Kate Bowler is a professor who studies the Prosperity Gospel — the idea that God rewards us with cars and money and big houses, if we love God enough. Anything good in your life is a reward from God, so the idea goes, because you are especially worthy. The idea falls apart when you look at the reverse — all the faithful, hard-working, committed people who love God deeply… and don’t live in big houses or; have millions in the bank.
If God actually worked that way, preschool teachers would drive Maseratis, and nurses would collect fine art. All of you would be millionaires, and football players and movie stars would live in small apartments.
We all know it doesn’t work that way.
When she was diagnosed with cancer, Kate Bowler had to rethink all of these ideas. Her diagnosis has caused her to think hard about some things. She wrote, [on her blog] “Most of my worst thoughts hover around a single word. Alone.”
The experience of being ill is so lonely, so isolating, that she felt like she was all alone in that. You may feel that way in your own illness, or when you’re struggling financially, or when a loved one is in prison. You may feel that way when you have a failure in life, or when things aren’t going the way you planned. You may feel that way when you’re carrying a secret that no one can understand, or when you’re afraid of people judging you.
As Jesus comes into what we now call Holy Week, the last week of his life, he is profoundly, deeply alone.
As we picture Palm Sunday, we know that it’s also Passion Sunday, the Sunday that leads to Jesus’ death.
How do you imagine Jesus’ friends and followers, welcoming him into Jerusalem? How do you picture the crowd in your mind? One thing I never thought about until recently was the expression on Jesus’ face. A Lent book I love suggests, “Surely few of us picture [Jesus as] stern and stoic, ignoring the joy all around him, or anxious and jittery, waiting for the other shoe to drop, or rolling His eyes in dismissal of the nonsense. I picture Jesus smiling, looking around him at the radiant faces of the twelve and the hope-filled eyes of the masses. Knowing that the twelve would soon run for their lives and the masses would soon reject him, Jesus still stayed fully present for the party.” (Alicia Britt Chole, Forty Days of Decrease)
Jesus knows that he’s soon to be betrayed and rejected. He alone can see ahead to the end of the story. But there’s this one moment of joy, as Jesus fulfills the ancient prophecies about the messiah. There’s such joy in the crowd that we still celebrate it all these centuries later.
Only Jesus knows that this is also a funeral procession.
Hailed as a king at the start of the week, Jesus ends it under a mocking sign: the king of the Jews. The entrance into the city and using symbols of the king and the conqueror will lead to his death before the week is over.
He alone knows that he’s not that kind of Messiah, not the conquering hero the crowd is looking for, not planning to overthrow the Romans and the corrupt religious leaders.
But there is one person who sees him as he is.
Jesus takes time in this last week to have dinner at the house of a friend. The story calls him Simon the Leper. Even if Simon was healed by Jesus, he’s still known by his former illness. This woman comes in with her nard — a very expensive ointment. It was so expensive that it was often a family heirloom, something passed down from parent to child to grandchild because it was too good to be used. The right occasion never came up. You have those dishes, right, that you never use? Or that outfit that’s waiting for a special occasion? Or that special bottle of something you’re saving?
People used these alabaster jars to store this expensive ointment. It was imported from India, and the jar was sealed to keep the ointment from drying up, and you had to break it to use it.
The story says that “they” scolded her.
We don’t know if “they” are the disciples, or the other guests. There’s plenty to criticize here, if anyone wants to. She’s butting into a dinner party. She’s touching a man who’s not related to her. But the complaint seems to be about the money. This is an extraordinary act of love and devotion. The complainers, too, don’t see what this woman sees.
Like Jesus, she, too, is alone in what she sees.
There are times when we have this same feeling of being alone.
Kate Bowler, says, writing about being alone in her cancer journey: “I am locked inside this body, which is failing me. And it keeps me from breaking through, back to the life I want.” Still, in that loneliness, there is a cure. She hears small whispers in her spirit which tell her: “you are loved, you are loved, you are loved.” She can feel God in moments when God seems to announce to her that God is present. She recalls, “The most alone I have ever been is when I woke up from my surgery. The room was empty and all I could hear was the chirping of the heartrate monitor. The hospital had, of course, taken everything that was familiar to me. My dress I love to teach in. My ring from the man I love. All I had was my hospital gown and a carved up body I hardly recognized. And then I saw it. Something around my wrist. It was a bracelet. But not just any bracelet. It was a slap bracelet, the kind I played with when I was ten and they were all the rage. It was such an absurd situation, the more I thought about it. Someone had crept into my room, past security, and quietly slapped it on my wrist so I would have it when I woke up. It was bright neon. It was hideous. And all it said was: FIERCE.”
We are never as alone as we think we are.
Jesus, alone in the crowd, meets up with the woman who gives him a tender gift. In the crowd, everyone sees him as he is not — king, conqueror, hero. She sees him as he is and sees his coming death. He sees her for who she is, too.
This week, as we come into Holy Week, may we see Jesus as he is, and keep him company in this journey of suffering. And may he go with us, in every place where we feel abandoned, lost, fearful, doubting… so we know that we are never alone. Amen.