JOHN 11: 1 -3, 17, 31 - 35, 38 - 43, and JOHN 12:1-8
Now a man named Lazarus was sick.
He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister
Martha.
(This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same
one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.)
So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love
is sick.”
On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in
the tomb for four days.
When the Jews who had been with Mary in the house,
comforting her,
noticed how quickly she got up and went out, they followed
her, supposing she was going to the tomb to mourn there.
When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him,
she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here,
my brother would not have died.”
When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along
with her also weeping,
he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.
“Where have you laid him?” he asked.
“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.
Jesus wept.
Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb.
It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance.
“Take away the stone,” he said.
“But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by
this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.”
Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe,
you will see the glory of God?”
So they took away the stone.
Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you
have heard me.
I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the
benefit of the people standing here,
that they may believe that you sent me.”
43 When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice,
“Lazarus, come out!”
The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with
strips of linen, and a cloth around his face.
Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him
go.”
JOHN 12:1-8
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany,
the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead.
There they gave a dinner for him.
Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table
with him.
Mary took a pint 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.
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? It is worth a years wages."
(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 said, "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."
Can you imagine why Mary had to anoint Jesus’ feet with a
pound of perfume?
Can you imagine the stench of Lazarus in the tomb four days?
Can you imagine the pungency of Mary’s tears, reeking of loss and love, longing
and loneliness? Can you imagine the power of her pain, enough to bring Jesus to
tears? “When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her
also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid
him?” he asked. “Come and see, Lord,” they replied. Jesus wept. “Jesus, once
more deeply moved, came to the tomb.” Can you imagine walking toward that stench,
rotting, rancid, curdling, choking? Can you imagine Lazarus’ beloved body
broken, blistered, and bloated, having stiffened with the rigidity of
rigor-mortis, then stretched with decay, the sour smell of death seeping out?
“Take away the stone,” Jesus said. “But, Lord,” said Martha, “by this time
there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.” ...The dead man came
out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his
face. Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.” Lazarus
was bound like a mummy, and I imagine with each strip of cloth they unraveled,
came a reeking, repulsive, rank smell. I am sure they were overcome with the
smell of death, and floored at the smell of death being overcome.
***
Can you imagine the smell of Christ crucified, died, and
buried? Can you imagine a
thousand people in the city street, smashed together,
sweating, stinking, steaming, searing, sneering, seeing Jesus carry his cross,
like the steeple chase of all deaths, a long march toward the grave? Can you
imagine the smell of that street, reeking of sin and sadness, shame and sorrow?
Can you imagine the smell of Jesus’ last marathon, his young frame, hauling
hundreds of pounds of heavy wood, crippled over with the weight, body exerting
every last ounce of energy, bearing the sins of the world, sins dripping forth
in a mix of warm sweat and blood, blood from having been flogged, and from a
crown of thorns, the smell of warm blood, fresh and then caked. Can you imagine
the smell of crucifixion, of metal nails in human flesh, of naked last breaths,
of hanging and waiting, and crying out? Can you imagine the stench of those
sins, all of our sins together, the sins of the world? Can you imagine the
smell of Jesus’ death? The flies
swarming, sitting. The tomb turning from stale, to musky, to
foul? Can you imagine the smell of Christ crucified, died, and buried? Can you
imagine being overcome with the smell of death, and floored at the smell of
death being overcome.
Can you imagine the smell of a pound of perfume broken open
all at once, perhaps it was
like lillies, or gardenias, or orange blossoms? Can you
imagine the suffocating scent of Mary’s gratitude, perhaps it smelled like
lilacs, or wisteria, or roses? Can you imagine the way the fragrance must have
filled room upon room with the incense of thankfulness, like the smell of
rain-washed sage, or fall leaves, or ocean breezes? Can you smell the sweetness
with which Mary bought such a gift, like the smell of cupcakes, or brownies, or
or peppermint? Can you imagine what a years wages would smell like, like
jasmine, or tuberose, or honeysuckle? Can you imagine the essence of praise
poured out to Jesus in one instance, a praise stronger than pine in crisp cool
air, a praise for Jesus who raised her brother from the dead? Can you imagine
giving this gift not in a spray, but in a shower, of perfume, washing Jesus’
feet with a cloth of Mary’s own hair, taken down for him? Was it a shower of
coconut, or vanilla, or fresh soap? Can you imagine the bouquet of this servant
act? This serving scent that is both the aroma that anoints a king, and the
spice that embalms him for burial. Can you imagine anything less then a smell
that could overcome death, the death of a brother, the death of the son of God,
and our own deaths?
In this moment between the death and raising of Lazarus, and
the death and raising of Jesus, it had to be a pint of strong perfume, it had
to be broken open in that instant, it had to smell of sheer gratitude. It had
to be a fragrance powerful enough to overcome death.
Can you smell it? Can you imagine the smell of Easter
breaking into the depths of Lent?
Can you imagine the sweet fragrance of death overcome?
Can you imagine the smell of grateful praise? Can you imagine what scent you
might bring to the feet of our Lord? Imagine. Amen.
