About 25 years ago, the gay men in this congregation began to die. Not just one or two. Over a span of 10 years or so, dozens upon dozens of our parishioners died of AIDS. I want to tell you a story about Michael, a very personal story, one I would never tell if he were alive because he was so private, closed off in such a way that I often wondered if I really knew him.
Michael was a member of a Methodist church out in the avenues when he was diagnosed. He was afraid to tell the congregation he had AIDS. So he left his church and found his way to St. John’s. Shortly after he arrived, Michael was hospitalized with pneumocystis pneumonia. He didn’t appear to have any friends, so my partner Hunter, who was in seminary, and our dear friend Brent who was the Sr. Warden and I did what we could for Michael. He recovered from the pneumonia, but he looked like heck – thin, drawn and ashen. On several occasions, Michael, Brent, Hunter and I would pick up Viking submarine sandwiches after church and go to Gray Whale Beach down by Devil’s Slide. In those days it was a nude beach, maybe still is. I can assure you that Michael was way too private and much too proper to take off his clothes. Truth be told, I didn’t want to get naked in front of Michael and Brent either; none of us were comfortable being that exposed.
One evening Michael invited Hunter and me over for dinner. While we were eating, Michael abruptly announced that he had been to see a lawyer - he had designated Hunter to be the executor of his will, and had named me his power of attorney for both health care and finances. Let me be clear, this wasn’t a discussion. Michael didn’t ask us if we would take on these roles – he informed me that I was going to take care of his medical issues and finances while he was alive, and Hunter was going to take care of things after he died. After this announcement, we proceeded with some classic Anglican dinner conversation about Princess Diana or where we could find the Decalogue in the Book of Common Prayer.
Michael’s decline was swift. He progressed rapidly through various stages of denial and reluctant acceptance, losing control of his body and allowing us to help. We would get phone calls late in the night – I vomited and I need help changing my bed sheets. Driving to his apartment to help with these incidents took its toll. But I know it was even more difficult for Michael to make the calls. One day, Michael asked if he could stay the night in our guest room. He had never stayed with us before. Of course we allowed him to stay… if anything happened in the middle of the night, it would be more convenient than driving across town, right?
Michael’s decline was swift. He progressed rapidly through various stages of denial and reluctant acceptance, losing control of his body and allowing us to help. We would get phone calls late in the night – I vomited and I need help changing my bed sheets. Driving to his apartment to help with these incidents took its toll. But I know it was even more difficult for Michael to make the calls. One day, Michael asked if he could stay the night in our guest room. He had never stayed with us before. Of course we allowed him to stay… if anything happened in the middle of the night, it would be more convenient than driving across town, right?
Well, sometime after mid-night I heard Michael call for help. I went to his room and found him sitting in bed – both legs, hands and torso, and the bed were covered with diarrhea. I said come with me and I helped him stand up. Michael was a big man – over 6 feet tall – he was cold and shaking, not simply shivering, but quaking violently. I was holding on to him and he was holding onto me and together we staggered down the hall to the bathroom. As I stood with him before the claw-foot tub, I knew what I had to do. I helped him remove his soiled pajamas, then I took mine off and together we got into the tub. I turned on the shower. Michael was still shaking, so I positioned him with his arms braced against the two walls, and I washed him. I don’t know if he saw me crying. My heart was breaking as I washed his body – the boney thin body of the man who was private and proper, whose dignity along with his feces, was washing away.
The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.
This is where I want to linger when I hear the story of Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus feet. The spicy smell arrests my senses and suspends me at the table with Lazarus, Judas, Jesus and Mary. The household at Bethany had just been through the ringer. Lazarus had fallen ill, Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus, summoned Jesus. But Jesus took his sweet time responding to their pleas. He was so slow to respond that Lazarus was dead when Jesus arrived. According to the KJV Martha says:
Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.
Standing and weeping at the tomb, Jesus commands Lazarus to life. As the family and friends of Lazarus rejoice, Jesus understands that the act of restoring his friend to life has set into motion a series of events that will beget his own execution.
Mary of Bethany seems to also understand the life-for-a-life trade off that has just occurred. Aware of the deep significance of the moment, she retrieves her costly jar of nard. Describing the perfume as costly doesn’t quite get the point across. Nard was so insanely expensive, so highly valued, that in today’s economy it would cost about
Mary of Bethany seems to also understand the life-for-a-life trade off that has just occurred. Aware of the deep significance of the moment, she retrieves her costly jar of nard. Describing the perfume as costly doesn’t quite get the point across. Nard was so insanely expensive, so highly valued, that in today’s economy it would cost about
$55,000 - the median annual household income in California for 2007. With her brother and Judas at the table, Mary breaks open the stone jar and pours the ointment on Jesus’ feet. Not a few drops, not a couple of ounces – Mary pours the entire pound of nard onto Jesus’ feet. And when she did, the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.
Mary’s behavior is as prophetic as it is unconventional. No rational, modest woman would let her hair down, empty a container of priceless oil on a man’s feet and then wipe them with her hair. Without skipping a beat, Judas rebukes Mary’s display of affection: Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?
Now since we know what a skunk Judas is, it’s impossible for us to stay in the moment and we are quick to dismiss his condemnation of Mary. I mean really, what’s worse – someone who simply doesn’t care about the poor, or someone who pretends to care for the poor? Jesus dismisses Judas too.
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.
This last sentence deserves its own sermon - Jesus the one who has always been an advocate for the poor, seems to be contradicting himself.
(Let me assure you that he is not – if his disciples would only pay attention and do the things Jesus is trying to teach them to do, they and we would not always have the poor with them. But as I said, that is a different sermon.)
Leave her alone. Let her wash me. Let her care for me. My time is coming to an end.
Recall last weeks gospel – the Parable of the Prodigal Son – or as Jack Eastwood would say, the Prodigal Father. The father’s proclamation, this son of mine was dead and is alive again is more than just a metaphorical foreshadowing of Lazarus and Jesus’ death and resurrection. Just like Mary of Bethany, the father in the parable demonstrates the same impulse of unrestrained passionate love. The moment he sees his son off in the distance, the father is filled with compassion. He runs to the son, and puts his arms around him and kisses him. The father has no attachment to the events of the past - the squandered inheritance. Any resentments or previous misguided actions are not given the power to taint the joy of the present moment.
Mary of Bethany knows that Jesus is going to die. The time of profound sorrow is quickly approaching, but is yet to come. In the moment there isn’t time for anticipatory grief or gloom. Mary is so deeply grounded in the present that nothing in the world can interfere with the opportunity to love Jesus. So grounded in the present that I wonder if Mary was somehow witness to the future. Did she hear Jesus say to his disciples at the Last Supper, I give you a new commandment, that you love one another? Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. Did she see Jesus wash their feet? How Mary knew that there was nothing in the world more valuable than this time with Jesus isn’t really the point. She knew, and Mary broke open the stone jar and poured the ointment on his feet. Not a few drops, not a couple of ounces – she poured the entire pound of nard onto his feet.
And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.
The scent of the nard perhaps mingled with a faint scent of Lazarus’ death holds us in the moment, now. Now is the junction of what the prophet Isaiah describes as the former things, the things of old – and the new thing that will soon spring forth. In this moment now, where we have been, no matter how profound, is past. In this moment now, what is to come, no matter how profound, isn’t yet manifest. Mary’s bold action transforms the space at the intersection of past and future into the fullness of time. Her gesture of love is not delayed or premeditated. Mary’s act of love is a spontaneous response to Jesus given him the very moment the opportunity was presented. This is the kind of love Jesus desires of all his followers. This is the way Jesus wants us to love one another.
Following Jesus commandment to love spontaneously and without restraint is not easy or comfortable. Chances are, I will never again have to strip down and get into the shower with a soiled, sick, shaking member of St. John’s. But there will be other opportunities, no doubt plenty of them, where I will be challenged to move beyond my comfort level in order to love the way Jesus commands us to love. These opportunities will present themselves to you too. When they do, I pray that we will have the courage to remain present.
Really, all Jesus wants us to do is stay with him in that unbearable and holy space between the things of old and the new thing that will soon spring forth. And that’s what we are called to do for one another. To stay present when it would be easier to turn away, knowing that nothing can be done to change the past, and there is probably nothing we can do that will change the future. Jesus wants us to love spontaneously in the moment, and without hesitation to break open the dusty stone jar that’s perched atop the shelf between the Wedgwood teapot and the old basketball trophy. When Jesus smells the fragrance of the perfume that will fill the house, he will smile, I promise.
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