John 12:3-8

“Death in the Room”

My preaching professor once told me that when you preach a sermon at a funeral, there is another preacher in the room: death. And you’d better hope you have the better sermon!

Knowing the right words to say, or the right thing to do, in the face of death, is hard for all of us. Yet it is something that each of us faces. Perhaps there is the smell of a certain flower, or the sound of a familiar hymn or scripture verse that calls to mind a funeral of a loved one. Even the word “death” immediately reminds us of those nearest to us whom we have lost.

Year after year, we, with Mary and the other disciples, walk with Jesus towards the cross. We breathe in the smell of Easter lilies or chrysanthemums, lavender or roses.  Who are you carrying with you? What fear or pain, what loss of life? As the perfume fills the room, what fills us? Are we overflowing with gratitude, or desperate with need, longing for connection, reaching for Jesus for any proof that He is still there, or maybe proof that we are still here.

Death is in the room.

In our gospel story today, we see Jesus in His final days, surrounded by friends who aren’t quite sure how to take care of their teacher now that He is in danger. The one who had healed so many, loved and cared for strangers, and fed the hungry poor, could not save Himself. His time was coming.

As I wrestled with this text, I thought of a strange question: “What does Jesus need from us?” It felt almost blasphemous in a way, like asking what could you get for the person who already has everything. This is not to say that Jesus was wealthy; it’s just that we tend to talk about Jesus in such reverent terms that we forget the very human body He occupied. “Need” may seem beneath the God of the universe, but at the same time, it is essential to humanity. And in this moment, Jesus needed to receive care. Whatever fear of death was stirred in Him was calmed by the touch of a friend.

“I am here”. Oil and hands and hair. This is embodied, tangible love. Caring for the body of Christ.

What a gift to be in this room, where there is both death and love. Where love is the louder preacher.

Then there’s the voice of Judas from the sidelines: “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” His question is not genuine. It’s jealous. Judas wasn’t actually concerned with the well-being of the poor people in his community. He was using their pain, their hunger, their sickness, as an excuse to get his way. But Jesus wouldn’t have any of it.

Jesus tells him to “leave Mary alone”. She’s grieving. And her grief was a lovely thing.

Oil and hands and hair. This is embodied, tangible love. How will we hear the call to care for the body of Christ in the world today? To lean into the reality that every life is sacred and each of us is bound up together in one body, one spirit, in the hope of redemption.

Over the clamor of criticism and the fragrance of death, we hear that eternal promise that Jesus spoke to his first disciples: “I am always with you, to the end of the age”. May Christ be our guide. Amen.