Yesterday I commented on the gospel lection from the Revised
Common Lectionary for the fifth Sunday in Lent.
The lesson is John 12:1-8: the anointing at Bethany. I observed, “When we read this account, the
story sounds familiar, and yet some of the details seem – what else to call it
– wrong. That is due in part to the fact
that all four gospels contain a similar story.”
The stories are at the same time remarkably familiar and
significantly different. I don’t say
this as a mere intellectual exercise, or as someone caught up in minutiae. The trappings of these accounts can make
remarkable differences in the meaning of the tales.
Mark 14:3-9 and Matthew 26:6 tell the story in essentially
the same words. The event happens two
days before the Passover in Bethany, in the home of Simon the Leper. During the meal an unnamed woman opens an
alabaster jar of “valuable perfume made with real nard” and pours the perfume
on Jesus’ head. An unnumbered group of
unnamed disciples protest, saying the perfume could have been sold and the
proceeds could have benefited the poor.
Jesus defends the woman. Then he
echoes Deuteronomy 15:11: Since there will never cease to
be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the
poor and needy neighbour in your land.’ (NRSV) He interprets the act as
an anointing for his burial, which unbeknown to his audience is in just a
couple of days’ time. Jesus concludes by
saying, Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole
world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.
(NRSV)
Luke tells a story
(in 7:36-38) that occurs much earlier in Jesus’ public life. It takes place during Jesus’ Galilean Ministry. In an unnamed town in that region Jesus is
eating a meal in the home of Simon the Pharisee. While Jesus and the others are at table a
woman, who is characterized as “a sinner,” approaches Jesus with an alabaster
jar of perfume. She first weeps on Jesus’
feet and dries his feet with her hair. Then,
she anoints his feet with the perfume.
Jesus perceives the disapproval of Simon and tells his host a parable of
two debtors, one forgiven a great deal and the other a small debt. He then says something a bit confrontational:
Do you see this woman? I entered your
house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her
tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I
came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with
oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her
sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But
the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little. This story concludes with Jesus extending
forgiveness of sin to the woman.
That brings us once
again to the Fourth Gospel. Here, the
Evangelist reports an occurrence six days before the Passover, once again in
Bethany. As I observed yesterday,
textually the meal may or may not have been in the home of Lazarus, Mary and
Martha. But here Mary of Bethany – clearly
identified – comes to Jesus with “a pound of perfume made from real nard.” She anoints Jesus’ feet and dries his feet
with her hair. It is Judas Iscariot
alone who condemns Mary for the extravagance.
The gospel writer characterizes Judas as a thief who coveted the money
for himself. Then the writer reveals the
value of the gift (300 denarii). Jesus
defends Mary with almost the same words that he uses in the similar story in
Matthew and Mark: “Leave her alone.”
Here, too, he evokes Deuteronomy and its observation on the poor. Then, he re-interprets the act of Mary in a
little more detail than the other writers.
He again states that this anointing has prepared him for his burial –
though again, his contemporary audience is unaware of the immediacy of the
event.
Commentators go ‘round
and ‘round with this. Any two accounts
have marked similarities. But, no two
records are identical. Rather, they have profound differences one from another. Where? When? Who?
Head or feet? Why? It would take a long time to plumb the questions,
much less to begin to offer satisfactory conclusions.
I believe that one
of the bits of genius – and mystery – of these accounts is that each writer,
under inspiration, takes a core bit of material and weaves it into his own
narrative for a purpose that may be much larger than the occurrence itself. Is it about penitence and forgiveness? Well, yes.
Is it about an offering of homage, perhaps on behalf of all to whom
Jesus comes? Of course. Is it an act of thanksgiving for mercies
extended by Jesus – including the resuscitation of a brother? Does this include an affirmation of faith
that may have been somewhat lacking earlier (“If you had been here, my brother
would not have died!”). I think so. But each writer tweaks the core truth in such
a way that its circumstance and significance reflect each writer’s large
proclamation.
Do we have just one
story? Yes… and no. Are there three
different stories? Again yes… and
no. Are we right in the middle of them
all? Oh, yes.
