March 21, 2010

Not Much Time

Fifth Sunday in Lent, Year C • Lent
Isaiah 43:16-21, Psalm 126, Philippians 3:4b-14, John 12:1-8

The gospel locates our passage for today in time and space—six days before the Passover—at the home of Lazarus and his sisters, Martha and Mary in Bethany. Six days before the Passover—we know what that means because, like fictional time travelers, we’ve been here before. We know we are coming to the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry. We know that the Via Dolorosa, the way to the cross, is opening before us. We know that the cross is looming from Golgotha. We know there’s not much time left. In Bethany, Mary too somehow knew. She didn’t have our perspective, but she could sense it somewhere deep within. Perhaps because everyone knew that the authorities had, in today’s terms, issued a warrant for Jesus’ arrest, perhaps because she anticipated that Jesus would not walk away from the expected confrontation, perhaps because of the palpable tension in the air, whatever it was, Mary realized there was not much time left. With that weighing heavily on her mind and heart, she boldly took the opportunity of the family dinner party to anoint Jesus generously and extravagantly in preparation for whatever was to come. For us today, it is the fifth Sunday in Lent. Next Sunday we celebrate Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem with our Palm Sunday liturgy and immediately jump into Passion Week leading up to Jesus’ death and resurrection. There’s not much time left for us to prepare ourselves with “true repentance…that the rest of our life hereafter may be pure and holy, so that at the last we may come to [God’s] eternal joy.” (BCP, p.269) We know both from the prophet Isaiah and from our life-long experience that God is “about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” We do perceive it. We know Easter is coming. While we yet have time, may we be inspired to offer ourselves, our souls and bodies, to Christ Jesus as boldly and generously as Mary of Bethany did her “costly perfume of pure nard”.

Pat Horn