Jesus said to them, “…She has done a beautiful thing to me. … When she poured this perfume on my body, she did it to prepare me for burial. I tell you the truth, wherever this gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.” Matthew 26:12, 13
It’s called the Anointing.
All four gospels tell some version of this dramatic story (Matthew 26:6-13, Mark 14:3-9, Luke 7:36-50, John 12:1-11)—though Luke’s is so different that some scholars think there might have been a second incident.
Just before Passover and Holy Week, Jesus and his disciples are having a special dinner in the village of Bethany, two miles from Jerusalem. A devout woman (named only in John) comes into the room. As Jesus reclines at the table, she washes His feet with her tears and anoints Him with rare and expensive perfume. Someone in the group (named as the disciples, some of the guests or Judas Iscariot) objects. Jesus rebukes them, saying she is honoring Him by preparing His body for His upcoming death.
By identifying her twice (11:2, 12:3), John makes sure we know the woman is Mary, the sister of Lazarus and Martha, the one who famously sat at Jesus’ feet while Martha served (Luke 10:39.) This family was dear to Jesus; He had just raised Mary’s brother Lazarus from death. His eating with them, their desire to honor Him and her deep devotion make perfect sense. (He might even have been staying with the family.)
Mary’s extravagant gesture was not spontaneous. One does not keep a vial of perfume worth a years’ wages sitting around, “just in case.” Of all of them, she knew and prepared for what was coming. From the disciples’ reaction, they didn’t—even though Jesus had told them plainly and often that He would suffer and die. Most likely, they were still clinging to the idea that the Messiah would be a military leader who would save them from the Romans. But Mary had been sitting at Jesus’ feet and paying attention. She knew Him; she loved Him; she believed in Him. Her faith in Him was as strong as her devotion.
That’s what Jesus commended.
We are in the season of Lent, a time in which it’s common to do something or “give up” something. But what if Lent is not so much about behaving better but believing better, about giving God time and space to strengthen our faith? What if we just “sit at His feet” and listen to Him?
As Mary did.
DEAR JESUS: Increase my faith. Help me to know You, love You, believe in You and honor You. Amen.
First published in “Bozeman Daily Chronicle,” March 7, 2021.
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16 NIV
What was your favorite Christmas present? And why?
I’ll bet it was something from your childhood. Mine was.
My friend, Carol, from up the street, had two rubber baby dolls bought at the Worlds’ Fair in New York before the war. Now it was 1946, after the war, and rubber was scarce. I didn’t know that. I just wanted two rubber baby dolls, too, and campaigned for them with all the energy and persistence of my six-year-old heart.
Imagine my joy to see those dolls under the tree Christmas morning, with a dresser full of beautiful clothes sewed by my grandmother. I especially remember little pink coats trimmed with lace and bonnets to match…
My mother told me later she scoured New York City to find them. And I am awed by my grandmother’s work—especially as I recall she never used sewing patterns, but made clothing “from scratch,” as she put it.
It was the time and effort, the love those women invested, that made their gift so special.
When my parents sold my childhood house, I gave the dolls and their clothes to the young daughter of a good friend. They probably wore out and ended up in a landfill somewhere. Sad, but that’s the way of all gifts…
Except the One God gave us at Christmas—the best gift of all, a gift which can’t be lost, stolen or broken, a gift which never wears out or goes out of style. Circumstances can’t change it. Time can’t fade it. The darker the world becomes, the brighter His Gift shines. Through the amazing gift of His Son, God promises us eternal, perfect life, the world as He intended. Eden. Forever. And “God is not a man that He should lie.” (Numbers 23:19)
John the Visionary described it: “And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. …He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. … Behold! I am making everything new.’” Revelation 21:3-5
God gave us this special Gift for the same reason we give special gifts: love. Love which began in a manger…and ended on a cross.
“And the greatest gift we can give our great God,” writes Ann Voskamp, “is to let His love made us glad.”
FATHER GOD: Let me rejoice in Your wonderful, amazing Gift, now and always! Amen.
First published in “Bozeman Daily Chronicle,” December 20, 2020.
Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 NIV
Before me, on my desk sits a little Pilgrim lady, dressed in a plain white wimple and a brown dress. I bought her at a craft fair years ago; she’s been part of our celebration ever since. Her job is to remind us of the Story.
Four hundred years ago, almost to the day, a party of English religious separatists, called Pilgrims, got their first view of the new land where they’d come to find freedom. William Bradford, in understatement, described them as “not a little joyful.”
But they faced a long, cold New England winter with little food, shelter or time to prepare. Over half of them would be dead before spring. The saga of their survival, their courage, their faith, the feast they held in their second autumn, is what we call “the first Thanksgiving.” Perhaps, with so much of our extras cancelled this year, we can spend some time on that saga and the lessons to be learned.
I even have a special family connection to the Pilgrims which helps their story be part of mine.
My father’s grandmother is descended from Thomas Blossom–a member, perhaps even a deacon, of the original Pilgrim congregation.
The Pilgrims hired two ships for their journey: the famous Mayflower and a second, smaller ship: the Speedwell. Unfortunately, the Speedwell did not live up to her name, developing leaks which required extensive and time-consuming repairs. After two attempts to set sail—the second one taking them as far as 200 miles from shore—they gave up, deciding to crowd as many passengers as possible on the Mayflower and leave the Speedwell behind. Eighteen people, including Thomas Blossom and his family, were forced to return to Holland.
I can only imagine their crushing disappointment, as well as their fear. The King of England’s agents, seeking out Pilgrims for punishment and execution, had already been spotted in Holland. Dissent was not welcomed in the seventeenth century.
Blossom and his family endured it all and made the crossing with a subsequent fleet in 1629. His daughter, Elizabeth, and her husband became one of the founding Quaker families of New Jersey.
Much has changed in our 400 years of history but I sense some familiarity, too. If our future feels uncertain, so did theirs. If we are haunted by deadly illness, so were they. If difficult circumstances test our faith, so did they theirs. People of God, they endured what they didn’t understand. And gave thanks, anyway.
As must we.
FATHER GOD: Help us endure…and give thanks as the Pilgrims did. Amen.
First published in “Bozeman Daily Chronicle,” November 15, 2020.
So much has changed in 75 years. The sad history of what happened after one half of the planet encountered the other has so overwhelmed Columbus’ story that the holiday I celebrated as a child (“Columbus sailed the ocean blue in fourteen hundred ninety two”) is almost embarrassing to modern American culture. Many places have even changed its name.
But I hope you’ll indulge this old lady her upbringing and allow her to look at this day from the perspective of the explorer and his crew.
Imagine yourself on a small, fragile, wooden ship—70 feet long, 23 feet wide–sailing a huge, unknown ocean with sails as your only power. You are at the mercy of wind and current, as well as the limited wisdom of your navigator. You get what sleep you can on the open rocking deck, washed by the occasional wave. You have one hot meal a day, if you’re lucky, of skimpy food eaten wherever you can find a place to sit. You strain your eyes and your senses, desperately looking for land but can find none.
Twenty days go by. Thirty. You begin to doubt yourself, the men you sail with, your captain. There may be no land ahead. You could sail forever. Starve to death. Die of thirst.
It was a test of faith and endurance. They very nearly failed it.
On October 10, Columbus wrote in his log, “they could stand it no longer. I reproached them for their lack of spirit.”
“…an all-out mutiny threatened. … Apparently, a bargain was struck whereby the men agreed to sail on for three more days, and Columbus agreed to turn back if no land was sighted in that time.” (“Columbus and the Age of Discovery”, Zvi Dor-Ner.)
On the very next day, the crew saw reeds and a carved stick float by. That night, Columbus saw a light “like a little wax candle, bobbling up and down” to the west. Later, a sailor on the Pinta thought he saw land in the moonlight. They tacked back and forth, waiting for daylight. Was it land at last or their too-eager imaginations? After all, they’d had other sightings…which turned out false.
At dawn on October 12th, after 33 days and nights at sea, they finally saw what they longed for—an island they christened San Salvador. A whole world, a culture as ignorant of them as they were of it, awaited. And the world was changed forever.
The goal they sought was a mere two days ahead …and they almost missed it.
In this strangest of strange years, it feels as if we, too, have been on a long sail across uncharted waters. Storm after storm rocks our fragile craft; we’ve lost all our landmarks. We don’t know where land is or even what it will look like when we get there. We’re worn and weary, not sure we trust our Navigator. The temptation, as it was for them, is to give up.
But the relief, the answers, the end we so desperately seek could be as close for us as it was for those old Spanish sailors.
To all who mourn in Israel he will give: Beauty for ashes; Joy instead of mourning; Praise instead of heaviness. Isaiah 61:3
I saw these verses in living color recently.
Like everyone locally, we had been concerned about the Bridger Foothills fire. As we prepared to leave town for our Labor Day camping trip, it looked small, even innocent—a single plume of smoke rising straight up into the summer sky. But when the last of our group arrived at the campsite, they showed us horrifying pictures of a wall of smoke and flame roaring across the mountain front. As the evening progressed, we heard news of evacuation orders. Some pondered going home to protect their houses.
So we all rejoiced at Monday morning’s rain. The fire smoldered on, but its raging fury was over. We could breathe a sigh of relief.
But next came the question of what was left. Would we find only a blackened shell of the country we had hiked, skied and ridden horses in for years?
When my husband heard the canyon road was open, we dropped what we were doing to drive up and see.
It wasn’t as bad as we had feared. True, there were huge swaths of blackened grass and trees, sad foundations of burned houses, cars reduced to grey shells, piles of rubble. But other homes had somehow survived—though burned to their doorsteps.
Then, the most surprising sight of all. As we drove by the newly-burned pastures, we became aware of a slight green haze. Tiny blades of grass were sprouting in the ashes. Only ten days after the fire, the land had started to heal. It felt like a tiny miracle…and a sign of hope.
Perhaps, I thought, if the plants and pastures can come back after a horrible assault like that, we can, too. And I remembered this ancient promise from Isaiah.
For we, too, have suffered assault—to our lives, our health, our peace of mind. We’ve become well acquainted with “mourning and heaviness.” Just when we think it couldn’t get worse, it does. We find it hard to breathe, much less relax.
Then the Old Snake slinks in, hissing that things will never get better, tempting us to, as Job’s wife said, “…curse God and die.” (Job 2:9) But let’s remember: Jesus called him “a liar and the father of lies.” (John 8:44)
God has promised comfort for our grief, joy for our sorrow, “beauty for ashes.” In His time. What He restores will be better than what we lost.
If we trust Him and don’t give up.
FATHER GOD: Thank You for that little sign of hope. Keep them coming; we need every one. Amen.
Published in Bozeman “Daily Chronicle”, October 11, 2020.