Fifth Sunday In Lent
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VII, Cycle C
Theme For The Day
Worship is a blessed waste of time.
Old Testament Lesson
Isaiah 43:16-21
A New Thing
Who could save the Jewish exiles from their place of exile? Their nation was no more, their army disbanded, their captors completely in control. Truly their situation seemed hopeless. The only one who could save them was the one who had, once before, "made a way in the sea" (v. 16). "Do not remember the former things," says the Lord, "or consider the things of old" (v. 18). Do not remember the wailing of widows keening over their dead. Do not remember the tears of family members torn from each others' arms. Do not remember the hunger, the poverty, the disease that always follows in the wake of war. Remember only what I have done for you in the past -- and know that I can do it again. "I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" (v. 19). I will bring a deliverer from the east, Cyrus by name. I will bring my people home, "that they might declare my praise" (v. 21).
New Testament Lesson
Philippians 3:4b-14
Paul's Spiritual Self-Audit
It is advisable to back up and consider verses 2-4a, either including these verses in the reading or referring to them as part of an introduction, for they provide essential context. Paul is speaking, in those verses, of certain enemies who have "confidence in the flesh" ("flesh," here, refers to all things human). In verse 4b, Paul observes that he has just as much reason for confidence in the flesh as they do. Then he goes on to list all the items he used to list on his résumé as a religious leader -- items having to do both with ancestry and with personal achievement (vv. 5-6). All these "gains," he continues, he now regards as "loss" for the sake of Christ (v. 7). Indeed, compared to the "surpassing worth" of knowing Christ, everything must be counted as loss. There is a sort of spiritual accounting going on here. The balance sheet of Paul's life, which he once imagined to be in the black, was actually in the red. Now it is truly in the black for the first time in his life, and he rejoices.
The Gospel
John 12:1-8
Mary Of Bethany Anoints Jesus
(For a parallel passage, see Luke 7:36--8:3, a reading for Proper 6.) John's version of this story is similar to one that appears in all three of the synoptics in one form or another, although John adds to it by identifying two principal characters by name. Here, the woman who anoints Jesus with a costly ointment is his friend, Mary of Bethany, and the one who objects on financial grounds is Judas Iscariot. The identification of Mary -- a close friend -- mutes, somewhat, the sexual tension in the synoptic accounts resulting from the fact that the woman who performs this intimate act is anonymous. The identification of Judas becomes part of John's characterization of Judas as the treasurer of Jesus' band (a detail which occurs nowhere in the synoptics). The parenthetical remark in verse 6 begins to set up the motive of financial dishonesty as part of Judas' motive for betraying Jesus. This is the only reference to helping the poor in all of John's Gospel -- and, since it is borrowed from the synoptic tradition, it did not originate with him. This story -- which sounds strange to our ears, requiring a good bit of cross-cultural interpretation -- raises the question of how we may best honor Jesus.
Preaching Possibilities
Mary of Bethany takes a pound of perfume made of pure nard, anoints Jesus' feet, and wipes them with her hair. The house is filled with the sweet fragrance. Mary's offering to Jesus is costly, too. John tells us that alabaster jar of perfume set her back 300 denarii.
Let's convert that into today's money. A denarius was a small silver coin, a day's wages for a laborer. At today's minimum wage of $5.15, a day's work -- eight hours -- is $41.20. Multiply that by 300, and Mary's "pound of pure nard," that she poured out in a puddle at Jesus' feet, is worth $12,360. (Makes Chanel no. 5 look positively cheap, doesn't it?)
No wonder Judas is so upset! In his capacity as chief financial officer, he could have done a lot with that money. "How many poor people could have eaten for 300 denarii?" Judas is quick to point out (although John assures us he was a thief, and probably would have skimmed a good bit off the top for himself).
The reason nard is so expensive, in first-century Palestine, is that it's exotic in origin. It comes from far-off India, from a little plant that grows only in the Himalayas. That alabaster jar that Mary cracks open has come all the way from India by camel caravan, or maybe in the boat of a Phoenician trader. Why does she do it? Why such an extravagant gesture of love and respect?
The answer lies in the previous chapter. In that chapter, Jesus raises Lazarus from the grave. Lazarus, of course, is Mary's brother. This means the dinner party at Bethany is no ordinary feast. It's a testimonial -- a lavish expression of gratitude -- by a family that's overjoyed to see its son and brother alive again. John tells us Lazarus himself is in attendance reclining at table with his friend Jesus.
When Mary breaks open her alabaster jar, and pours its costly contents over the bare feet of her Lord, everyone understands what she is about. The room falls silent, in awe, at the sheer drama of Mary's opulent gift.
That's when Judas speaks up. He does so with all the civility of fingernails scratching across a chalkboard. All Judas can think about is the money, the expense, the extravagance of it, so he lets the whole room know how much this little gesture really costs.
"Leave her alone," Jesus answers, wearily. "She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."
Judas is right, of course. It is a staggering sum. No doubt, 300 denarii could have had some impact on cleaning up Jerusalem's slums. But that is not the giver's -- nor the recipient's -- intent.
Judas misses the point. Some things just can't be reduced to the "bottom line" of a balance sheet. Like a family's gratitude, for instance, the joy of seeing a loved one you thought you'd lost, alive again.
We have a persistent tendency, all the same, to try to reduce all of life to "the bottom line." Such was surely true of Bill Gates, the richest man in America, who was interviewed by Time magazine several years ago. Somehow, the conversation came round to churchgoing. Melinda, Bill's wife and partner in philanthropy, is a practicing Roman Catholic. She attends mass on a regular basis, and the couple have agreed to raise their daughter, Jennifer, in the Catholic church. On Sunday mornings, though, when Melinda is off to mass, Bill (who was raised a Congregationalist) typically stays home, in that multimillion-dollar mansion of theirs.
The interviewer asked him why. Bill replied with all the studied precision of a master software engineer: "Just in terms of allocation of time resources," he pointed out, "religion is not very efficient. There's a lot more I could be doing on a Sunday morning."
So, how efficient is it, to come to church? How do we tote up the outcomes of a pastoral prayer, or cost out the psychological benefit of an anthem by the choir? What impact does a morning at church have on our spiritual "bottom line"?
Such questions, of course, are absurd -- as absurd as bemoaning the expense of "a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard." Worship is inherently wasteful. It doesn't really have a purpose -- not one we can objectify and quantify, anyway.
If, as with Bill Gates, it's efficiency we're looking for, it's true; each one of us could surely accomplish a lot more at home -- or, maybe, out volunteering. Yet that's hardly the point, because worship isn't supposed to accomplish a thing -- not a single thing.
Worship, like Mary's perfume, is more of a gift: not so much God's gift to us, as our gift to God. When we sit and listen to the organ prelude, or crack open a hymnal, or meditate upon words of scripture, we may, indeed, "get something out of" these activities -- but that's not why we do them. We do them because of the need we have within -- the need to offer God a gift of gratitude and praise.
Prayer For The Day
On one level, O Lord,
this act of worship makes no sense.
It is wasteful, inefficient, archaic.
There are so many other things we could be doing.
Yet, on another level,
there is no better thing we could be doing.
May we take up, today, the ministry of the alabaster jar.
May we be freed to pour out, before you,
the precious feelings that are on our hearts ...
to surprise others with fragrant and unexpected gifts of love ...
to bring the oil of gladness into the midst of tragedy ...
to celebrate in all circumstances the presence of our risen Lord, Jesus Christ,
who has promised to be with us always! Amen.
To Illustrate
Dorothy Day has been called an American saint. She took her Christian faith right into the most dreadful slums of New York City -- establishing there the first Catholic Worker House, a place of radical Christian discipleship. That house became a place of hospitality for the down-and-out -- for men Dorothy Day later described as "grey men, the color of lifeless trees and bushes and winter soil, who had in them as yet none of the green of hope, the rising sap of faith." Not long after, the Catholic Worker House began welcoming women and children, as well.
One day, a wealthy socialite pulled up to the house, in a big car. She received the obligatory tour of the mission, from Dorothy herself. When she was about to leave, the woman impulsively pulled a diamond ring off her finger, and handed it to Dorothy.
The staff was ecstatic when they heard about this act of generosity. The ring, they realized, could be sold for a princely sum: enough money to take some pressure off the budget, at least for a while.
A day or two later, one of them noticed, on the finger of a homeless woman who was leaving the mission, the diamond ring. Immediately, they confronted Dorothy. Why, in heaven's name, would she just give away a valuable piece of jewelry like that?
Dorothy told them, "That woman was admiring the ring -- she thought it was so beautiful. So I gave it to her. Do you think God made diamonds just for the rich?"
***
At Christmas time, most of us receive a number of gifts. Some of these come from close friends and family; yet others are of a different sort.
Some Christmas gifts may come from business associates, or people who would like -- for whatever reason -- to purchase a little influence with us. These are gifts with an agenda -- gifts with a price tag still attached, as it were. This is the kind of gift that Washington attorneys (especially those who make their living investigating politicians) like to describe as a "quid pro quo." These so-called "business gifts" are purchased not out of a sheer, unfettered spirit of giving, but rather as part of an implied exchange.
Most of us, when we get that kind of gift, are well aware of that. We may be glad to have the item, but we don't receive it with the same enthusiasm as the presents friends and family give.
We value our gifts from loved ones precisely because they are wasteful. They have no purpose, no hidden agenda -- other than love, or perhaps the very joy of giving itself. Gifts of love are not calculated to impress, or to strengthen a business relationship. They simply are.
***
Think of those artisans who spent lifetimes crafting the great cathedrals of Europe. Surely, one could design a more functional structure than a Gothic cathedral! Those soaring stone arches, hoisted so high, at such tremendous risk to workers' life and limb -- they could have easily been replaced with simpler, more prosaic designs. And those stone-carvers -- the ones who discovered gargoyles hiding in blocks of marble, then liberated them with their chisels -- they placed some of them so high up, no one but the pigeons could ever see them. Surely, those sculptors could have directed their energies more productively. The same could be said for the wood-carvers, who decorated even the underside of the choir benches: what a waste of talent!
Bill Gates might well agree. In the interests of "efficiency," of course....
***
Thornton Wilder's famous play, Our Town, tells the story of Emily Webb, a young woman who dies in childbirth, in the small, turn-of-the century town of Grover's Corners, New Hampshire. As the play ends, Emily's ghost is allowed one last look back at her hometown, before moving on to the afterlife. It's time for her to go on, she knows, but Emily lingers -- turning around to look, one last time. "Wait!" she says to the Stage Manager (that character who seems to know how everything works), "One more look. Good-bye, Good-bye, world. Good-bye, Grover's Corners ... Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking ... And Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths ... And sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you."
Emily turns, then, to the Stage Manager. She asks him, through her tears, "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? Every, every minute?"
"No," answers the Stage Manager. "The saints and poets, maybe -- they do some."
By that definition, Mary of Bethany surely was a saint. Maybe something of a poet, too -- for what she did with that vial of perfume was a poetic act of subversion, if ever there was one. Mary made Judas so furious -- and Jesus so glad!
Worship is a blessed waste of time.
Old Testament Lesson
Isaiah 43:16-21
A New Thing
Who could save the Jewish exiles from their place of exile? Their nation was no more, their army disbanded, their captors completely in control. Truly their situation seemed hopeless. The only one who could save them was the one who had, once before, "made a way in the sea" (v. 16). "Do not remember the former things," says the Lord, "or consider the things of old" (v. 18). Do not remember the wailing of widows keening over their dead. Do not remember the tears of family members torn from each others' arms. Do not remember the hunger, the poverty, the disease that always follows in the wake of war. Remember only what I have done for you in the past -- and know that I can do it again. "I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" (v. 19). I will bring a deliverer from the east, Cyrus by name. I will bring my people home, "that they might declare my praise" (v. 21).
New Testament Lesson
Philippians 3:4b-14
Paul's Spiritual Self-Audit
It is advisable to back up and consider verses 2-4a, either including these verses in the reading or referring to them as part of an introduction, for they provide essential context. Paul is speaking, in those verses, of certain enemies who have "confidence in the flesh" ("flesh," here, refers to all things human). In verse 4b, Paul observes that he has just as much reason for confidence in the flesh as they do. Then he goes on to list all the items he used to list on his résumé as a religious leader -- items having to do both with ancestry and with personal achievement (vv. 5-6). All these "gains," he continues, he now regards as "loss" for the sake of Christ (v. 7). Indeed, compared to the "surpassing worth" of knowing Christ, everything must be counted as loss. There is a sort of spiritual accounting going on here. The balance sheet of Paul's life, which he once imagined to be in the black, was actually in the red. Now it is truly in the black for the first time in his life, and he rejoices.
The Gospel
John 12:1-8
Mary Of Bethany Anoints Jesus
(For a parallel passage, see Luke 7:36--8:3, a reading for Proper 6.) John's version of this story is similar to one that appears in all three of the synoptics in one form or another, although John adds to it by identifying two principal characters by name. Here, the woman who anoints Jesus with a costly ointment is his friend, Mary of Bethany, and the one who objects on financial grounds is Judas Iscariot. The identification of Mary -- a close friend -- mutes, somewhat, the sexual tension in the synoptic accounts resulting from the fact that the woman who performs this intimate act is anonymous. The identification of Judas becomes part of John's characterization of Judas as the treasurer of Jesus' band (a detail which occurs nowhere in the synoptics). The parenthetical remark in verse 6 begins to set up the motive of financial dishonesty as part of Judas' motive for betraying Jesus. This is the only reference to helping the poor in all of John's Gospel -- and, since it is borrowed from the synoptic tradition, it did not originate with him. This story -- which sounds strange to our ears, requiring a good bit of cross-cultural interpretation -- raises the question of how we may best honor Jesus.
Preaching Possibilities
Mary of Bethany takes a pound of perfume made of pure nard, anoints Jesus' feet, and wipes them with her hair. The house is filled with the sweet fragrance. Mary's offering to Jesus is costly, too. John tells us that alabaster jar of perfume set her back 300 denarii.
Let's convert that into today's money. A denarius was a small silver coin, a day's wages for a laborer. At today's minimum wage of $5.15, a day's work -- eight hours -- is $41.20. Multiply that by 300, and Mary's "pound of pure nard," that she poured out in a puddle at Jesus' feet, is worth $12,360. (Makes Chanel no. 5 look positively cheap, doesn't it?)
No wonder Judas is so upset! In his capacity as chief financial officer, he could have done a lot with that money. "How many poor people could have eaten for 300 denarii?" Judas is quick to point out (although John assures us he was a thief, and probably would have skimmed a good bit off the top for himself).
The reason nard is so expensive, in first-century Palestine, is that it's exotic in origin. It comes from far-off India, from a little plant that grows only in the Himalayas. That alabaster jar that Mary cracks open has come all the way from India by camel caravan, or maybe in the boat of a Phoenician trader. Why does she do it? Why such an extravagant gesture of love and respect?
The answer lies in the previous chapter. In that chapter, Jesus raises Lazarus from the grave. Lazarus, of course, is Mary's brother. This means the dinner party at Bethany is no ordinary feast. It's a testimonial -- a lavish expression of gratitude -- by a family that's overjoyed to see its son and brother alive again. John tells us Lazarus himself is in attendance reclining at table with his friend Jesus.
When Mary breaks open her alabaster jar, and pours its costly contents over the bare feet of her Lord, everyone understands what she is about. The room falls silent, in awe, at the sheer drama of Mary's opulent gift.
That's when Judas speaks up. He does so with all the civility of fingernails scratching across a chalkboard. All Judas can think about is the money, the expense, the extravagance of it, so he lets the whole room know how much this little gesture really costs.
"Leave her alone," Jesus answers, wearily. "She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."
Judas is right, of course. It is a staggering sum. No doubt, 300 denarii could have had some impact on cleaning up Jerusalem's slums. But that is not the giver's -- nor the recipient's -- intent.
Judas misses the point. Some things just can't be reduced to the "bottom line" of a balance sheet. Like a family's gratitude, for instance, the joy of seeing a loved one you thought you'd lost, alive again.
We have a persistent tendency, all the same, to try to reduce all of life to "the bottom line." Such was surely true of Bill Gates, the richest man in America, who was interviewed by Time magazine several years ago. Somehow, the conversation came round to churchgoing. Melinda, Bill's wife and partner in philanthropy, is a practicing Roman Catholic. She attends mass on a regular basis, and the couple have agreed to raise their daughter, Jennifer, in the Catholic church. On Sunday mornings, though, when Melinda is off to mass, Bill (who was raised a Congregationalist) typically stays home, in that multimillion-dollar mansion of theirs.
The interviewer asked him why. Bill replied with all the studied precision of a master software engineer: "Just in terms of allocation of time resources," he pointed out, "religion is not very efficient. There's a lot more I could be doing on a Sunday morning."
So, how efficient is it, to come to church? How do we tote up the outcomes of a pastoral prayer, or cost out the psychological benefit of an anthem by the choir? What impact does a morning at church have on our spiritual "bottom line"?
Such questions, of course, are absurd -- as absurd as bemoaning the expense of "a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard." Worship is inherently wasteful. It doesn't really have a purpose -- not one we can objectify and quantify, anyway.
If, as with Bill Gates, it's efficiency we're looking for, it's true; each one of us could surely accomplish a lot more at home -- or, maybe, out volunteering. Yet that's hardly the point, because worship isn't supposed to accomplish a thing -- not a single thing.
Worship, like Mary's perfume, is more of a gift: not so much God's gift to us, as our gift to God. When we sit and listen to the organ prelude, or crack open a hymnal, or meditate upon words of scripture, we may, indeed, "get something out of" these activities -- but that's not why we do them. We do them because of the need we have within -- the need to offer God a gift of gratitude and praise.
Prayer For The Day
On one level, O Lord,
this act of worship makes no sense.
It is wasteful, inefficient, archaic.
There are so many other things we could be doing.
Yet, on another level,
there is no better thing we could be doing.
May we take up, today, the ministry of the alabaster jar.
May we be freed to pour out, before you,
the precious feelings that are on our hearts ...
to surprise others with fragrant and unexpected gifts of love ...
to bring the oil of gladness into the midst of tragedy ...
to celebrate in all circumstances the presence of our risen Lord, Jesus Christ,
who has promised to be with us always! Amen.
To Illustrate
Dorothy Day has been called an American saint. She took her Christian faith right into the most dreadful slums of New York City -- establishing there the first Catholic Worker House, a place of radical Christian discipleship. That house became a place of hospitality for the down-and-out -- for men Dorothy Day later described as "grey men, the color of lifeless trees and bushes and winter soil, who had in them as yet none of the green of hope, the rising sap of faith." Not long after, the Catholic Worker House began welcoming women and children, as well.
One day, a wealthy socialite pulled up to the house, in a big car. She received the obligatory tour of the mission, from Dorothy herself. When she was about to leave, the woman impulsively pulled a diamond ring off her finger, and handed it to Dorothy.
The staff was ecstatic when they heard about this act of generosity. The ring, they realized, could be sold for a princely sum: enough money to take some pressure off the budget, at least for a while.
A day or two later, one of them noticed, on the finger of a homeless woman who was leaving the mission, the diamond ring. Immediately, they confronted Dorothy. Why, in heaven's name, would she just give away a valuable piece of jewelry like that?
Dorothy told them, "That woman was admiring the ring -- she thought it was so beautiful. So I gave it to her. Do you think God made diamonds just for the rich?"
***
At Christmas time, most of us receive a number of gifts. Some of these come from close friends and family; yet others are of a different sort.
Some Christmas gifts may come from business associates, or people who would like -- for whatever reason -- to purchase a little influence with us. These are gifts with an agenda -- gifts with a price tag still attached, as it were. This is the kind of gift that Washington attorneys (especially those who make their living investigating politicians) like to describe as a "quid pro quo." These so-called "business gifts" are purchased not out of a sheer, unfettered spirit of giving, but rather as part of an implied exchange.
Most of us, when we get that kind of gift, are well aware of that. We may be glad to have the item, but we don't receive it with the same enthusiasm as the presents friends and family give.
We value our gifts from loved ones precisely because they are wasteful. They have no purpose, no hidden agenda -- other than love, or perhaps the very joy of giving itself. Gifts of love are not calculated to impress, or to strengthen a business relationship. They simply are.
***
Think of those artisans who spent lifetimes crafting the great cathedrals of Europe. Surely, one could design a more functional structure than a Gothic cathedral! Those soaring stone arches, hoisted so high, at such tremendous risk to workers' life and limb -- they could have easily been replaced with simpler, more prosaic designs. And those stone-carvers -- the ones who discovered gargoyles hiding in blocks of marble, then liberated them with their chisels -- they placed some of them so high up, no one but the pigeons could ever see them. Surely, those sculptors could have directed their energies more productively. The same could be said for the wood-carvers, who decorated even the underside of the choir benches: what a waste of talent!
Bill Gates might well agree. In the interests of "efficiency," of course....
***
Thornton Wilder's famous play, Our Town, tells the story of Emily Webb, a young woman who dies in childbirth, in the small, turn-of-the century town of Grover's Corners, New Hampshire. As the play ends, Emily's ghost is allowed one last look back at her hometown, before moving on to the afterlife. It's time for her to go on, she knows, but Emily lingers -- turning around to look, one last time. "Wait!" she says to the Stage Manager (that character who seems to know how everything works), "One more look. Good-bye, Good-bye, world. Good-bye, Grover's Corners ... Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking ... And Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths ... And sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you."
Emily turns, then, to the Stage Manager. She asks him, through her tears, "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? Every, every minute?"
"No," answers the Stage Manager. "The saints and poets, maybe -- they do some."
By that definition, Mary of Bethany surely was a saint. Maybe something of a poet, too -- for what she did with that vial of perfume was a poetic act of subversion, if ever there was one. Mary made Judas so furious -- and Jesus so glad!
