"Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" Well, it's not a bad question. Judas may have been a thief and informant, he may have embezzled money from the common purse occasionally, he may have had other motives besides the high moral road he seems to project, and he probably really didn't give a fig for the poor. But isn't he basically right? Couldn't the pound of expensive perfume dumped on Jesus' feet have been used for a better purpose? I must admit that I wish Mary had chosen the less expensive Oil of Olay or maybe just a bottle of good old English Leather. Nard was imported from the Himalayas, for crying out loud! Couldn't the money have been used to buy food for a starving family or improve the miserable housing in Jesus' neighborhood?
Just how much did Mary's generous act cost anyway? Judas, who probably knew more than most the going rate for such a Nieman-Marcus extravagance, suggests that the perfume could have been sold for 300 denarii. A footnote in my Bible reports that a denarius was "a day's wage" for most people. You can do the math. Figure a six-day work week with the Sabbath off and you're basically looking at close to a year's salary. A year's salary on Jesus' feet? Translate that to today's economy and, conservatively, we're talking about $30,000 poured onto Jesus.
Why did Mary do such a thing? Did his feet smell that bad? Jesus suggests that the perfume has something to do with his upcoming burial. But Mary couldn't have known that. And even if she did, doesn't she go a little overboard with the funeral expenses? She reminds me of those people who choose the most expensive casket possible only to have it buried in the ground. That's essentially what happens to this perfume. It's wasted. A year's salary could have helped a lot of needy people. That's Judas' point. And if you ask me, it's not a bad point, even if he was a thief.
But Jesus says, "Leave her alone." The fragrance of the perfume was absolutely permeating every nook and cranny of the house, a veritable olfactory circus in your nose, and Jesus says, "Get off her case." And then he says something that sounds a mite confusing, if not downright callous. He says, "You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me." Now what does Jesus mean by that? That the poor can go fly a kite? Is he giving the green light to garish narthex statues given to glorify God by wealthy benefactors across the world? This verse has been used to justify more than one massive church building program. What does Jesus mean by these words?
Twenty years ago I used to teach school in Camden, South Carolina. It was a classroom for educable mentally-handicapped children and most of my students were very poor. I remember a little girl named Natasha in my class who brought me a Christmas present that December just before the winter break. She was plump and very shy and hardly ever spoke. After the bell rang for the bus on the last day before vacation, she came up to my desk and handed me a present. A very nice present I might add, a present that I'm sure cost more than her family could afford. I didn't need the gift and was reasonably sure her mom and dad could use the money. Natasha was so proud standing there. Her family was grateful that I'd taken an interest in their daughter. They didn't need to buy me a gift. But they were so very grateful. What could I do but hug that little girl and say, "Thanks"?
John Vannorsdall tells the story of the first congregation he served, a country church where many of the members had gardens. A parishioner asked, "Would you like some carrots, pastor?" He answered, "A few would be nice." The next day a bushel of carrots appeared on the parsonage porch. Vannorsdall recalls wondering, "A bushel of carrots for two people? Were they crazy? Not at all; just grateful to God, just happy. A bushel of carrots for the pastor was an exuberant way of returning thanks. We ate what we could."1
You might ask, "Well, if Jesus accepted a $30,000 foot massage, would he also drive a Lexus? Would he ski at Aspen? Would he stay at the Hyatt Regency? Would he always choose Ben and Jerry's?" To ask these questions is to miss the point. The record is clear that Jesus was a friend of the poor. The evidence is so overwhelming in the Gospels that we hardly need to mention this friendship.
Recall the setting of this story. This particular night he was eating dinner with a grateful family. Do you remember what happens one chapter earlier in this Gospel? Two sisters meet Jesus a few days after a funeral, completely overwhelmed with grief for their dead brother. They even get sort of testy and uppity with Jesus. "If you had been here, Jesus, our brother would not have died." Usually when a funeral is finished the mourners gather for a meal. The strange thing about this meal is that the deceased is present and even bellied up to the table. This very brother Lazarus now sits with Jesus, eating fried chicken and sipping sweet tea. How grateful are the sisters? We aren't told the specifics about Martha but she has a track record in the Bible for whipping up some marvelous meals. I've no doubt that the table was set impeccably. And I'm sure that a plate of her award-winning biscuits graced the feast that night and certainly one of her desserts she cranked out only for the most special occasions. She was a grateful sister. Her brother was back.
We know more about Mary's impetuous response. She too was grateful and brought out what could have been a nest egg for the family, maybe their life savings, and anointed the feet of the one to whom she owed everything. Maybe she overdid it. Maybe she got carried away. Should Jesus have scolded her for wasting such an expensive gift in such a foolish way? "Leave her alone," he said. This is a dinner where two grateful sisters give thanks to Jesus for restoring a once-dead brother. Was the response extravagant? Did Mary overdo it? Probably. But how could Jesus have done anything except receive the gifts of two grateful sisters who brought him presents from their once-broken hearts?
So Mary anoints Jesus' feet. I find it interesting in the Gospel of John that in the very next chapter Jesus is washing the feet of his disciples, an action that clearly points to service in the world. John seems to be saying that there is a connection between honoring Jesus and serving Jesus. Between loving God and loving neighbor.
Maybe Mary goes overboard in honoring Jesus. Maybe she overdoes it. That is not really our modern problem, though, is it? Our problem is usually underdoing it -- a paltry, miserly response. Taking Jesus for granted. Going days without consulting him in prayer, assuming he's aware of our gratitude and thankfulness. Rightly seeking to help and serve poor people but neglecting the primary relationship with Jesus that keeps sending us into the world to wash feet. Giving lip-service to the importance of honoring the man in order to get on with the real business of the church.
You know, as I look closely at this story I don't think it's about frugality or money at all. Not centrally, even though it seems to be. This story is mainly about gratitude and recognizing what Jesus has done in our lives. And whether you're rich or whether you're poor, there is a common call to stop, slow down, and give thanks. There will be time to serve the poor. As Jesus says, they are always with us. Never has that call been more pressing or obvious for the world's Christians.
Our honoring of Jesus may not involve money or perfume at all. But the act itself, like Mary's, will "fill the house" (read: the church) with a certain fragrance. It is the fragrance of love, devotion, and gratitude for one who has loved us so lavishly and in such a costly, costly way. Three hundred denarii can't begin to touch it. How do you honor and say thanks to someone who has saved your brother's life? Indeed, saved your own life?
Mary's gift was both "costly" and extravagant, even lavish. She was overcome with joy and thankfulness. Maybe she overdid it. On a Friday afternoon so many years ago, Jesus offered his own costly and extravagant gift. Pray that we will not "underdo" it as we seek to honor him in our lives this Lent.
Jesus brought life into Mary's world of death and she was grateful.
Our move.
1. John W. Vannorsdall, "Elephant Blessings and Other Extravagance" The Lutheran (January 4, 1989), p. 18.