a sign story.  When we stand at the table and say, “on the night that Jesus was arrested and betrayed, he took bread and broke it, and he took the cup” — the telling, and the enactment, of the meal points beyond itself to tell us something important about God’s love – for us and for all – in Jesus.

Sign stories.  That is what the story that begins John 12 does.  It is a simple story: a dinner in the home of Lazarus and Martha and Mary.  Several of Jesus’ disciples are there.  They are having this dinner in honour of Jesus, perhaps to celebrate what he has done for Lazarus, and this family.

It was customary, when you hosted a dinner to wash the feet of your guests.  Walking was their main mode of travel, in sandals or barefoot, and their feet needed cleansing and refreshment.  So, Mary washes Jesus’ feet.

But John makes it clear, as does Jesus, that this is more than just an act of hospitality and welcome.  What Mary does is more than wash Jesus’ feet.  She anoints them.  What she does is a sign.  The story points beyond itself to reveal something important about God and what God is up to – in Jesus.

Passover is near.  Good Friday is near.  The cross… is near.  Jesus had told his disciples that this was coming.  He told them many times, “The Son of Man will be killed, and on the third day he will be raised.”  But they don’t understand. They brush it off.  “Don’t be silly!” they’ve said.  “Everything’s going so well! Why would you get yourself killed?  No way!”

With Judas, they see on the surface.  Judas looked at what Mary did and said, “What a waste!  Why wasn’t this perfume sold, and money given to the poor?”  His words had nothing to do with Jesus.  He only sees the surface.  It’s all transactional.

From here on, the rest of the Gospel of John is about Jesus’ passion.  It’s not just another tragic story of a great leader getting murdered.  It is about God’s passion.  It is about God’s love.  So, John places this important sign story right here… with Jerusalem literally, and figuratively, on the horizon.  Don’t miss the significance, he’s saying.  Look deeply into the story of Mary’s passionate act.  It is a sign story taking us deeper.

What Mary did was beyond extravagant – an outpouring of love and gratitude that knew no bounds.  And I think it’s important to acknowledge that there are definite erotic overtones to what Mary did.  I’m amazed how few commentaries give attention to this.  Likely they’re afraid to, because there is power here.  The scene is loaded with erotic energy.

Jesus and Mary are both single adults of marriageable age.  That creates a dynamic right there.  And there are many ways to be sexual with one another that are not about sexual intercourse.  A look or a touch that isn’t overtly sexual can be erotic, because we humans are sexual beings.

When Jesus arrived at the house, Mary went to him with this family treasure in her hand and this deep love in her heart.  Once he’s seated, she bent down and took his dirty and tired feet into her hands.  She touched them and washed them and massaged them in a way that communicated the place he held in her heart, and in this family.

Then she broke open the flask and poured the fragrant ointment on his feet.  It was not subtle!  The room fills with the fragrance – you can imagine the hum of conversation coming to an abrupt halt!  Then she loosened her hair and let it fall to her shoulders, bent low to the floor so that she could wipe Jesus’ feet with the looseness of her long hair.  The scene is charged!

But this scene isn’t really about Mary. It is pointing beyond itself to Jesus and to God’s equally passionate, extravagant – and intimate – love.

The Bible is not shy about using sexual imagery to describe God’s love relationship with us.  And it makes sense.  For what is sexual expression at its best but this extreme vulnerability, nakedness – a complete, whole-person physical yielding to intimate union — with, perhaps, the possibility of new life?

What Mary does here is passionate.  And it points beyond her to the rest of what is going to unfold for Jesus.  He is going to bend down to serve his disciples – he will strip down and wash the feet of his friends with a towel wrapped around his waist.  Interestingly, this scene is viewed as a template for Christian service. When Mary does it with perfume, we’re distracted by the cost – it’s turned into a template for extravagance!

But Jesus too is going to take the greatest thing he has, his own life, and break it open, because of God’s great love and passion for you and me.  He is going to make himself completely vulnerable, stripped naked, nailed to a cross.  And his death will look like a complete waste of a good life.  But this story of Mary tells it differently – as self-giving intimate love, from which, perhaps, comes a miracle of new life.

It’s reminiscent of another woman of generosity in the gospel, the poor widow who “gave all she had to live on.”  It wasn’t much, some small change, but Jesus said it was more than all that the rich gave combined.

Extravagance is reciprocal, given and received.  Sometimes God is the giver, at other times we are.  At the wedding party in Cana, a miracle – we’re told – provided an overabundance of wine.  At the dinner party in Bethany, Mary gives a gift of expensive perfume.  Whether divine or human, given or received, these acts of reckless abundance are signs of what life is like with the living God.

In fact, Mary did more than she knew.  Anointing Jesus was a gesture of personal devotion – but it was also a prophetic act:  “When she poured this perfume on my body, she prepared me for my burial.”  Jesus wasn’t just a wandering sage or renegade rabbi – he’s the Anointed One.  Anointed by Mary, yes, but especially by God.  In Hebrew, “Messiah.”

“She did what she could,” says Jesus.  Like the woman with her two coins.

And maybe that’s what we do in our Lenten journeys.  We do what we can. Mary’s anointing didn’t save Jesus from his tragic fate.  Nor will our Lenten journeys and practices restore faithful living for long – we’ll come back to Lent in a year!  But with Mary we do what we can.

In God’s economy, our celebrations and sacred acts, and our care for the poor, the troubled, and suffering people in our world are not either/or – but both/and. Pastoral care and social justice.  Exquisite worship and community service.  Jesus comes eating and drinking, healing, and multiplying loaves to feed the hungry and poor.

So, Mary leans into embodiment.  Skin to skin.  She lavishes love and grace on Jesus when she has the chance.  She has learned from sitting at his feet and listening to his teaching that God spares nothing in loving us and asks us to spare nothing in loving each other.  Mary’s act exceeds words, as good rituals do.

I’m struck by how unexpected the actions in this scene are.  It’s unexpected that someone would use an extravagant amount of perfume to clean someone’s feet. It’s unexpected that Jesus would dampen the mood of the dinner – and the gift –  by talking about his immanent death.  And it’s unexpected that Jesus would engage in a terse argument over dinner with one of his disciples.

What would have been most unexpected is that Jesus is anointed by Mary.  It is usually men who anoint men.  Samuel anointing Saul to be Israel’s first king, and so on.  But here… Mary lets down her hair… with all the cultural connotations of that expression… and anoints Jesus.

God is often up to unexpected things with, for, and through unexpected people. People expected the messiah to look like King David.  What they got instead was a poor woodworker and itinerant preacher.  The crowds who will soon welcome Jesus to Jerusalem expected Jesus to overthrow the Romans.  Instead, he is crucified by them.  Even his followers expect crucifixion to be the end of the story, not the beginning.

Finally, what remains with me long after walking away from this story, looking towards Palm Sunday, and Holy Week, and Easter… is the way Mary is so able to be in the moment, so present – the only person in the room other than Jesus who fully grasps the fact that the tensions around Jesus have reached such a peak with the Romans and temple authorities that a violent and cruel outcome is inevitable and just days away… Yet Mary is able to be fully in that moment with Jesus – with love.

Mary acts.  Jesus understands.  A wordless conversation of breathtaking intimacy takes place between them.  Mary says, “I know.”  And Jesus acknowledges, “I know that you know.”  Mary, relieved, sighs, “Now I know, that you know… that I know.”

When God gives, there is never waste.  So, break open the good wine tonight. Have a pop-up dinner party.  Invite a hurting friend.  Don’t waste the moment. Spontaneous love.  May it be so.