Turning Toward Tender Mercy -- John 12:1-11 (5th Sunday in Lent)

Photo credit: Matt Howard, used with permission via Unsplash

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What a lush and lovely scene.[1] Here Jesus is, at home with this family he loves – Lazarus and Mary and Martha. It’s a feast. They’re celebrating Lazarus come back to life. There’s food enough for everyone, conversation, and laughter. There’s a fire in the hearth to keep things warm and cozy in the chill of the night. And Mary – Mary as a gesture of thanks or love or both – goes and gets this expensive perfumed oil, and she begins to anoint Jesus’ feet, wiping them tenderly with her hair, and the house is filled with the fragrance of the perfume.  So much to take in – the sights, the sounds, the scents – all the sensations.

But before we enter more deeply into this scene. Let’s stand outside for just a bit. Let’s stand outside, in the chill of the night – with the warm glow of this feast flickering toward us through the window – we can see inside the family feast. But before we go inside, let’s consider the world swirling around this lovely, loving home.

We are back in the world of the Gospel of John – the gospel of “the Word made flesh” – “the Word became flesh and dwelt in the midst of us – full of grace and truth.” And where we enter the Gospel this morning, Jesus has just raised Lazarus from the dead. Lazarus is the brother of Martha and Mary – and he’s described as “the one Jesus loves.”  Lazarus falls gravely ill, and Martha and Mary send for Jesus: “Jesus the one you love is ill.” But Jesus doesn’t get there in time. Lazarus dies. And Jesus comes to the tomb – and with Martha and Mary – Jesus weeps. And Jesus says, “Take away the stone from the tomb,” and then cries out in a loud voice “Lazarus, come out!” And Lazarus, who was dead, walks out of the tomb... alive. “Unbind him,” Jesus says, maybe still weeping.

And that, that is what sets in motion the plot to kill Jesus. Because word gets around – about this raising people from the dead. The chief priests and the Pharisees hear about it, and they say to each other: “If we let this Jesus go on like this, everyone will follow him, and we will lose our privileged place in this Empire.” You see the Empire needs the dead to stay dead. If the Empire can’t kill you – they have no real, ultimate power over you.[2] You can just keep coming back to life. So Scripture says, “From that day on, they plotted to kill Jesus.” They expect that Jesus will be coming to Jerusalem for Passover. So they order the people: “If anyone sees Jesus, you must immediately report him, so that we can arrest him, and silence him – and keep him from bringing the dead to life.”

Outside the home of Lazarus, Mary, and Martha – swirling all around – is this world of power-over – where authoritarian powers within a colonial, imperial system – set out to silence all who oppose them. They try to turn neighbor against neighbor – as authoritarian powers do. All opposition – anyone who challenges the regime – must be silenced – by any means necessary.

I don’t know about you, but that sends a chill down my spine – and it’s cold out here, standing outside, so let’s go on into this humble house, so full of light and life. As we go on in through the door, it may be fairly overwhelming – all that’s going on. There’s Martha, doing what Martha does – she’s serving. That’s the “deaconing” word – Martha is deaconing – she’s moving through the house making sure that people’s needs are met.[3] She’s throwing this party – she’s providing this meal. She is extending and nourishing the embrace of this community. She’s doing what deacons do – you know, when we celebrate a life.

And there’s Lazarus. Now, we’ll give Lazarus a break for not joining in on the serving, because Lazarus has recently been... well, dead. Let’s pause there. There is – in this room – reclining at table with Jesus – someone who has been dead, but is now alive. Think of how shocking that must have still been to those in the room, and to those who first told and heard this story. One who has been dead is alive, and reclining at the table.

And then there’s Mary. Amid the hubbub of the feast, Mary goes and gets this expensive, perfumed oil that they have stored away. (Depending on the translation it is a pint or a pound of perfume.) The others are all reclining – maybe Jesus is reclining, leaning up against Lazarus as they chatter on. And Mary goes and settles in at Jesus’ feet – and she opens this jar of perfumed oil. And the fragrance of the perfume begins to fill the room. And they all hush. Something’s going on here. The only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth. Even Martha takes a seat to see what is about to happen. Mary takes Jesus’ feet in her hands, and she anoints them with this oil. Maybe she massages the oil into Jesus’ weary feet.

Now, oil is used to anoint kings – you anoint a king’s head with oil.[4] Mary is anointing Jesus’ feet – the part of the body that in their day stood for action – the feet that bring good news – the feet that travel dusty roads from one village to the next.

And Jesus points out – lest anyone miss it: This perfumed oil has always been intended for my death. Jesus is reclining with one who has been dead but is now alive – they have all seen resurrection together – it is present at the table now, while Mary is anointing Jesus in death.[5] And we know – we know the truth that is in this room for all to see. We know what will follow in this story, as we move into Holy Week.

Then, Mary takes her hair, and begins to wipe Jesus’ feet. How tender and intimate. (We were talking in Worship Team, and Jessica noticed, “Just think – after this meal – Mary carried that perfumed scent with her in her hair.”)

Now that tenderly wiping someone’s feet – does that sound familiar?  Where else does it happen in this story? That’s right Jesus in just a couple chapters will wash the disciples feet – and it’s the same action verb in the Greek – what Mary does here is what Jesus does there – this tender wiping of a loved one’s feet.[6]

Don’t miss that. What Jesus will do at the Last Supper as he washes the disciples feet, Mary does here. Mary does that before Jesus does. What Jesus commands the disciples to do – You should do for each other what I have done for you. A new command I give you. Love one another – Mary does it before Jesus commands it – on her own.[7] And, in this moment, Jesus yields the floor – and lets Mary love – he lets Mary teach.

And, the house is filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

There are two things going on here in this story. Outside, the world is swirling with the violence of power-over. The authorities are hunting down Jesus. They’ve got spies and snitches on the prowl – so that they can arrest Jesus, and kill Jesus – this one who raises the dead to new life.

And, inside this house, you have one who was dead alive and reclining at table with the living, and Mary anointing Jesus in death. There are two worlds here in this story – a stark contrast – the world outside that is breathing threats of death, and the world inside this house, in the midst of all that death, filling with the fragrance of life.

Enter Judas. And there we have it: What’s going on outside, right there in the room with us. Judas is the agent of the authorities who will betray Jesus. He’s the snitch. From the start, we know that Judas is not to be believed – because Judas is a thief – he is stealing from the common purse. They gather funds to share in community to make their pilgrimage to Jerusalem – Judas is stealing that and lining his own pocket. So he’s not to be trusted when he is so shocked: What is she doing?!? That expensive perfume; she could have sold that, put it in the common purse, so that it could have gone to the poor. Actually, so it would be there for Judas to steal from the poor.

There are two worlds here, in this room. Which will prevail?

Judas and Jesus together name the world as it is – the world of power-over – a world of scarcity. Judas voices what Gail O’Day calls “a limited goods economy... where everything that exists has already been distributed... no one can get anything more, unless someone gets less.”[8] You can’t feed the poor and anoint Jesus’ body for burial – there’s not enough to go around – you must choose one or the other.

Have you ever wondered at what Jesus says: “You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.” Sounds harsh. Jesus is quoting Deuteronomy. He is stating the reality of the world as it is. The powers keep that limited-goods thinking in place so that they can keep all the limited goods. The powers and their systems will always make people poor. What Jesus says is that it will always be your job to help make that better.[9] That’s your job yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  And he looks toward Mary – and – you will also always have the person who is right there before you – to love – to extend some tender mercy. That, too, is the work that is yours to do. And look, there is enough.

In this moment, even as Jesus acknowledges the world as it is –  Mary and Jesus embody a different world – a world of extravagant generosity, abundance, and love – the world as God is recreating it in Jesus Christ – the world of the Word-Made-Flesh.

I’ve picked back up Robin Wall Kimmerer’s remarkable little book: The Serviceberry.[10]Robin Wall Kimmerer – writing from the field of botany and from indigenous traditions – compares the economies that we inhabit now to what she calls “gift economies” – economies based on reciprocity and sharing.

Our current dominant economy assesses everything in terms of scarcity. A market economy focuses on “the production and distribution of goods, determined and regulated by market forces of supply and demand.”[11] Within this system of scarce goods, each of us is seen as acting only out of our self-interest – because there is not enough to go around. And so we compete – winners and losers. Wealth equals accumulation.

Kimmerer points to an alternative – thinking of economy as “how we organize ourselves to sustain life and enhance its quality.”[12] In gift economies, wealth is seen as having enough to share. In gift and sharing economies, we’re seen as individuals who live in communities who live, survive, and thrive together. Those who have share with those who don’t, all of us participating in a commonwealth bigger than ourselves. Prosperity grows from human relationships.[13]

Some examples of what this looks like:

·      Kimmerrer points to “free farm stands” – where those in rural communities put the fruit and vegetables they can’t use where others can take them – the more-than-enough, out for anyone to access.[14]

·      Think of those neighborhood book-sharing boxes – where you put books after you’ve read them, so others can read them too.

·      Or, think, of the community fridge. “Take what you need; leave what you can.”

Rebecca Solnit points out that we are really good at this – ordinary folks sharing what they have – in times of disaster. When disaster strikes, “people give freely to one another and bonds of ownership disappear – when everyone pools their resources of food and labor and blankets in solidarity”[15] to survive and thrive together.

Our word “economy” comes from the Greek word for house oikos – How do we live together in our house so that all can thrive? What we see in the house of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus is an economy based on reciprocity and sharing. Jesus has brought Lazarus from death to life. The family throws a feast where everyone has enough, where everyone can eat. Jesus and the disciples gather their funds in a common purse and share what they have for their pilgrimage – and along the way they are feeding the hungry – thousands of them. And Mary goes to see what else her family can give – and she anoints Jesus for his burial – this loving, extravagant, act of tender mercy. The only thing disrupting the thriving here in this house – is that Judas (in his scarcity thinking) is stealing from the common purse.

We’ve watched this week as our economy as-it-is and its totters and quakes. It’s quaking because the powers are using the blunt weapon of tariffs to slug it out for what they have convinced themselves are scarce resources that cannot be managed in a way that is sustainable and life-giving for all. And in their senseless aggression, we all are losing. In our day, the questions for us from this Scripture are: How can we live our lives right now in ways that embody sharing and reciprocity and tender mercy? And, as the walls of our world as it is, come falling down, what house will we build in their place where everyone can live and thrive?

We have been travelling through Lent, Turning Toward the Way – the Way of Jesus. And here, as Jesus is about to turn toward Jerusalem, and turn toward Holy Week, he turns toward this house where love abides – this house where those who were dead are now alive and welcomed to recline at table – this house where everyone feasts and everyone has enough – this house where a world of violence and power-over gives way to a world shaped by tender mercy.

As we turn toward Holy Week, we know that these two worlds – this world of power-over and violence and this world of love, reciprocity, and tender mercy – we know that they will converge in the cross. And, we know that through the cross – and through this journeying together –the world opens up into the broad expanse of Resurrection.

© 2025 Scott Clark

[1] For background on this text and the Gospel of John, see For general background on this text and the Gospel of John, see Gail R. O’Day, “The Gospel of John,” New Interpreters’ Bible Commentary, vol. ix (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995), pp. 701-02; Gail O’Day and Susan E. Hylen, John (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2006); Herman Waetjen, The Gospel of the Beloved Disciple: A Work in Two Editions (New York: T&T Clark Publishing, 2005), pp. 284-90.

[2] See Waetjen, p. 291.

[3] See O’Day, pp.122-23.

[4] See Waetjen, p.288.

[5] See Waetjen, pp. 289-90.

[6] See O’Day, NIB, pp. 701-02. To be clear, in this scene, Mary anoints Jesus’ feet; at the Last Supper, Jesus washes the disciples’ feet – two distinct actions, each with its own meaning. My contention here is that the tender caress and “wiping” of the feet is common to both.

[7] See O’Day, NIB, p. 703.

[8] See O’Day, NIB, p. 206.

[9] See Waetjen, p.290.

[10] See Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World. (New York, NY: Scribner Publishing, 2024).

[11] Id. p.48

[12] Id. p.30

[13] Id. pp. 33-34, 45.

[14] Id. pp. 35-40.

[15] See Kimmerer, p.43 (referencing Solnit’s work).