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You're here to speak with the friends of Jesus, are you? Well then, by all means, let's talk! Shall we sit here in my garden? It's the perfect place. The morning air is still cool and each gentle breeze brings with it the scent of my flowers.

How I love my flowers, especially the lilies! Their sweetness always reminds me of that evening so long ago when I poured out an entire flask of treasured perfume on the head and feet of Jesus.

It was the week of Passover. Our village of Bethany was full of visitors on their way to Jerusalem. So many things had happened, great and wonderful things, and yet frightening things, all so close together.

Jesus was our family friend. Whenever he came to Jerusalem, he and his disciples would visit us. Martha, Lazarus, and I would sit and listen to Jesus for hours. Perhaps I should say Lazarus and I would sit and listen to Jesus. Martha always seemed too busy.

Let me tell you about one of those days when Jesus arrived unexpectedly. My brother Lazarus came running all out of breath into the house. "Jesus is coming!" he gasped the words out. "Make things ready! Be quick! The Teacher and the disciples are just down the road!"

Be quick? Make ready? How do you quickly prepare for the arrival of thirteen men? Martha tried. I knew it was a hopeless task, so I just welcomed Jesus as warmly as I could and sat down on the floor to listen while he taught.

That really frustrated Martha. "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!" I thought surely I would be in trouble. But I wasn't. Jesus hushed Martha's scolding and said I had chosen something better.

How gentle he was, not really criticizing Martha but redirecting her, directing her away from all that frantic activity to the reassurance of his presence and his word. But that was Martha. Thankfully, Jesus still loved her, as he did me, and our brother Lazarus, though we were all very different.

Did you know about the time Lazarus was very ill? Martha and I were desperately worried. We heard that Jesus was nearby, just a few hours distant. Surely as soon as he learned of our need he would come and heal our brother. After all, Lazarus was one of his best friends. He healed others. He would heal Lazarus, too. Urgently, we sent word to Jesus by way of a neighbor who ran the whole distance.

"Lord, the one you love is sick!" he was to tell Jesus. We just knew Jesus would drop everything and come that instant! But he didn't. Day after day passed. Still Jesus didn't come. He only sent this strange reply, "This sickness will not end in death."

Not end in death? As sick as Lazarus was? His body shaking so violently? Fever driving him to insanity? Those pathetic cries of pain? Not end in death? This time, surely the Teacher was mistaken!

Nearly a week passed before Jesus came. What we had so dreaded, happened. Lazarus died. He had already been in the grave four days as Jesus approached Bethany. Torn with grief I wept alone in my room, still thinking of Jesus' strange words, "This sickness will not end in death." What could he have meant?

Martha, not one for contemplation and seclusion, hurried off to meet Jesus while he was still outside Bethany. Running up to him, she complained bitterly. "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!"

"Your brother will rise again," Jesus assured her. Martha thought he was referring to the last day, but no, Jesus meant that very day. "I am the resurrection and the life," Jesus told her. "He who believes in me will live, even though he dies." Such strange words. Just what did Jesus mean, we wondered?

He called for me. Quickly, I came. I too complained that Lazarus would not have died had Jesus been there. Jesus seemed deeply troubled, perhaps because our words implied that he neither loved nor cared for us, or perhaps because our grief had touched his heart.

Together, Martha, Jesus, the disciples, and I -- indeed our whole village -- all of us went to the tomb. There Jesus wept at the grave. Then he commanded that the stone be rolled away. Martha protested, saying that by now the decaying body of Lazarus would stink.

But they did it. They rolled away the stone. Jesus prayed. Then he called out with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come forth!" There were soft noises from within the darkness. Then Lazarus, wrapped from head to toe in burial cloths, arms groping about, stumbled from the cave. Lazarus was alive!

The commotion that followed! Some screamed in terror. Others fell on the ground and worshipped Jesus. Martha and I ran first to our brother and then to Jesus, sobbing and laughing and embracing them.

But not everyone was moved to faith that day. There were also some who saw the whole thing and still refused to believe in Jesus. These went to the Pharisees, who together with the priests decided that Jesus must be killed.

But it wasn't God's time just yet for Jesus to die. He left our town, staying in Ephraim, a small place in the desert northeast of Jerusalem. We wouldn't see Jesus again until the week of Passover.

How incomplete it seemed. Our brother once dead but now alive, and we couldn't openly thank Jesus or celebrate? It simply wasn't right. Our hearts cried out for a joyous feast of thanksgiving, enemies or not. So we planned a dinner in Jesus' honor to be held at the home of Simon the Leper, right here in Bethany. Our house was just too small for everyone who wanted to come.

By now it was more dangerous than ever for Jesus to appear in public, but he came! He had already entered Jerusalem in triumph on Palm Sunday. On Monday he had taken the temple back from the merchants, restoring it to the people as a house of prayer. He spent hours teaching openly of the last things, even disputing with his enemies.

Meanwhile, our leaders were hatching their plot to rid the world of Jesus. "Let's not arrest him in Jerusalem, because of the crowds," they said. "Too many Galileans. Let's do it after the holidays, after they've all gone home. Let's do it quietly in one of the villages."

Bethany seemed a likely place. The leaders sent spies. But when the spies found Jesus and when they saw Lazarus, once dead and now alive again, they became believers too. Then the leaders decided to include our brother in the treachery they planned. That was the situation on that Wednesday when we gathered for supper one last time.

It was a joyous gathering, the dinner Simon and our family gave for Jesus. There was such a feeling of hope. Jesus had been welcomed as a king in Jerusalem. He had defeated every critic with his powerful teaching. With such words and actions who could he be but the Messiah? Surely the long-awaited Kingdom of God had come!

I alone, at that thank-you dinner for Jesus in Bethany, was grieving. The disciples and guests were talking and laughing. Martha was serving as she always did. In the past when Jesus had taught us, only I seemed to grasp what he was saying. When he spoke of his death in Jerusalem, only I seemed to realize he was serious. The others, even Peter, brushed it off. But not me.

Joy was in the air that night, but in my heart was sadness. Somehow I knew that no more would Jesus be coming to our house. No more would I be sitting at his feet listening to him teach. No more would Martha be scolding me. My friend Jesus would soon be dead.

Not knowing exactly why, I had brought to the dinner that night a bottle of perfumed ointment, pure nard, a rare and costly oil. It wasn't the lesser sort from Syria or Arabia that's often mixed with balsam, but the very best from far-off India. For years the alabaster jar had lain undisturbed, wrapped in silk in the corner of a wooden chest in my room.

I had been saving it for just the right occasion, my wedding perhaps, or if not my wedding, then my old age when I could sell it and live for years off the proceeds. But something that costly, that precious, was far too valuable to expend upon myself.

Only Jesus should have it -- Jesus, the one who had taught me the way to eternal life, the one who had given me back my brother, the one who would soon be nailed to a cross, bearing upon himself the weight of all my sins, and yours. If anyone should have it, it must be Jesus! With that oil I would anoint Jesus king of my life.

Heedless of the noisy gaiety, I pushed my way through the crowd of guests at Simon's house, approached Jesus, broke the bottle at its slender neck, and poured the fragrant oil over Jesus' head. It dripped down his face and beard and onto his clothes, and mine. I knelt at his feet and poured the remainder over them. Great sobs shook my body as the rare aroma filled the room.

I realized I had brought nothing with which to wipe off the excess. Casting convention aside, I uncovered my head and used my long black hair as a towel. An uncovered head was the mark of a prostitute but I didn't care. Jesus would understand. That's all that mattered.

The festive mood vanished. The room hushed. Some of the guests were clearly embarrassed. Others, knowing the value of the perfume, gasped. Three hundred denarii was a man's wages for a year. That much money could feed a thousand people for a day!

Judas demanded an explanation. "Why this waste? It could have been sold and the money given to the poor." But he only said that because he kept the money bag for the disciples. The only good cause he was thinking of wasn't the poor; it was himself.

But as he always did, Jesus spoke up for me. "Leave her alone. This is a beautiful thing she has done, pouring perfume on my body, preparing it for burial." Having said these words, Jesus honored me further, saying that whenever his gospel was preached throughout the world, what I had done would be remembered too.

I can't think of anything I'd rather be remembered for. I'm not much of a cook. I don't enjoy entertaining. The one thing I love is giving my best to Jesus and telling people like you about him. What a privilege to have my name mentioned with his, just because of a gift.

Well, I can see I've kept you long enough. It will soon be time for the noon meal. I'm sorry I have no refreshments to offer you. Shall we go inside? I'd love for you to meet my sister Martha. And it wouldn't surprise me if while we've been talking she's already prepared us something to eat.

Prayer

Dear God, once a woman named Mary brought an offering, a bottle of perfume worth hundreds of dollars, and poured it over the head of your Son. We confess, Lord, that like Judas, we think it wasteful. We'd much rather spend the money on necessities, namely ourselves. Change our values, Lord, that your Son and his kingdom might be our most cherished treasure. In the name of Jesus we pray. Amen.




Lent 2
Matthew 26:6-13

Children's Sermon

Object: a spray can of air freshener


Welcome, boys and girls. Do you have a can of air freshener in your house? Here, let me spray some of it for you. What does it smell like? Right, it smells like flowers. Where do you use air freshener? Yes, in the bathroom, in the closets, and in the area where the dog sleeps. Why do we need air freshener? That's right, to cover up bad smells with good smells.

In Bible times people didn't have cans of air freshener. They had perfume. They used perfume to make themselves smell good, just as we do. They also used perfume on the bodies of people that were going to be buried. Using perfume did two things: it covered up any bad odors, and it also showed how much you loved the person who died.

Good perfume was very expensive and sometimes was brought from very far away. In the Bible story, Mary, Jesus' friend, poured a whole bottle of perfume on Jesus' head and feet. It was worth thousands of dollars. Some people thought this was a terrible waste of money. What do you think?

Jesus made the people who complained be quiet. He told them Mary had done a beautiful thing for him. She was using her perfume to prepare him for burial. She was showing how much she loved Jesus by giving him her very best.

Today some people show Jesus how much they love him by buying expensive and beautiful things for the church, like stained glass windows, or silver chalices for communion, or fine furniture, or maybe handbells.

Do we really need any of these things to be a church and serve God? No. Ordinary windows are fine. We can make lovely music to God with just our voices. But if people want to show their love for Jesus by making a special and costly gift to his church, they can do that too. And we shouldn't criticize them.

Any gift we bring Jesus is beautiful if it flows from love for him, whether it's two small coins such as the poor widow gave, or a grand pipe organ that someone else might give.

What do you have that's beautiful and special that you could give to Jesus? Let's ask him to show us.


Prayer

Dear Jesus, you are the most important person in our lives. Because you gave your life for us, we want to give our very best to you. Thank you that you accept our gifts and consider them precious. Show us what special gift we might bring you. In your name we pray. Amen.