The First Supper Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On April 7th, 2019 Scripture: John 12:1-8 We don’t always notice it, but here in John’s gospel we find that the last week of Jesus’ ministry begins and ends with a dinner. There is the dinner on the night before the Passover, that is known as the “last supper." New Testament scholar and writer, Amy-Jill Levine, calls the dinner from our gospel passage today the “first supper.” [1] It’s the party that happens the night before Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a donkey in what has become known as the palm parade. We could say that it is the beginning of the end. It is the beginning of Holy Week, which ends as we know with the crucifixion of Jesus. Jesus has recently raised the brother of Mary and Martha, Lazarus, from the dead. The news of that event attracts the attention of the religious leaders. They are already nervous of this dynamic preacher who is drawing the admiration of the crowds. The priests fear an uprising that would provoke the Roman occupiers. One member of the council of Pharisees, Caiaphas, is reported to have declared that it would be better for one man to die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed. Jerusalem is not looking like a very friendly place for Jesus. Parties for people facing difficult times ahead of them are not unusual. Family and friends of service persons may give a send off party before their loved one’s deployment. Women at my seminary held a special party to shave the head of a student as she received chemotherapy for cancer. My former pastor, Ken, had planned two events for his funeral: a traditional service at the church, and a gathering on the beach of the town lake with music, singing, story telling and all his favorite foods. The second event sounded so good to him, that the congregation pulled it together while he was still alive. The party closed with all the attendees forming a circle around Ken and his wife and singing the spiritual song: Dona Nobis Pacem, give us peace. And so, it seems that Mary, Martha and Lazarus, are putting on a party for Jesus. There’s no doubt that they are grateful to their friend for restoring Lazarus to life. And at the same time, Mary’s actions in this story show that she, at least, is well aware that this is also a send off party. This is the first supper of the last week. The disciples and friends are gathered around the long and low table. They recline on cushions. They have eaten well on Martha’s delicious cooking, they have drunk from Lazarus’s well stocked wine cellar. Their exposed feet have been washed, so that they are presentable at the table. And now Mary enters with a very special jar, from the highest shelf in the store cupboard. It is something very precious she has been saving for the right moment. And now that moment is here. Tears course down her face as she makes her way toward Jesus. She breaks open the alabaster jar and pours the aromatic essential oil over his feet. This is a startling act in itself. But then she loosens her hair from its modest fastening. It falls over her shoulders, in an array that would normally be reserved for her husband if she was married. She massages the oil into Jesus’ feet and wipes off the excess with her now free hair. The fragrance of the oil fills the whole house. The conversation settles into quiet murmurs as everyone at the dinner inhales deeply of the sensuality of the moment. They would have stayed in a state of sensory overload for much longer, but Judas’s sharp retort cuts through the heady atmosphere …"Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" Judas is the one who can be relied on to spoil a good party. He’s the one who always wants to count the cost. Everyone else was breathing in the delights of the nard, and reflecting on the meaning of Mary’s action. Judas has evaluated the cost of the ointment, and declares it a waste. If Mary had this kind of resource ready to spare, why didn’t she give the money to the poor? But Jesus silences Judas, telling him to leave Mary alone. She has performed an act of love and an act of preparation. Even as the gospel writer, John, portrays the divine nature of Jesus, he also emphasizes Jesus’ deeply human nature. Jesus needs this act of love. He refers Judas to a passage from the book of Deuteronomy, reminding him that the mission to care for the poor is ongoing. He adds, perhaps quietly and sadly “but, you will not always have me.” The poor will always be their work. But, for now, Mary is preparing Jesus for his burial in this intimate act. It is an act that will be echoed during the last supper in this gospel, when Jesus washes the disciples’ feet and takes up a towel to wipe them dry. Mary is ministering to Jesus. If you are uncomfortable with intimacy, with Jesus and with the church – the disciple community – I’m sorry. This week, and next week: the entry into Jerusalem and the progression toward the cross, are going to be really intimate. I’m sorry you had to hear this story today, if you’re the kind of person who says “ew … feet!” If intimacy is something you can’t do, I suggest that you wait until Easter and come back then. Jesus will be risen from the dead, and you’ll be spared the icky foot touching and the ugly crying at the site of the crucifixion. I say this tongue in cheek, of course. I don’t want you to miss this next week. But I do recognize that for many of us, it is going to be difficult. Many of us are uncomfortable with intimacy, with Jesus and with one another. Intimacy makes us vulnerable, and we don’t like that feeling. For a long time I’ve wondered why people react a certain way when they find out I’m a pastor and a religious person. Some people will be careful around me, watching their ‘P’s and Q’s’. Others will outwardly mock faith and Christianity. They’ll make a joke about it, which is a sure sign that they are embarrassed. They’ll say religious people take their faith “too far.” And others will accuse Christians of being hypocritical, and failing to care for the poor. And yet, like Judas, these individuals usually do nothing for the poor themselves. If I’m not careful, I’ll leap to my religion’s defense. I’ll tell them that not all churches, not all ministers or priests, are like that. I’ll try and make a case for all the good that the Church does. But, if I have my wits about me I’ll take the time to probe and listen to what’s beneath the surface. What is this embarrassment? What is this resistance? Were you hurt by religion in the past? Or are you fearful of what would be revealed if you opened up? Does Jesus’ invitation to intimacy with him trouble you? A few years back, I was in a learning environment with Jewish Rabbinical students. In our “Group” times we were supposed to talk about our relationships with one another. One student asked, if we were sexually attracted to another member of the group, would this be a place to talk about it? Here I was, in a setting quite different from my own, with people I had just met – and this was the topic of conversation! I was visibly uncomfortable with it. I discovered these Jewish students were surprisingly comfortable talking about intimacy. And they gently teased me about my discomfort with the subject, seeing it as typical for a waspy Christian. They were both amused and annoyed by the Christian tradition that Jesus was never married and did not have physically intimate relationships. This was about the time that Karen King of Harvard Divinity School had published an ancient text that seemed to make reference to a “wife of Jesus.” According to the Jewish tradition, a Rabbi was expected to be married. The rabbinical students saw the supposed singleness of Jesus as a Christian cover-up intended to control the sexuality of the followers. You may be relieved when I say that I’m not going to speculate on Jesus’ relationship status today. We’re not going to talk sex. Good, I can already see your sense of relief. I don’t know whether Mary’s anointing of Jesus was intimate in that way. But it certainly was extravagant, it certainly was loving. For Judas it was too much, it was going too far. And still, I think that is Jesus’ invitation to us today. To go too far in love for him. We are invited to dinner – to two parties, the first supper and the last. We’re encouraged to enter into the intimacy of this season with all our senses: Sight, sound, smell, hearing and touch. We’re encouraged to return love to Jesus that he offers to us and to share it in the disciple community of the church. What will intimacy with Jesus look like in these coming weeks? Perhaps it looks like showing up for the services that will follow Jesus along the route to the cross. Perhaps it looks like participating without reservation in the songs and prayers of the season. Perhaps it looks like entering into the story today, by taking and tasting the bread and drinking the juice with one another, imagining ourselves participating in that first supper. Perhaps it means reaching out a hand to touch and comfort a lonely neighbor. Or perhaps it means making eye contact, here in this place with one another, and out in the community in the week ahead. Perhaps is means inviting a co-worker or a friend to Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday and Easter. And perhaps sharing with them what our faith walk really means to us, without worrying about “going too far.” Amen [1]Amy-Jill Levine, Entering the Passion of Jesus, (Nashville, Abingdon Press, 2018), 92
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