John 12:1-8
1 Six days before the Passover
Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. 2
There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those
at the table with him. 3 Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard,
anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with
the fragrance of the perfume. 4 But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the
one who was about to betray him), said, 5 “Why was this perfume not sold for
three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” 6 (He said this not
because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common
purse and used to steal what was put into it.) 7 Jesus said, “Leave her alone.
She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. 8 You always
have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
Can you remember a time when you
were a kid when all your friends at school were doing that one thing you really wanted to do, but your parents
wouldn’t let you? It didn’t matter how hard you pled your case to them, they
weren’t budging. You could carefully craft a proposal explaining all the
benefits they would receive if they just let you go along with your friends;
you could speak of the ways in which your social interactions with others in
your peer group would lead to a healthier self-image and a more well-adjusted
personality when you reached adulthood; you could even try the direct approach,
engaging in a heated dispute with your parents, matching each of their
arguments with an equally aggressive counter argument until you were hoarse
from attempting to filibuster your parents into submission. You could try any
and every trick in the book, but they weren’t changing their minds on the
issue—they weren’t going to let you join in with your friends. So you reached for that secret weapon, that
one comeback, that last-ditch missile of reason that every kid attempts to use
when every hope of getting what they want is lost. You stood before your
parents like a confident prosecutor with a signed confession in hand, and with
all of the conviction you could muster at that age you said, “But, my friends
and all the other kids at school are doing it!”
Oh how foolish we were to think such a puny piece
of rhetoric might shatter our parents’ impenetrable will to ruin our chances of
having fun. Each one of us in this room who has ever uttered such a phrase to a
parent or guardian in a final attempt to get our way knows exactly what follows
such an attempt. Whether the words come in an elevated tone of anger and
frustration or a surprisingly soft voice, laced with the confidence of a
knock-out punch, parents everywhere have learned the quickest way to pull the
wind from the sails of a child’s argument is to simply look them in the eye and
say, “I don’t care what the other kids at school are doing/going; you’re not!” With
that, the music plays and the credits roll—the discussion is over.
Why did we ever think we could get
away with such a lazy argument? “All the other kids are doing it.” So what?
Perhaps there’s something in the way we’re wired as children that causes us to
reason that if everyone else—or even one other person—is doing something, then
surely there’s at least the precedent for doing it ourselves. I, however, have
a different theory. You see, I don’t think this kind of reasoning evaporates
with our childhood. Oh no, I think it is refined with age; it evolves into a
more efficient and a likely more successful approach to justifying our own desires.
You see, I think with time we realize that justifying our actions by calling on
the examples of the same actions from others doesn’t really get us anywhere. So
we make a few adjustments in our reasoning, and our positions no longer seem so
unreasonable. Let me explain what I mean.
I was having a conversation with a lady
once, who was telling me about her frequent trips to Las Vegas. Now, let me
interject here and say that I don’t find anything necessarily bad or evil about
Las Vegas as a city, but I think you know what this lady was coming around
to…Anyhow, she was telling me that she didn’t think what she did with her time
in Vegas was really all that bad because it wasn’t like she was running around
abusing drugs or alcohol, cheating on her husband, or spending money she didn’t
have. She justified her behavior by comparing it to what she viewed as worse.
She made her actions seem okay compared to the wicked actions of some
hypothetical person who committed much more egregious sins.
I’m afraid we Christians in the Bible Belt have mastered this evolved way
of reasoning, and I’m even ashamed to admit that I’ve heard it most often from
pulpits not unlike this one. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard sermons
about those sorts of sins that so-called “worldly people” practice. I’ve heard
preachers worth millions of dollars preach against the supposed sins of those
on welfare; I’ve heard the hot wind of televangelists who con thousands out of
their life savings proclaim that refusing to tithe is refusing to believe; I’ve
heard preachers rail against homosexuality only to be charged with sexual
crimes against children. They have made it an evil art to point at the
supposedly greater sins of others in order to keep their own sins out of the
spotlight; they choose to point to what they believe are larger, public sins of
others in order to justify their own, hidden sins. It’s a true tragedy, and it
doesn’t end in the pulpit, nor did it begin in the pew. It’s been with us for
quite some time. In fact, we have heard an example of such twisted reasoning
from the Fourth Gospel here today.
It’s “Six days before the Passover”
and Jesus is in Bethany at the house of Mary, Martha, and the recently
resuscitated Lazarus. The narrator of the gospel sets the scene for us: there’s
a dinner prepared for Jesus; Martha’s busy serving; Lazarus is reclining at the
table; and Mary—well, Mary is making a scene. In verse 3 we’re told that “Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of
pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was
filled with the fragrance of the perfume.” This would have been nothing
short of shocking to those reclining around the dinner table. Mary literally
lets her hair down (something a good, Jewish woman would never do in public),
anoints Jesus’ feet (a most private and provocative part of a person’s body in
the first century) with some outrageously expensive perfume, and then wipes his feet with her hair! Jaws must have dropped, maybe even her previously dead brother
Lazarus choked a bit on a mouthful of bread after what she did. The New
Testament scholar Tom Wright says Mary’s action would be comparable to a single
woman walking up to a single man and hiking her skirt up above her thigh![1]
On top of such a provocative gesture
of worship, Mary has seemingly wasted some very expensive perfume. In verses 4 and 5 we hear Judas’ voice as
he attempts to point out the real problem with what Mary has done: “But
Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him),
said, ‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money
given to the poor?’” Now, let’s put on hold the fact that Judas is the
one who would betray Jesus (a fact which this Gospel never hesitates to remind
us), because it seems as if Judas might actually be starting to get it. Think
about it: Judas doesn’t call Mary out for her uncouth behavior; rather, he
points out her waste of what amounts to a year’s wages, money that could have
been given to the poor. If I had been there, I would have patted Judas on the
back and said, “Good job, Judas! I think you’re starting to get it. We should
have used such an expensive thing to benefit the poor.” Judas seems to have
great intensions, but you know what they say about intentions and the kinds of
paths they pave.
Jesus sees right through Judas’
well-intentioned words though in verses
7 and 8: “Leave her alone. 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.” While there is so much to say about Jesus’ response, I think it is
verse 8 that serves to pull the wind from Judas’
sails. You see, the author of the Fourth Gospel gives us a bit of parenthetical
insight into Judas’ character and his response to Mary’s action in verse 6: “(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a
thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.)”
Jesus sees through Judas’ objection to Mary’s action; this isn’t a genuine
concern for the poor, this is an attempt to shine the light on the perceived
sin of another in order to hide his own sin. Jesus’ point is made even clearer
when one considers that his response to Judas is an allusion to the words of
Moses in Deuteronomy 15:11: “Since there will never cease to be some in
need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and
needy neighbor in your land.’"
If Judas’ concern had truly been for
the poor, he would have brought it up long before now. He would have brought it
up each time a coin was slipped into the common coffer box in his possession;
he would have been making such objections whenever the opportunity presented
itself, but here, in the wake of such a public act of worship, Judas decides to
point out Mary’s misuse of her resources. His true desire is not to call her
out for her outlandish behavior or to call attention to an injustice, but
rather to shine the light on someone else’s sins so that his own, somewhat
hidden sins, may not seem so great. Before we throw Judas under the bus,
though, I think we ought to take a look in the mirror.
After all, it becomes so easy to point out the sins in others doesn’t it?
It is especially easy if we think we can categorize sins, if we are able to label
some sins as bigger, nastier, or more appalling than others. From our pious
perch in the pew we can point to those outside the walls of fellowship and cast
judgment on their sins, for while we may be sinners ourselves, at least we aren’t
sinners like them. If we can find one
or two public sins, sins of which we are sure we are not guilty, and pour our
efforts into pointing those sins out in others, then we can push our own sins
to the periphery, a place where they can be “out of sight, out of mind.”
I’m afraid we haven’t outgrown that sense of reasoning we had as
children; we still think that if someone, somewhere is guilty of the same
sin—or better yet, a “worse” sin—then at least we aren’t all that bad (I know I
am guilty of such flawed reasoning). If, like Judas, we can take advantage of
someone’s public display of what we think is a sin, an injustice, then we just
might feel a little better about ourselves and our own ways of living. And it’s
right when we start to think we’ve figured it out, just when we’re slipping
into that confident sense of comfort, Jesus springs the truth on us—if we’re
really worried about sin, we’d better start with our own. For just as Jesus
reminded Judas that the poor were there all along, he reminded Judas that he
was just as guilty of not giving to them. Just as we point to others and
proclaim their lifestyles as sinful, just as we cast judgment on others and
announce their inferiority in righteousness, just as we attempt to label and
rank sins in an attempt to keep our own sins out of sight, Jesus reminds us
that we are just as guilty as anyone at whom we point our accusing fingers.
With that same truth in mind, know this: while we are all guilty when it
comes to the sin we carry, we are all given the chance to be forgiven. Whether
we bear our sins before the judging eyes of others or keep them buried out of
sight, out of mind, Christ offers forgiveness to all who wish to have it. As we
draw closer to the cross with Jesus, may you know this day that the stains of
sin we all bear may be cleansed by the blood of Christ. May you no longer seek
to point out the sins in others so that you may find comfort in your own, less
visible sins. May you seek the forgiveness that comes only through Christ
today, and may you join this congregation in out connected journey of faith as
we follow Jesus to the cross, the grave, and on into the glorious reality of
resurrection. May you not hesitate on day longer.
Let us pray…
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on
us, for we are sinners. Remind us that our sins are no smaller or less wicked
than the sins of others. Show us, O Lord, the path of forgiveness that leads
through the cross into an everlasting life of love and discipleship. Help us to
confess our sins and follow you ever closer on this journey of faith. Give us
the strength to respond to the presence of the Holy Spirit as it moves among us
even now. In the name of our loving Lord Jesus we pray. Amen.
