“Marble Ceilings, Anointed Feet”
John 12:1-8
Fifth Sunday in Lent – March 25,
2007
David A. Kaden
When Nancy Pelosi became the first woman Speaker of the House, she said the ‘marble ceiling’ had finally been smashed, and the cause of women advanced. This morning I would like to advance this cause yet further by challenging a disturbing tradition that has circulated within the Christian church for over 1500 years, which relates to the text we’ve just read, John ch 12, and the anointing of Jesus’ feet by a woman named Mary.
Who is this Mary?
In the sixth century AD, Pope Gregory the Great, in his 25th Epistle, outlined the Church’s official position on the identity of this Mary. Pope Gregory identified her with Mary Magdalene—the Mary who witnessed the crucifixion of Jesus, and then peered into the empty tomb three days later. Not only did the Pope identify the Mary of John ch 12 with Mary Magdalene, he went further, suggesting that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute whom Jesus had forgiven. To this day, in many Christian churches, Mary Magdalene is assumed to have been both a prostitute, and the one to anoint Jesus’ feet and wipe them with her hair in John ch 12.
The question is: why did Pope Gregory make this connection? Some have said it was for a dark conspiratorial purpose. In Dan Brown’s popular book The Da Vinci Code, Mary Magdalene is said to be Jesus’ wife—indeed she is the Holy Grail itself! So, to cover up the scandal of Jesus being married, one of Dan Brown’s characters opines that the Church (capital C) forever tarnished Mary Magdalene’s reputation by calling her a prostitute.
As attractive as this hypothesis has been for conspiracy theorists, the truth is much less interesting. It seems that Pope Gregory in his 25th Epistle was simply confused about Mary’s identity, because there are so many Marys mentioned in the New Testament—at least seven of them. (To this day, by the way, scholars still have trouble sorting them all out.)
Not only was he confused about Mary’s name, but Gregory may also have been perplexed—as scholars still are to this day—over the three separate stories of Jesus’ anointing in our New Testament.
Matthew and Mark tell one version of this story saying that near the last week of his life, Jesus entered the house of Simon the leper and was met by an unnamed woman who anointed his head with ointment.
Luke tells a different story with a different setting and a different cast of characters: Luke’s version takes place during the middle of Jesus’ ministry, not the end; the host in Luke’s story is Simon the Pharisee, not Simon the Leper; the woman is referred to as a ‘sinner’; and she anoints Jesus’ feet, not his head.
And lastly, there’s John’s version of the story. It bears some resemblance to the other two, and yet is markedly different: like Matthew and Mark, John places the story near the last week of Jesus’ life. Unlike the other versions of this story, however, John names the woman—Mary of Bethany, not Mary of Magdala; and like in Luke, she anoints the feet of Jesus, but not the head.
Three different stories, each with similarities and differences; trying to sort them out has left many a scholar scratching his or her head. Even St. Augustine—brilliant intellect of the church—suggested that the differences between the three stories were irreconcilable. He even argued that Jesus must have been anointed more than once during his ministry to account for the different versions of the story!
Nevertheless, as bewildering as these details may seem, the story as John tells it is quite short and simple. And it draws our attention, this Fifth Sunday of Lent, to two different forms of piety.
The first is Mary’s. John tells us that six days before Passover was to begin, Jesus was eating dinner with some friends in a small town named Bethany, two miles from Jerusalem. One of the hosts of this dinner, interestingly, was Lazarus whom Jesus had raised from the dead in John ch 11. At the dinner Martha was serving, but Mary, her sister, had taken a pound of very expensive ointment—usually reserved for anointing bodies of the deceased—poured it on the feet of Jesus, and began wiping his feet with her hair. From Judas’ response we learn the cost of such ointment—300 denarii—the equivalent of a full year’s wage for a working person.
Mary’s act of humble devotion appears to have been spontaneous. And yet, from John’s perspective, Mary is the model disciple. The only other person in John’s Gospel who humbly stoops down to wash the feet of another, is Jesus the night of the Last Supper. On that night, Jesus got up from reclining on the floor before the table, removed his outer robe, wrapped a towel around his waist, and filled a basin full of water. He then went to each one of his disciples, towel in hand, water prepared, and washed their feet—an act in their culture which was only to be done by slaves. When he had finished, he said, ‘I have given you an example, that you should do as I have done.’ Mary, in John ch 12, models this Christ-like humility.
Reformer John Calvin once said that humility is the chief Christian virtue. In his work Institutes of the Christian Religion, Calvin wrote:
When a certain rhetorician was asked what the chief rule of eloquence was, he replied, ‘Delivery’. What was the second rule? Again he replied, ‘Delivery’. What was the third rule, ‘Delivery’. So if you asked me,’ writes Calvin, ‘concerning the precepts of the Christian religion, first, second, third, and always I would answer, ‘Humility’.
‘Humility,’ according to author Richard Foster, ‘is one of those virtues that is never gained by seeking it. The more we pursue it the more distant it becomes. To think we have it is sure evidence that we don’t.’
President Ronald Reagan, once recalled an occasion when he was governor of California and made a speech in Mexico City. ‘After I had finished speaking,’ said President Reagan, ‘I sat down to rather unenthusiastic applause, and I was a little embarrassed. The speaker who followed me spoke in Spanish, which I didn't understand; and he was being applauded after almost every paragraph. So, to hide my embarrassment, I started clapping before everyone else in the crowd, and longer than everyone else, until our ambassador leaned over and said, “I wouldn't do that if I were you. He's interpreting your speech.”’
(Someone once said, ‘It is far more impressive when others discover your good qualities without your help!’)…Christ-like humility is the chief Christian virtue.
Mary’s humility in John ch 12 is contrasted with Judas’ hypocrisy. Seeing Mary anointing the feet of Jesus and wiping them with her hair, Judas exclaims with disgust that this valuable perfume should have been sold, and the proceeds given to the poor. On the surface, this appears to be quite noble! Almsgiving is a form of piety. But there’s a stench of self-righteousness and hypocrisy in Judas’ suggestion. Indeed, John informs us in v 6, that Judas said this ‘not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief, and used to steal the disciples’ money.’
Nobel Laureate, Jane Addams, once said, ‘The essence of immorality is the tendency to make an exception for myself.’ And Shakespeare has written, ‘God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.’ Two-faced Judas stood by and condemned Mary’s action, while making an exception for his own immorality. This is hypocrisy. And no attitude was more repulsive to Jesus.
As pastor Tony Campolo has said, ‘Jesus didn’t condemn sinners—at least they were genuine! Jesus condemned the pastors, the religious folks, the pious, for being self-righteous, looking down on everyone else, and not practicing what they preached.’ Jesus once likened hypocrisy to ‘pointing out the splinter in someone else’s eye, while not seeing the beam in our own.’
A church deacon was teaching a class of fifth graders about the importance of Christian living. "Why do you think people call me a Christian?" the man asked. After a moment's pause, one girl raised her hand and said, "Maybe it's because they don't know you."
…Mary and Judas—humility and hypocrisy.
But what was it about Mary of Bethany that suggests she was humble? And how do we take Mary’s example, as a model disciple, and make it our own? The answer to both questions is service. There’s a direct relationship between service and humility.
In his book Celebration of Discipline, Richard Foster writes, ‘of all the…spiritual disciplines, service is the most conducive to the growth of [Christ-like] humility.’
Service can take many forms, according to Foster: First of all, there’s the service of small things. Someone once said, ‘thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle’—thousands of good deeds from one small one: giving a car ride, knitting a sweater, visiting a sick person, saying a prayer. Mother Teresa said, ‘if you can’t feed a hundred people, then feed just one.’—the service of small things
There is also the service of guarding the reputation of others. Foster calls this the service of holding one’s tongue, and not participating in slander.
Another form of service is being served. It is a humble act to allow ourselves to be served by another. And it’s noteworthy that in John ch 12, Jesus is the one who is served.
There is also, according to Foster, the service of common courtesy—treating others with dignity and respect.
Hospitality is a form of service.
Listening is a service, not necessarily to offer advice, but just to be present and bear the burdens of someone else. In Pastoral Psychology this is called the ‘ministry of presence’. Just ‘being with’ someone else and hearing them out.
Little things - guarding reputations, being served, common courtesy, hospitality, listening: acts of service.
No matter how we serve others, author A.T. Pierson says we must always ask ourselves: 'For whom am I doing this?'....If we are doing this for Christ, we shall not care for human reward or even recognition.’ Washing feet was a slave’s job in first century culture. Yet Mary performed this act of service because she was doing it for Christ. Unlike Judas, Mary says nothing to draw attention to herself. Her act of service reveals her Christ-like humility.
Similarly, Paul, in our Philippians text this morning, could’ve boasted about his status and accomplishments. But he chose to forgo all human recognition, in order to serve Christ and him alone. Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, ‘Religion is to do right. It is to love, it is to serve, it is to think, it is to be humble.’
When we ask the question, for whom am I doing this, a Judas-Mary battle is joined within us. Am I doing this to draw attention to myself? Am I doing this so people will like me or think better of me? Or, am I doing this as an act of service to Christ?
‘Our flesh [our human nature],’ writes Richard Foster ‘whines against service…It strains and pulls for honor and recognition.’ And yet, Jesus taught that when you help someone, do it in secret, ‘do not even let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.’
It has been said: At the close of life, the question will not be "How much have you gotten?" but "How much have you given?" Not "How much have you won?" but "How much have you done?" Not "How much have you saved?" but "How much have you sacrificed?" It will be "How much have you loved and served," not "How much were you honored?"
Let me close this morning by quoting an anonymous prayer:
Lord of reality, make me real, not plastic, synthetic, pretend phony, an actor playing out a part, or a hypocrite. I don’t want to keep a prayer list, I want to pray; nor to agonize to find your will, but to obey. I don’t want to explain the difference between the four loves, but to love. I don’t want to sing as if I mean it, I want to mean it. I don’t want to tell it like it is, but to be it, like you want it. I don’t want to tell others how to do it, but to do it. I don’t want to have to always be right, but to admit when I’m wrong. I don’t want to be insensitive but to hurt where other people hurt. I don’t want to scorn the clichés of others, but to mean everything I say including this.
AMEN