In A Little House in Bethany

Texts: Isaiah 43:16-21; Philippians 3:4b-14; John 12:1-8

I want to focus this morning on this little house in Bethany. It was obviously a very important little place in the very early traditions of the Christian Church. Three of the gospels include this story of a woman anointing Jesus with expensive perform, and all three agree that it was in a little house in Bethany. Bethany was a small village about two miles outside Jerusalem, and these three gospel accounts seem to agree that it was there, in this little house, that Jesus and the disciples made their last stop before entering the city.

St John’s version of this story is markedly different from the other accounts in a number of important respects. St Matthew and St Mark identify the house as belonging to Simon the Leper, and do not name the woman who does the anointing. St Luke has the famous story about Martha and Mary hosting Jesus on another occasion marked by sibling rivalry; but his story of the anointing of Jesus is removed from Bethany, comes much earlier in the gospel narrative, and is performed by a penitent prostitute. Only St John names Judas Iscariot as the one who objects to the scandalous waste of this expensive perfume – St Mark and St Matthew says the disciples complained about it.

But let’s not worry too much about these details and differences this morning. Let’s enter into this poignant scene and see what it might be telling us this morning. At the centre of the story is Jesus; his public ministry has finished. In St John’s timetable it finished at the end of chapter 11, following the raising of Lazarus. Because of the enormous interest that event attracted the authorities were actively conspiring to arrest Jesus. Therefore Jesus no longer moved about publicly among the Jews. Instead he withdrew to a region near the desert, to a village called Ephraim, where he stayed with his disciples. [John 11:54]

But with the Feast of the Passover approaching, Jesus comes to Bethany. There are now just 6 days until his death. In this little house, there is a table set for dinner, a dinner given in Jesus’ honour. Who else is present? Well, Martha and Mary are there – according to St John’s account it is their home, which they share with their brother, Lazarus. And just in case we have already forgotten, St John reminds us that Lazarus is the one whom Jesus raised from the dead. He tells us something else about Lazarus, too. He says “Lazarus was among those reclining at the table” with Jesus.

Now there’s an interesting word – “reclining”. We’ll hear that word again a little later in the passion narrative when we have the account of the Last Supper. One of them, the disciple whom Jesus loved, was reclining next to him. [John 13:23] This is one of the little subtle hints that St John is so good at. In everything he writes he reminds us of the things that have happened, and the things that are about to happen. This meal is shared in the house where Lazarus died; it looks forward to the Last Supper from which Jesus will go out to his death.

And, of course, someone also went out from the Last Supper into the darkness – Judas the betrayer. In their accounts St Matthew and St Mark remind us of this by following their accounts of this anointing episode with the story of Judas doing a deal with the chief priests. St John makes the point more dramatically by identifying Judas as present at this cosy little dinner party; and, of course, takes the opportunity of reminding us that this is the fellow who will later betray Jesus. In this account it is only Judas who objects to the anointing; and St John can’t resist assuring us that his concern was not genuinely for the poor. As the group’s money-man, he was on the take. So Judas was present at this little gathering in this little house in Bethany.

Who else? Well, did you notice how I mentioned the two sisters a moment or two ago, but then immediately started talking about Lazarus? That’s the problem with something spectacular – a miracle. It detracts from everything else. This story is not supposed to be about Lazarus, yet in a way his presence continues to dominate. We’ll come back to him in a moment. But let’s first make some space for the sisters. Mary, of course, is given the starring role, but Martha gets the first mention. It’s not a very big mention, however – in fact, just two words: “Martha served”.

“Martha served”. That’s the sort of thing that gets feminist bible commentators very agitated. And yet, what a wonderful thing this is. On the day before Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, he comes to this little house in Bethany for one last meal with his friends, and Martha has the privilege of serving him. Who is this Martha in St John’s gospel? She is the one who made the supreme confession of faith in Christ, that’s who she is. The other gospels insist that it was Peter who first confessed Jesus as Christ. Not according to St John: we won’t find any such confession from Peter in this gospel. Instead we find it was Martha who said to Jesus: “I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.” [John 11:27] How appropriate, then, that she should now serve Jesus at this dinner.

And so to Mary. She, too, serves Jesus. Indeed, she takes upon herself the servant’s role of tending to his feet. Again, we can get a bit more of the significance of what’s going on here if we compare this account with those of St Matthew and St Mark. They say the woman poured expensive perfume over Jesus’ head; St John says Mary poured it over his feet. Again, no doubt, we’re being reminded of something that is going to happen at the Last Supper: After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with a towel that was wrapped around him. [John 13:5]

Mary doesn’t use a towel – she uses her hair. This is a wonderfully sensual image of her tender love for Jesus. It is also a great sign of her humility. Women of status would not (literally!) let their hair down in front of other people; but Mary was not into standing on her dignity. Her devotion to Jesus was complete.

Besides those various individuals, there are two other groups of people referred to in this story. First, there are the other dinner guests, nameless and unnumbered, but nevertheless there, for St John tells us that “Lazarus was among those reclining at table with him”. They may have been the other disciples, or simply other friends of Mary and Martha invited to the meal. They take no particular part in the proceedings but they are nevertheless part of the dinner party.

The other group of people in the story are more numerous; they are outside clamouring to get in. There in verse 9: Meanwhile a large crowd of Jews found out that Jesus was there and came, not only because of him but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. Lazarus had become an object of curiosity, so to speak – a tourist attraction. Hardly surprising in the circumstances, really, but here’s another tantalizing hint that St John may or may not be giving us. St John refers to the crowd outside as ‘Jews”, and by this stage of the gospel he uses the term to signify those who will not accept Jesus as the Messiah – those who oppose Jesus and ultimately conspire with the Roman authorities in his death.

Perhaps we should remember a story from St Luke. Remember the one about the rich man and the beggar at his gate. They both die, and when the rich man finds himself in hell he asks Abraham to send the beggar back to earth to warn his brothers. Abraham refuses: If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced if someone rises from the dead. [Luke16:31] And the beggar’s name was – Lazarus.

In this little house in Bethany a meal is shared in Jesus honour. Martha serves; Mary adores; Judas criticises; guests eat; crowds outside are interested to learn more about the one who was raised back to life, but may never be convinced.

It’s a great story. And it’s our story. Let’s take a moment to reflect on it in our own little house to which we have come to share a meal in Jesus’ honour. Amen.

Reconciliation

Texts: Joshua 5:6-9; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11-31

This morning, on this Fourth Sunday in Lent – sometimes called Refreshment Sunday – we are given this very popular parable of the Prodigal (or Lost) Son, presumably to lift our spirits. That’s the idea of Refreshment Sunday. Lent is long and gloomy, and we have a sort of half-time break to strengthen us for the second half. What better then than this lovely story to give us some warm fuzzies.

And it does, doesn’t it? We might secretly think the old man is a bit soft on the boy – and we might secretly have some sympathy for the older brother’s point of view – but overall we rather like this story, because it has a happy ending and it doesn’t challenge us too much. We particularly like this story if we can identify with the younger son.

Think of him for a moment – what picture do we get of him? What do we think he’s been up to? The narrator says only that he had squandered his money on wild living. The elder brother fills in the blank for himself – he says his brother has squandered his money on prostitutes. What do we fill in the blank with?

Perhaps we think of him as a sort of student in Castle Street – basically a decent enough lad, but away from home for the first time and determined to have a bit of fun on a Friday or Saturday night. A bit of couch-burning, a wheely-bin derby, getting wasted, having sex, partying all night and upsetting the neighbours. But nothing too serious – just lads-being-laddish stuff. Sowing a few wild oats – getting it out of his system – all just wink-wink, nudge-nudge stuff. The sort of stuff that staid old men of my age like to pretend we got up to at his age.

Is that our image of this younger son? Or perhaps we prefer a somewhat more sophisticated image – more like Prince Harry for example. Occasionally glimpsed going in and out of high class clubs at all hours of the day and night, sometimes dressed in entirely inappropriate fancy dress. One of the smart set with money to burn. More irritating to us than the wild-eyed student variety, but again essentially harmless. He’ll grow up one day. In the meantime he’s just having fun – or wild living as the parable calls it.

If either of those models are close to the image we have of this younger son, then it’s not surprising that we miss the real punch of this parable. And this was brought home to me recently by a throwaway comment made by Professor Paul Trebilco, head of the Department of Theology and Religious Studies at Otago University. The lecture was on St John’s Gospel not St Luke’s, but he referred to this parable, and in particular to the bit where the father sees his returning son in the far distance and runs to meet him. The usual interpretation of that is that the father was so overcome by joy and love that he forgot every other consideration and rushed to his son.

But according to Professor Trebilco there was another reason for this as well. The father was rushing to protect his son. From whom or what? From his kinsmen and villagers. He says that when we focus on what the younger son may have done or not done in the far distant land, we miss the real scandal of the story. In the culture of the time, the real offence committed by the younger son was in demanding his inheritance upfront while his father was alive, and abandoning his father and all his kinsmen. That would have brought huge dishonour on the whole clan; and if the kinsmen had seen this guy before his father did, they would have exercised a little vigilante justice. That, perhaps, gives us a better feel for the way in which Jesus’ listeners would have understood this story.

It doesn’t work for us because we are used to the young spreading their wings, doing their O.E., perhaps doing a few unwise or even dangerous things, before returning home and settling down. It’s no big deal. So perhaps we need to re-shape our image of the younger son before we can really enter into this story and get its full impact.

What if in the far distant country this younger son had been involved in gang rape, or child pornography, or terrorism, or drug-running, or any other conduct that you personally find utterly repulsive? Reflect for a moment on the community outrage when they discover that a convicted paedophile has moved into the neighbourhood – that seems to be the sort of reaction this young man could have expected when he returned home if his father hadn’t got to him first to protect him.

If we can get a handle on that, then we can begin to understand how amazing the Father’s welcome is – and the power of the story when Jesus first told it in response to criticism from the Pharisees and the teachers of the law that he welcomed sinners and ate with them. According to St Luke, Jesus responded with three stories, the lost sheep, the lost coin, and this one about the son.

But there is an essential difference between those first two stories and this one. When the sheep was lost, the shepherd went out to find it; when the coin was lost the woman searched the house to find it. But when the son was lost, nobody went after him, nobody tried to find him. The turning-point came when he himself realised it was time to turn his life around, for which the religious word is repentance, of course. Only when he faced up to what he had done and what he had become was reconciliation with his father possible.

And that involved a frank admission of his unworthiness. He recognised that he had sinned against God and against his own father, and, as a consequence, was no longer worthy to be called his son. But – true as that is – he is still the father’s son. He repudiated the relationship, but his father did not. So when the son returns, his father treats him as a son, not a servant. Neither he, the son, nor anyone else, could take away from the son his status as son.

And I was reminded of that particular truth just this week when I was preparing the service of confirmation for Amber & Hannah next week. I don’t want to give too much away in advance, but let me give you this sneak preview. Just before Bishop George lays his hands on these young women in confirmation, he ill pray a beautiful prayer, which begins like this: God of mercy and love, new birth by water and the Spirit is your gift, a gift none can take away.

And talking of Bishop George, those of you who were at St Barnabas four weeks ago may remember that he said something about baptism. He said the day of our baptism is the most important day in our life, didn’t he? Why is it so important? Because it is through baptism that we become children of the Father; and once we are children of the Father there is nothing that we can do or that anyone else can do that can take away that status from us. Baptism is our assurance that no matter how far away from God we may go, no matter what we do, when we come to our senses and return, we will receive the welcoming and protective embrace of the Father’s love and forgiveness.

I end with the words from St Paul:

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins again them.

That’s pretty refreshing, eh?