Mar. 21 Sermon: Love Poured Out
Love Poured Out
Sunday March 21, 2010
Holy Covenant UMC
Rev. Kate Hurst Floyd
John 12:1-8
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Mary had been told her whole life that she was “too much”. Too much to handle, too much to take care of, too hard to be around. She didn’t quite fit in anywhere she went.
Her head’s too much in the clouds, the young men would always say, calling her “space cadet Mary” so time passed and not a one ever proposed. Your questions are too much for the subject matter at hand, her teachers would tell her. They wanted her to be satisfied with memorizing the Torah, but Mary’s hand, Mary’s hand, too many times shot up from the back of the classroom, asking questions about life and death and mercy and grace that were too much for teenagers to handle. You’re too much trouble, Mary, her father would tell her, repeatedly until the day that he died…grabbing her arm when he got angry, which was frequently, shoving her to the ground when he was the one who had too much—too much to drink. When she applied for jobs, it was always the same: You’re too much of a talker, you have too many opinions, you’re a woman…your kind isn’t welcome here.
Every time she was told: You’re too much, Mary well knew that the underlying message was: You’re not enough. This is the mantra she carried inside of herself: You’re not enough.
Not enough of a human because she’s a woman; this second-class status was magnified because she was single. And truth be told, she wasn’t even very good at being a woman: Her sister Martha is the model of womanhood, cooking and cleaning and sewing, interested in men; when Mary was a was a teenager, other girls were whispering about boys, caring about the color of their cloaks, flirting behind the fig trees…but she sat alone at lunch, reading books; spent her nights, not sewing or cleaning or fixing her hair, as Martha did, but staring at the stars, contemplating the wideness of the universe and her small place among the stardust. She didn’t fit in; she wasn’t enough.
We know Mary’s story, hear echoes of that same mantra in our own lives: You’re not enough. Often, nobody needs to actually say those words; we get it, from a closed door or a cruel look; a salary differential; unwelcome at our family’s table; we don’t dress right or look right or love the right person; We have the wrong job or no job; The world says: You’re a little too much, I’ve had all of you I can handle; You’re not enough to be fully welcomed, fully loved.
Mary was too much, and so not enough in the eyes of the world.
Perhaps this is why she was drawn so deeply to Jesus, and Jesus to Mary. They’re kindred spirits, these friends who had been through so much together. Over the years, they shared meals and laughter, tears and wine, and were able to sit in silence with one another. These are the kind of friends that communicate with a look, or a wink, or a sly grin, and know exactly what the other is thinking. They are practically one spirit, these two, understanding one another like nobody else could.
For Jesus also knew what it was like to be told, repeatedly, that he was too much. Too threatening, too rebellious, too cowardly, too impractical, too sacrilegious….too much.
He healed people on the Sabbath, a day meant for inactivity, and was told by the religious leaders that he was working too much; You’re too forgiving of sinners and disrespectful of laws, they said. His most recent act of being “too much” came in this very house, raising his dear friend Lazarus, Mary and Martha’s brother, from the dead. Jesus cried when he learned of Lazarus’s death, too much emotion for a man to display. And then he raises him, so that Lazarus is able to sit and talk and eat a meal today, which really got people talking: You’re too much when you start messing with the time-honored rules of life and death, they muttered. This got the leaders suspicious and tempted towards violence.
He knew the underlying message was always: You’re not enough. Not enough of a Messiah, for you don’t even protect us from the Roman government. You could take over the world, people said, and instead you waste your time eating with tax collectors and touching hemorrhaging women; interrupting stoning and talking to a Samaritan woman at a well….how is this going to change anything? …You’re not enough to have any kind of real power in the world. Not enough to make a difference.
What a relief for these two to be in one another’s company, Mary and Jesus, find someone else who understands so intimately what it feels like to carry around the phrase: You’re not enough.
Jesus loved coming to this house because it was one of the few places where he was accepted for who he was, with no pretense, and welcomed fully. He never felt like he was too much when he entered the stone walls, smelled the sourdough in the oven, and rested on the comfortable couch. This was home for a man who gave up on having one of his own.
There is sweetness and joy and comfort in this moment, in this rest. Quickly, however, the peace became clouded by the fact that this would be their last meal together. It is six days before the Passover, Jesus is headed to Jerusalem, where all those who tell him he’s not enough will make a violent, public display of his body on a cross, as a warning to others who try to do and be too much.
Mary was afraid his impending death was too much for her to handle. She began to wonder, for the first time in his presence, if she was indeed enough of a friend to be present with him through this dangerous and difficult time…was she enough to help him prepare for death?
But Mary knew that Jesus would be facing the cry of “too much” and “not enough” over and over again in the coming week, from friend and foe alike, and she couldn’t be part of that chorus. She couldn’t let her feelings overwhelm her and convince her to hide or ignore the pain. No, she had to minister to Jesus in the same way he ministered to her. She needed to let him know that he was never too much, and always more than enough.
So she poured out love. Abundant, extravagant, endless love. Mary knew, when it comes to the love of God, the extravagant grace of Jesus, the abundant welcoming, worshipping spirit that lives and breathes and moves within us all…that there is no such thing as too much. For the first time in her life, Jesus looked into her eyes, and she believed that she was enough. What other response is there, when you are finally seen for who you are, welcomed and loved and saved….saved from a world of hate and cruelty and oppression, of subtle snubbing and overt oppression, telling and showing you that you don’t belong. Keeping you on the margins. So she poured out love. Poured it all out, didn’t hold anything back…
Poured out fragrances of grace and reverence and intimacy….oil of acceptance and awe and compassion…sweet nard of joy and hope and gratitude, displayed with her whole body.
And right in the midst of pouring out love, Judas shouts an all-too-familiar reaction: She must be stopped! Mary is too much! Jesus, he pleads, Mary spent too much on this perfume, she’s wasting it on a ridiculous act of love, an absurd act that is too much, too inappropriate, too scandalous for a woman like her.
She’s always been too much, Jesus, and now look at her: taking down her hair, which women only ever do in front of their husbands, sensuously rubbing it along your feet—it’s too much for a single woman to touch a single man; She’s not enough to embrace you, Jesus, to bend down at your feet, to spend so much love, so much money on you. It’s too much for you, Jesus, it should be spent on the poor…you’re not enough to deserve this kind of extravagance. This bodily display of love is just too much. It must be stopped!
Judas had gotten used to stopping things, stopping people; he feared love that seemed like it was too much. He grew up hearing and believing that he was not enough, not enough to be really loved. So that now, in adulthood, he couldn’t trust anybody; he’d been hurt over and over again by people who said that they loved him, but always left him behind. And now he can’t distinguish between real love and abandonment, so he pushes people away to protect his own heart. Especially this Jesus, who promised, promised that he would be with them always. And now, he knows the authorities are after him, and he’s headed to Jerusalem anyway, to die. To abandon them all—what are the disciples supposed to do without him? It’s selfish, he thinks, and another in a long line of people who leave him to figure out life, once again, all on his own. He thought he found someone this time who would make good on his word and never leave.
Judas is chastising himself for having such foolish hope, so he decides he might as well let Jesus go, numb the pain and get it over with. Inform the authorities to make this pain faster…no need to drag it out. Might as well align himself with people who are living and have some real power over his life. He’s always done what he needed to do to survive, and today is no different. Why shouldn’t he stop Mary, and use that money for someone who isn’t headed towards death?
But Jesus says, Judas, leave her alone. Leave Mary alone. Let her be. For Jesus knows that there’s no price on extravagant recognition.
**
Here we are, less than two weeks from the Passover, so close to Jesus’ death that we can smell it. And we gather together, in this place, filled up with the mantras the world has given us…some of us feel at home in this space, some of us have never known what it’s like to have a real home. We’re told, like Mary, that we’re not enough…because of our income, addictions, sexuality, status, appearance, family life, weight, race, gender…because our interests and lifestyle doesn’t match what our society deems to be normal and acceptable.
We’re tempted, like Judas, to betray what we know to be true and good so we can feel safe, or at least find the allusion of safety; We’re skeptical of extravagant love in a world that preaches scarcity. Afraid of abundance and vulnerability and bodily displays of affection in a world that constantly shouts: too much! You must be stopped.
We are Mary and Judas, trying to follow Jesus the best way we know how, looking for some kind of love and recognition, needing love to pour out.
In the last week of his life, Jesus will echo Mary and pour out love: In the last supper, taking the cup, proclaiming forgiveness, telling not just the disciples but the whole world that he will never abandon us. And he will take his body, and pour out love, just like Mary, by bending over and washing feet. Touching what was taboo to touch, showing love, not through speeches or gifts but by showing intimacy, with his body, caring for the bodies of others.
He will touch the places in our lives where we are hurting and broken and empty.
Because in the midst of the world that is always shouting: you’re not enough, and pushing people away, and encouraging us to draw boundaries: God pours out love. Pours it out. She pours out abundant, extravagant, endless love. For God poured herself into a human body, knowing what it’s like to love and be rejected and walk around with dirty feet and go hungry and enjoy meals and touch bodies and to violate every law about power and status and importance that the world puts forth.
And the world shouts: God must be stopped! Crucify him! And they will. In two weeks, they will. And we will feel like we’re not enough in the face of death.
But the good news is, God never stops. For life will triumph over death, and Jesus’ body will once again walk on this earth. And we will be saved for eternity, from all those voices who shout futility. For through the resurrection, God stares death down, and looks us in the face and says: You are never too much, you are always enough. You will always have eternal life with me, and be welcome at my table. God is love poured out. Extravagant, boundless, endless love.
Amen.
Tags: Kate
