New
Commentary
Object:
In 1954, Marcelle Maurtette penned his play Anastasia. It was based on the true story of a woman named Anna Anderson who claimed to be the long-lost daughter of the last emperor of Russia, Tsar Nicholas II, and his wife, Aleksandra.
The Russian tsars believed their kingdom was imperishable. They knew they would rule forever. But at the turn of the last century, a groundswell of social and political revolution tossed them aside. The emperor and his family were held hostage in the palace and then executed as the Bolsheviks bathed the countryside with blood.
Rumors persisted that little Anastasia, the youngest of the Romanovs, somehow survived the slaughter. Over the years, a number of women claimed to be her. Some were easily spotted as frauds; others convinced enough supporters to make a serious claim to fame.
Then there was Anna -- a nameless, homeless, memory-less wanderer, prone to suicidal fits at the "insane asylum" where she was brought. Nobody knew where she came from. They gave her the name Anna because she had none of her own.
But one day, Anna's doctor came across a picture of the last Russian royal family. Anna bore a striking resemblance to little Anastasia. She seemed to know more about the Russian noble house than one would expect. Anna was hypnotized, revealing that she knew even more in her subconscious.
There was a real possibility that she could be the only surviving heir of the Romanov family fortune. But who would know for sure? Was there any way to prove it?
Newspapers picked up the story. Was this really Anastasia? By some miracle was her life spared, only to be thrown into this new and dismal tragedy? Or was she only a hoax, a scoundrel, a publicity-seeker? The controversy sold papers, and the press hyped it to the limit.
Enter the old empress. She was not in Russia at the time of the murder of her son and his family, and now she lived in exile. If anyone could know if Anna was truly her granddaughter, this woman would be that person. So one day she came to see Anna.
The two women talk together for a long time. When she left, the elderly woman was accosted by reporters, and told the world: "Anna is my granddaughter -- Anastasia!"
Suddenly Anna began to change. She blossomed as a person. She took hold of her life. The suicide threats were gone. She washed herself and combed her hair. She looked after herself and dressed in style. She stood up straight in a crowd, and she carried herself with dignity when she walked.
One line in the play carries the heart of the story. How did Anna climb from the pit of her insane asylum and walk again in the land of the living? What transformed Anna the nobody into Anastasia the princess? This is her secret: "You must understand that it never mattered whether or not I was a princess. It only matters that ... someone, if it be only one, has held out their arms to welcome me back from death!"
This is the tale told in brief three times over in our lectionary passages for today. By the Word of the Lord, Isaiah declares that Israel shall be reborn anew after exile. By the regenerating Spirit of God, Paul became a new man. By the touch of kindness and the look of love, Mary found a new lease on life. This is the gospel for today, amid the darkening clouds of Lent.
Isaiah 43:16-21
Chapters 42-53 of Isaiah are comprised mainly of the famous four "Servant Songs." These speak of Israel's impending demise because of international political threats, and eventual revival under the direction of an enigmatic figure who will lead not from a position of strength but out of a shared journey of pain and suffering. Jewish theologians have come to identify this "Suffering Servant" with the entire Jewish people because of its often-persecuted place within the global mosaic. Christians find uncanny parallels with the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, as New Testament writers were quick to draw.
Certainly every Christian preacher ought to draw on those connections and find in Isaiah's reports the fresh promises of the gospel of Jesus Christ. However, it is important to listen to the prophecies in their own context first and to understand the power of transformation that God promises in a very unlike time. The world of Isaiah's day was controlled by superpowers of incredible strength and unbridled expansionist intentions. Assyria had already amassed a kingdom larger than any previously recorded in history, taking out troublesome Israel (the Northern Kingdom) like a cow might swat a pesky fly with its tail. Meanwhile, Assyria's own gadfly, the cultured province of Babylon on its eastern flank, was beginning a run of its own at the scepter. Eventually the clash between these two would rake nearly every other nation into the wake of armed destruction, in a climactic World War that bided no neutral parties.
No people of the minimal significance of little Judah could possibly endure. Big Brother Israel had been wiped out in Assyria's early smashing successes, and Jerusalem had only survived by a fluke that was interpreted by the prophets as a divine miracle. But even then the pollsters all knew loss of independence was inevitable. Whoever won the Assyria/Babylon clash of the Titans would sweep the rag-tag mini-states into its eddying orb.
More importantly, according to the prophets (including Isaiah), this was the only reasonable expectation of God's imminent judgment. For too long the chosen nation had abdicated its responsibilities of witness and worship, so that a divine chastisement was about to take place. According to the Curses (Exodus 23) of the Sinai Covenant, if God's people failed in their marriage commitments with Yahweh, foreign powers would enter and destroy their marriage home in Canaan. God's long-suffering patience had been tested again and again through the years, but all the prophets now sang in chorus that this time the marriage counseling was over; an eviction was around the corner.
What remains so powerful in the Word of God spoken through Isaiah is the unflagging hope and expectation and promise that God will not allow the marriage to fail. Enemy armies would sweep in, and a separation would take place for a time, but God would fight for his bride and rebuild their honeymoon home. The road ahead may be dark, and inner resources might be small and failing, but God's pledges remain a surety of constant faithfulness and abiding love. As Don Francisco gave voice to the divine oath in one of his songs, "No matter what may happen, child, I'll never let go of your hand."
Martin Luther King Jr. used to tell the story of an event that changed his life. On a Monday evening in 1956, he spoke at church. Although he tried to appear strong and brave, in his heart he was afraid. The week before he had been arrested and thrown in jail for speaking the message of the gospel at a public gathering. Not only that, but he kept receiving telephone calls at home from people who called him a "dirty n****r" and threatened the lives of his wife and children.
When he spoke to the crowd that night, he wished he didn't have to be there; the fear in his soul made him tremble. He thought he could hide his fear from the people, and when he finished speaking, he thought he had done quite well.
At the end of the service, though, an elderly woman called Mother Pollard came up to him. She said, "Something is wrong with you. You didn't talk strong tonight!"
King laughed a bit, nervous inside, and told her, "Oh, no, Mother Pollard. There's nothing wrong. I'm as fine as ever."
But she insisted. "Now, you can't fool me. I know something's wrong."
Before he could protest again, she said, "Dr. King, I done told you we is with you all the way." Then, said King, her face got bright, her voice grew quiet, and she said, "And even if we ain't with you, God's gonna' take care of you."
"In that instant," King recalled, "I realized what was happening in my life. I was looking at the fears. I was looking at the doubts. I was looking at the terrors and the troubles that surrounded me.
"But old Mother Pollard made me see the most important thing in life. 'God's gonna' take care of you' she said." And for the rest of King's life, the voice of faith kept him going. Fear couldn't defeat faith.
Philippians 3:4b-14
Paul's letter to the Philippians is the most joyful and uplifting note of the entire New Testament. Even in Paul's confinement, he is filled with delight in his relationships and amazed at what God is doing (Philippians 1). Almost without needing to do so, Paul reminds the congregation of the great example of Jesus, who gave up everything in order to express the love of God to us (Philippians 2:1-18). Another example of this selfless care is found in Timothy and Epaphroditus, each of whom had given up much in order to serve others, especially the faith community in Philippi (Philippians 2:19-30). More encouragement to serve follows, with Paul reflecting on his own changes of behavior and value systems, once he was gripped by the love of God in Jesus (Philippians 3). A few personal instructions and notes of appreciation round out the letter (Philippians 4).
Our text for today is that marvelous personal testimony Paul makes in chapter 3. It is not a "before" and "after" dieting commercial, complete with fat and skinny pictures of "what I did!" but rather a sober and somber reflection on a road to successful destruction that turned into a winning failure by the grace of God.
Someone has written what could be the testimony of the apostle Paul in a short story called "The Happy Hypocrite." It is about a man who lived a worthless life. He used everything for his pleasure and treated women like toys to break and throw away. One day he met a young woman whose life intrigued him. She was a Christian and her actions supported her testimony of faith.
In order to have his way with her, the man put on a mask of piety. He went to church with her and pretended to be as sincere as the mask he wore. Soon, he thought, when she trusts me, I'll use her and toss her on the heap of my conquests.
Then something happened that he hadn't counted on -- he fell in love. He began to truly appreciate and adore this woman. Always he kept his mask in place. Always he played the part of her righteous friend. And gradually she fell in love with him, too. Incredible as it seemed to him, they got married, and he found himself enjoying the role of godly husband.
But one day one of his former consorts found out who he was. She was livid. He had used her and tossed her aside, and she wanted revenge. She met with him privately, telling him she would reveal the hideous truth to his wonderful wife. She'd crush him just the way he had crushed her so many years before.
She rushed at him to snatch the mask from his face and reveal the ugly man beneath. But when the mask fell away, the face behind it looked just like the pious mask. Love had changed the cruel man's heart; the habits of his life had molded his face to fit the mask of righteousness.
Such happened in Paul's life the day he met Jesus. One can tell the tale of Paul's years in many ways, but one can never tell it without Jesus. When love has its way with us, our face and our life will find its shape in him.
John 12:1-8
In his short story The Capital of the World, Ernest Hemingway reported an event they tell of in Madrid. A young man named Francisco, lovingly called Paco by his parents, grew to be a teen at odds with his father. No matter how a day began, it was sure to end with angry words and heated arguments. Paco and his father became enemies living under the same roof.
Finally the young man ran away, drifting eventually to the large metropolis of Madrid, where anyone could get lost and create a new identity. However, relief from antagonism does not necessarily bring peace. Although free to find his own way, Paco was suddenly adrift in a world where many others tried to set his agenda and missed the stability and resources of home. Meanwhile, back at home, his father and mother found themselves also in miserable silence. Paco's absence was more destructive than his petulant presence. They missed him terribly.
With passions only parents can know, Paco's father climbed the well-trodden roads to Madrid, asking all along the way if they had encountered his son. In the great city itself, the stranger wandered markets and main streets, seeking news of Paco. But not even in dimly lit dens and narrow alleys did anyone know about the missing teen.
So Paco's father went to the office of El Liberal, the largest newspaper in Madrid. He placed a personal ad that made this poignant promise: "Paco, meet me at Hotel Montana at noon Tuesday. All is forgiven. Papa."
The father could hardly sleep Monday night. Restless and hoping against hope, he arrived at the newspaper office already at mid-morning. By then, strange things were already beginning to happen on the street outside. Traffic was much heavier than anyone could remember, with an unusual percentage of young men milling about. By 11:00 a.m. the area was nearly clogged with pedestrians. Half an hour later, as the father scanned the roiling mass in hopes of spying his son, the Guardia had to be called out to control the mob. One observer from a second-story window reported that over 800 homeless Paco's had shown up, all hoping to find a loving father who would take them home.
This is the story of our gospel reading today. We are Mary and Mary is us. Something had happened in her life that caused her to lose faith and hope until Jesus came along. Only through him was her soul restored, her psyche mended, and her trust nurtured back to life. There are many stories and legends that surround this passage, including thoughts that Mary had been a prostitute (drawing on parallels with other accounts and similar tales). We don't know. What we are told with unbroken earnestness by John is that Mary's action in anointing Jesus startled all around her, including Jesus' own disciples. The act was too bold, too lavish, too emotional, too over-the-top. Even Judas, who would not go down in history as the most careful of all men, was ready to shove Mary away as outlandish.
Jesus would have none of it. He alone understood how close he was to his own death and welcomed the anticipated nod toward funereal honor. More than that, however, he honored Mary because of her passionate affirmation that Jesus meant everything to her. After the brokenness of life had washed her up and spit her out and thrown her into the milling masses of Madrid or Jerusalem or Moscow or Rio de Janeiro, Jesus was the Word of the loving Father broadcast in mass media promising, "All is forgiven. Come home!"
This is why Jesus said we would remember her. Wherever the gospel is proclaimed, she is us, and we are her.
Application
When Geoffrey Wainwright wrote a summary of his theology, he called the resulting work Doxology, a song of praise to God. However, he found all his words inadequate to convey what his theology meant for living. He pulled his doctrinal treatises together with this concluding story.
Many years ago, Turkish soldiers raided an Armenian home. The officer in charge ordered the parents killed and gave the daughters to his soldiers to be raped and brought home as slaves. He kept the oldest daughter for himself, using her again and again in despicable ways.
One day, the oldest daughter escaped. After she found her life again, she trained to be a nurse. When she was finally assigned to a hospital, she discovered that her ward was filled with Turkish officers.
Late one night, her old enemy was brought in. By the light of the lantern, she could see he was near death. She wouldn't have to try to kill him -- with a little neglect, he'd be gone.
But the man didn't die. As the days passed, he recovered strength. One morning the doctor told him how fortunate he was. The doctor pointed to the young nurse and said, "But for her devotion to you, you would be dead."
Recognizing her, the officer asked, "Why didn't you kill me?" She simply replied, "I am a follower of him who said, 'Love your enemies.' "
The Russian writer Tolstoy said he truly lived only at those times when he believed in God. "To know God and to live are one and the same thing," he said. Deep down, we know how true that is. Paul put it this way: "For to me, to live is Christ" (Philippians 1:21).
Alternative Application
John 12:1-8. In these weeks of Lent, it is important to keep Jesus front and center. As noted above, Mary's tale is our story. There are many ways to retell it and make it personal for those who gather. The emphasis needs to be on Jesus and how he speaks love even as he moves to the cross.
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 126
As the fingers hover over the keyboard to begin reflecting on this psalm, the horrific news is seeping out of Haiti. As images of haunted faces and pulverized buildings flicker across our televisions, the full impact of this disaster begins to register in our minds. The immensity of the suffering pries our self-absorbed minds away from economic recession and forces our myopic worldview to look where we would otherwise not think about turning our attention.
It is not so much the shaking of the ground as it is the cumulative effects of centuries of oppression and poverty that have led to non-existent building codes and over-crowded urban centers. In a country that already groans in a prolonged agony, disaster strikes like a kick in the head to someone who is lying unconscious on the pavement.
The fields have been sown, not only in tears, but in blood. A seemingly endless line of brutal dictatorships has seen to this planting with repression and systematic violence. Moreover, these regimes have been supported and propped up by those who now respond with promises of aid and support.
The rubble has not yet begun to be cleared and there are thousands of corpses left to bury still. But even with so much to do, it's not a big stretch to suggest that it's time to reap a harvest of joy in Haiti. Indeed, it is long past time.
While everyone lauds the massive movement to supply aid, few are thinking beyond the disaster. Few are considering the harvest that lies ahead. Will the clean up come as it did in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, where years later half the city still lays in ruin? Or will there truly be shouts of joy as a nation is rebuilt? Will schools and hospitals rise from the rubble? Will the centuries-long exploitation of this people finally come to a halt? Will a truly representative government emerge that will protect the rights of the people?
Will the coming harvest be accompanied by shouts of joy? These are questions that each one of us can help to answer. We ourselves can help with this harvest. We ourselves can be part of the new crop of justice and hope. We ourselves can be part of the solution.
The Russian tsars believed their kingdom was imperishable. They knew they would rule forever. But at the turn of the last century, a groundswell of social and political revolution tossed them aside. The emperor and his family were held hostage in the palace and then executed as the Bolsheviks bathed the countryside with blood.
Rumors persisted that little Anastasia, the youngest of the Romanovs, somehow survived the slaughter. Over the years, a number of women claimed to be her. Some were easily spotted as frauds; others convinced enough supporters to make a serious claim to fame.
Then there was Anna -- a nameless, homeless, memory-less wanderer, prone to suicidal fits at the "insane asylum" where she was brought. Nobody knew where she came from. They gave her the name Anna because she had none of her own.
But one day, Anna's doctor came across a picture of the last Russian royal family. Anna bore a striking resemblance to little Anastasia. She seemed to know more about the Russian noble house than one would expect. Anna was hypnotized, revealing that she knew even more in her subconscious.
There was a real possibility that she could be the only surviving heir of the Romanov family fortune. But who would know for sure? Was there any way to prove it?
Newspapers picked up the story. Was this really Anastasia? By some miracle was her life spared, only to be thrown into this new and dismal tragedy? Or was she only a hoax, a scoundrel, a publicity-seeker? The controversy sold papers, and the press hyped it to the limit.
Enter the old empress. She was not in Russia at the time of the murder of her son and his family, and now she lived in exile. If anyone could know if Anna was truly her granddaughter, this woman would be that person. So one day she came to see Anna.
The two women talk together for a long time. When she left, the elderly woman was accosted by reporters, and told the world: "Anna is my granddaughter -- Anastasia!"
Suddenly Anna began to change. She blossomed as a person. She took hold of her life. The suicide threats were gone. She washed herself and combed her hair. She looked after herself and dressed in style. She stood up straight in a crowd, and she carried herself with dignity when she walked.
One line in the play carries the heart of the story. How did Anna climb from the pit of her insane asylum and walk again in the land of the living? What transformed Anna the nobody into Anastasia the princess? This is her secret: "You must understand that it never mattered whether or not I was a princess. It only matters that ... someone, if it be only one, has held out their arms to welcome me back from death!"
This is the tale told in brief three times over in our lectionary passages for today. By the Word of the Lord, Isaiah declares that Israel shall be reborn anew after exile. By the regenerating Spirit of God, Paul became a new man. By the touch of kindness and the look of love, Mary found a new lease on life. This is the gospel for today, amid the darkening clouds of Lent.
Isaiah 43:16-21
Chapters 42-53 of Isaiah are comprised mainly of the famous four "Servant Songs." These speak of Israel's impending demise because of international political threats, and eventual revival under the direction of an enigmatic figure who will lead not from a position of strength but out of a shared journey of pain and suffering. Jewish theologians have come to identify this "Suffering Servant" with the entire Jewish people because of its often-persecuted place within the global mosaic. Christians find uncanny parallels with the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, as New Testament writers were quick to draw.
Certainly every Christian preacher ought to draw on those connections and find in Isaiah's reports the fresh promises of the gospel of Jesus Christ. However, it is important to listen to the prophecies in their own context first and to understand the power of transformation that God promises in a very unlike time. The world of Isaiah's day was controlled by superpowers of incredible strength and unbridled expansionist intentions. Assyria had already amassed a kingdom larger than any previously recorded in history, taking out troublesome Israel (the Northern Kingdom) like a cow might swat a pesky fly with its tail. Meanwhile, Assyria's own gadfly, the cultured province of Babylon on its eastern flank, was beginning a run of its own at the scepter. Eventually the clash between these two would rake nearly every other nation into the wake of armed destruction, in a climactic World War that bided no neutral parties.
No people of the minimal significance of little Judah could possibly endure. Big Brother Israel had been wiped out in Assyria's early smashing successes, and Jerusalem had only survived by a fluke that was interpreted by the prophets as a divine miracle. But even then the pollsters all knew loss of independence was inevitable. Whoever won the Assyria/Babylon clash of the Titans would sweep the rag-tag mini-states into its eddying orb.
More importantly, according to the prophets (including Isaiah), this was the only reasonable expectation of God's imminent judgment. For too long the chosen nation had abdicated its responsibilities of witness and worship, so that a divine chastisement was about to take place. According to the Curses (Exodus 23) of the Sinai Covenant, if God's people failed in their marriage commitments with Yahweh, foreign powers would enter and destroy their marriage home in Canaan. God's long-suffering patience had been tested again and again through the years, but all the prophets now sang in chorus that this time the marriage counseling was over; an eviction was around the corner.
What remains so powerful in the Word of God spoken through Isaiah is the unflagging hope and expectation and promise that God will not allow the marriage to fail. Enemy armies would sweep in, and a separation would take place for a time, but God would fight for his bride and rebuild their honeymoon home. The road ahead may be dark, and inner resources might be small and failing, but God's pledges remain a surety of constant faithfulness and abiding love. As Don Francisco gave voice to the divine oath in one of his songs, "No matter what may happen, child, I'll never let go of your hand."
Martin Luther King Jr. used to tell the story of an event that changed his life. On a Monday evening in 1956, he spoke at church. Although he tried to appear strong and brave, in his heart he was afraid. The week before he had been arrested and thrown in jail for speaking the message of the gospel at a public gathering. Not only that, but he kept receiving telephone calls at home from people who called him a "dirty n****r" and threatened the lives of his wife and children.
When he spoke to the crowd that night, he wished he didn't have to be there; the fear in his soul made him tremble. He thought he could hide his fear from the people, and when he finished speaking, he thought he had done quite well.
At the end of the service, though, an elderly woman called Mother Pollard came up to him. She said, "Something is wrong with you. You didn't talk strong tonight!"
King laughed a bit, nervous inside, and told her, "Oh, no, Mother Pollard. There's nothing wrong. I'm as fine as ever."
But she insisted. "Now, you can't fool me. I know something's wrong."
Before he could protest again, she said, "Dr. King, I done told you we is with you all the way." Then, said King, her face got bright, her voice grew quiet, and she said, "And even if we ain't with you, God's gonna' take care of you."
"In that instant," King recalled, "I realized what was happening in my life. I was looking at the fears. I was looking at the doubts. I was looking at the terrors and the troubles that surrounded me.
"But old Mother Pollard made me see the most important thing in life. 'God's gonna' take care of you' she said." And for the rest of King's life, the voice of faith kept him going. Fear couldn't defeat faith.
Philippians 3:4b-14
Paul's letter to the Philippians is the most joyful and uplifting note of the entire New Testament. Even in Paul's confinement, he is filled with delight in his relationships and amazed at what God is doing (Philippians 1). Almost without needing to do so, Paul reminds the congregation of the great example of Jesus, who gave up everything in order to express the love of God to us (Philippians 2:1-18). Another example of this selfless care is found in Timothy and Epaphroditus, each of whom had given up much in order to serve others, especially the faith community in Philippi (Philippians 2:19-30). More encouragement to serve follows, with Paul reflecting on his own changes of behavior and value systems, once he was gripped by the love of God in Jesus (Philippians 3). A few personal instructions and notes of appreciation round out the letter (Philippians 4).
Our text for today is that marvelous personal testimony Paul makes in chapter 3. It is not a "before" and "after" dieting commercial, complete with fat and skinny pictures of "what I did!" but rather a sober and somber reflection on a road to successful destruction that turned into a winning failure by the grace of God.
Someone has written what could be the testimony of the apostle Paul in a short story called "The Happy Hypocrite." It is about a man who lived a worthless life. He used everything for his pleasure and treated women like toys to break and throw away. One day he met a young woman whose life intrigued him. She was a Christian and her actions supported her testimony of faith.
In order to have his way with her, the man put on a mask of piety. He went to church with her and pretended to be as sincere as the mask he wore. Soon, he thought, when she trusts me, I'll use her and toss her on the heap of my conquests.
Then something happened that he hadn't counted on -- he fell in love. He began to truly appreciate and adore this woman. Always he kept his mask in place. Always he played the part of her righteous friend. And gradually she fell in love with him, too. Incredible as it seemed to him, they got married, and he found himself enjoying the role of godly husband.
But one day one of his former consorts found out who he was. She was livid. He had used her and tossed her aside, and she wanted revenge. She met with him privately, telling him she would reveal the hideous truth to his wonderful wife. She'd crush him just the way he had crushed her so many years before.
She rushed at him to snatch the mask from his face and reveal the ugly man beneath. But when the mask fell away, the face behind it looked just like the pious mask. Love had changed the cruel man's heart; the habits of his life had molded his face to fit the mask of righteousness.
Such happened in Paul's life the day he met Jesus. One can tell the tale of Paul's years in many ways, but one can never tell it without Jesus. When love has its way with us, our face and our life will find its shape in him.
John 12:1-8
In his short story The Capital of the World, Ernest Hemingway reported an event they tell of in Madrid. A young man named Francisco, lovingly called Paco by his parents, grew to be a teen at odds with his father. No matter how a day began, it was sure to end with angry words and heated arguments. Paco and his father became enemies living under the same roof.
Finally the young man ran away, drifting eventually to the large metropolis of Madrid, where anyone could get lost and create a new identity. However, relief from antagonism does not necessarily bring peace. Although free to find his own way, Paco was suddenly adrift in a world where many others tried to set his agenda and missed the stability and resources of home. Meanwhile, back at home, his father and mother found themselves also in miserable silence. Paco's absence was more destructive than his petulant presence. They missed him terribly.
With passions only parents can know, Paco's father climbed the well-trodden roads to Madrid, asking all along the way if they had encountered his son. In the great city itself, the stranger wandered markets and main streets, seeking news of Paco. But not even in dimly lit dens and narrow alleys did anyone know about the missing teen.
So Paco's father went to the office of El Liberal, the largest newspaper in Madrid. He placed a personal ad that made this poignant promise: "Paco, meet me at Hotel Montana at noon Tuesday. All is forgiven. Papa."
The father could hardly sleep Monday night. Restless and hoping against hope, he arrived at the newspaper office already at mid-morning. By then, strange things were already beginning to happen on the street outside. Traffic was much heavier than anyone could remember, with an unusual percentage of young men milling about. By 11:00 a.m. the area was nearly clogged with pedestrians. Half an hour later, as the father scanned the roiling mass in hopes of spying his son, the Guardia had to be called out to control the mob. One observer from a second-story window reported that over 800 homeless Paco's had shown up, all hoping to find a loving father who would take them home.
This is the story of our gospel reading today. We are Mary and Mary is us. Something had happened in her life that caused her to lose faith and hope until Jesus came along. Only through him was her soul restored, her psyche mended, and her trust nurtured back to life. There are many stories and legends that surround this passage, including thoughts that Mary had been a prostitute (drawing on parallels with other accounts and similar tales). We don't know. What we are told with unbroken earnestness by John is that Mary's action in anointing Jesus startled all around her, including Jesus' own disciples. The act was too bold, too lavish, too emotional, too over-the-top. Even Judas, who would not go down in history as the most careful of all men, was ready to shove Mary away as outlandish.
Jesus would have none of it. He alone understood how close he was to his own death and welcomed the anticipated nod toward funereal honor. More than that, however, he honored Mary because of her passionate affirmation that Jesus meant everything to her. After the brokenness of life had washed her up and spit her out and thrown her into the milling masses of Madrid or Jerusalem or Moscow or Rio de Janeiro, Jesus was the Word of the loving Father broadcast in mass media promising, "All is forgiven. Come home!"
This is why Jesus said we would remember her. Wherever the gospel is proclaimed, she is us, and we are her.
Application
When Geoffrey Wainwright wrote a summary of his theology, he called the resulting work Doxology, a song of praise to God. However, he found all his words inadequate to convey what his theology meant for living. He pulled his doctrinal treatises together with this concluding story.
Many years ago, Turkish soldiers raided an Armenian home. The officer in charge ordered the parents killed and gave the daughters to his soldiers to be raped and brought home as slaves. He kept the oldest daughter for himself, using her again and again in despicable ways.
One day, the oldest daughter escaped. After she found her life again, she trained to be a nurse. When she was finally assigned to a hospital, she discovered that her ward was filled with Turkish officers.
Late one night, her old enemy was brought in. By the light of the lantern, she could see he was near death. She wouldn't have to try to kill him -- with a little neglect, he'd be gone.
But the man didn't die. As the days passed, he recovered strength. One morning the doctor told him how fortunate he was. The doctor pointed to the young nurse and said, "But for her devotion to you, you would be dead."
Recognizing her, the officer asked, "Why didn't you kill me?" She simply replied, "I am a follower of him who said, 'Love your enemies.' "
The Russian writer Tolstoy said he truly lived only at those times when he believed in God. "To know God and to live are one and the same thing," he said. Deep down, we know how true that is. Paul put it this way: "For to me, to live is Christ" (Philippians 1:21).
Alternative Application
John 12:1-8. In these weeks of Lent, it is important to keep Jesus front and center. As noted above, Mary's tale is our story. There are many ways to retell it and make it personal for those who gather. The emphasis needs to be on Jesus and how he speaks love even as he moves to the cross.
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 126
As the fingers hover over the keyboard to begin reflecting on this psalm, the horrific news is seeping out of Haiti. As images of haunted faces and pulverized buildings flicker across our televisions, the full impact of this disaster begins to register in our minds. The immensity of the suffering pries our self-absorbed minds away from economic recession and forces our myopic worldview to look where we would otherwise not think about turning our attention.
It is not so much the shaking of the ground as it is the cumulative effects of centuries of oppression and poverty that have led to non-existent building codes and over-crowded urban centers. In a country that already groans in a prolonged agony, disaster strikes like a kick in the head to someone who is lying unconscious on the pavement.
The fields have been sown, not only in tears, but in blood. A seemingly endless line of brutal dictatorships has seen to this planting with repression and systematic violence. Moreover, these regimes have been supported and propped up by those who now respond with promises of aid and support.
The rubble has not yet begun to be cleared and there are thousands of corpses left to bury still. But even with so much to do, it's not a big stretch to suggest that it's time to reap a harvest of joy in Haiti. Indeed, it is long past time.
While everyone lauds the massive movement to supply aid, few are thinking beyond the disaster. Few are considering the harvest that lies ahead. Will the clean up come as it did in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, where years later half the city still lays in ruin? Or will there truly be shouts of joy as a nation is rebuilt? Will schools and hospitals rise from the rubble? Will the centuries-long exploitation of this people finally come to a halt? Will a truly representative government emerge that will protect the rights of the people?
Will the coming harvest be accompanied by shouts of joy? These are questions that each one of us can help to answer. We ourselves can help with this harvest. We ourselves can be part of the new crop of justice and hope. We ourselves can be part of the solution.
