"The Garden Club"

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 17, 2022

Easter Day

Acts 10:34-43

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

1 Corinthians 15:19-26

John 20:1-18

“The Garden Club”

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

In a time of turmoil, we have been on quite a journey with Jesus and his disciples.

It was just a week ago that some of us – and a donkey - gathered outside for the palm parade.

On that chilly Sunday morning, we waved our palms and sang out “Hosanna!” just as people filled with hope and expectation had greeted King Jesus as he entered Jerusalem two thousand years ago.

And then, with shocking suddenness and apparent finality, everything seemed to go terribly wrong.

Instead of crowning a new king, some call for his death.

And the Roman rulers of Jerusalem were, as usual, quick to crush any rivals or dissenters.

And Jesus died on the cross and descended to the dead.

To just about everyone, the story of Jesus of Nazareth must have seemed a tale of dashed hopes, yet another disappointment, yet another tragedy in a world that’s just full of them.

And now, this morning, we resume our story in darkness.

Just one faithful disciple, Mary Magdalene, comes to the tomb – perhaps to anoint Jesus’ lifeless body or maybe because she just didn’t know what else to do.

To her shock, she finds the stone has been rolled away.

After all the tragedy of the past few days, Mary Magdalene assumes the worst – the body must have been stolen – yet another heartbreak in a time of so much turmoil.

She ran to get help, and Peter and the other disciple come back, look into the empty tomb and then go back wherever they came from.

This time, at least, the men are no use at all.

Mary is alone again at the tomb, weeping.

Two angels, who, of course, already know the good news of new life, ask her why she weeps – a question that Mary must have considered bizarre, if not cruel.

And then, at last, someone else appears. 

Must be the gardener, Mary thinks.

But then this gardener calls her my name.

“Mary.”

And Mary knows that voice – and Mary knows that something unexpected, something unprecedented, has happened.

Mary now knows the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

The Risen Christ instructs Mary to go tell his brothers this best news of all time, entrusting her alone to be the apostle to the apostles, to be the whole church for that precious and holy time it took to reach the others.

And so the Good News began to be shared among men and women, down through the generations, until arriving here among us, two thousand years later, on this beautiful Easter Morning.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Maybe because I now live and work amid so much natural beauty, as I reflect on the story of the first Easter I’m struck by the fact that it took place in a garden.

Surely that’s not a coincidence, right?

After all, the whole story of God and us began in a garden.

It was in that garden where the first man and woman disobeyed God.

It was in that garden that they were so overwhelmed with shame and guilt that they even tried to hide from God.

But God never stops seeking us out, wanting to be known by us, wanting us to accept God’s love.

And, surely it’s no coincidence that Jesus spent the night before his death in a garden, praying, begging God to take away this bitter cup, before peacefully submitting to the worldly forces of oppression and violence.

And now this morning we’re back in a garden.

It’s in a garden that God defeats hate and death with love and life.

It’s in a garden that God gives us another chance at new life. 

It’s in a garden that we are invited to once again work beside God to restore the world to the beautiful garden it was always meant to be.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

During my first year here with all of you, I’ve learned that quite a few of our parishioners are talented and accomplished gardeners and flower arrangers.

Their handiwork is visible at home and also here at St. Thomas’.

I mean, just look at all this beauty and creativity.

And this city guy has also learned that there are “garden clubs,” where gardeners meet and talk shop and have competitions.

Who knew?

(I know…you did!)

Now, normally, I try to avoid describing church as a club, but on this beautiful Easter morning I’m going to make an exception.

Because, you know, Mary Magdalene was not wrong when she thought Jesus was the gardener.

Jesus is the Gardener, hard at work restoring the beautiful garden souls – the beautiful garden of creation - that has been for so long neglected, diseased, and distorted by our sinfulness.

And Jesus the Gardener invites us to join this holy work.

Now, in this sacred garden club, the only tools we need are love, compassion, and a willingness to serve others.

In this holy garden club, we till the soil by opening our hearts and doors to people in need, by being a servant church to the many people beyond our walls who are so hungry for good food, so desperate for hope and new life.

In God’s garden club, we welcome anyone who wants to join up, no experience necessary, no particular skills required.

In fact, we are about to welcome little Annabel into our garden club. She doesn’t know yet what she’s getting signed up for, but she knows that she’s loved – and that’s more than enough.

So, today, on this beautiful Easter morning, we are back in the garden.

Just as he called Mary Magdalene long ago, today Jesus the Gardener calls Annabel and each of us by name, inviting us to be part of his garden club, helping us to restore the garden to the beauty that was always intended, sending us out into the world to share the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

In a Time of Turmoil, Jesus Descends to the Dead

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 16, 2022

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 130

1 Peter 4:1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

In a Time of Turmoil, Jesus Descends to the Dead

This morning we arrive at an unsettling in-between time, this strange space after the horrors and sorrow of Good Friday, and before the joys and glory of Easter.

We tend to find in-between times uncomfortable.

We’re usually eager to just get on with it, to reach our destination, to cross items off our to-do list. 

And that’s especially true here in this holy in-between time.

So, the world certainly, and even most of the church, is already moving into Easter mode – getting the flowers ready, preparing meals, straightening up the house, selecting outfits, choosing hats, and all the rest.

But, here at this simple and spare service, for a few precious minutes, we pause and sit with the hard fact that Jesus died. 

The gospels are mostly silent about the events of the first Holy Saturday.

As we heard in today’s gospel lesson, we know that one of Jesus’ rich friends, Joseph of Arimathea, took custody of Jesus’ lifeless body, wrapped it, and placed it in his own tomb, newly hewn in the rock.

During their time of turmoil, after all the shock and pain of the past few days, I’m not sure Joseph of Arimathea and Jesus’ other friends and followers remembered his promise of resurrection on the third day.

Or maybe, after everything that had happened, they just could not bring themselves to hope again.

But Matthew tells us that, ironically enough, some of Jesus’ opponents remembered the promise of new life, and asked for some reinforcement of the tomb, just in case Jesus’ disciples tried to pull a fast one.

Some people invest a lot in death and the denial of hope.

We’re not told what the disciples were up to during this in-between time.

But, we know them well enough to know that they were probably hiding in fear. To be fair, we can’t really blame them for that, since it was quite possible that the Romans would be coming for them next.

And, behind the locked doors, I bet there was a fair amount of bickering and finger-pointing, lots of accusations flying, plenty of painful reminders of how they had all failed Jesus so miserably.

And, what about Jesus during this in-between time?

Since the early days, Christians have believed in what’s called the “Harrowing of Hell” – the idea that Jesus “descended to the dead,” entering through the gates of hell, where souls had been waiting so long for liberation.

Except for saying one line in the Creed, these days we don’t usually spend much time thinking or talking about the Harrowing of Hell.

But in the past lots of artists were inspired by this notion, depicting Jesus leading souls up out of hell and into new life.

Artists have often imagined Jesus leading Adam and Eve out of hell – the first man and woman representing all of humanity.

That’s a beautiful image, of course.

But, personally, I love an idea shared by the writer Gary Wills and others - that perhaps the first soul liberated from hell was Judas – a powerful sign that absolutely no one is beyond the reach of God’s love and forgiveness.

And that’s the thing about the Harrowing of Hell.

It’s not a onetime event.

Especially in our time of turmoil, there are plenty of people all around us whose hearts still beat but who are in hell – the people carrying the heavy burdens of fear, despair, anger, resentment, disappointment, greed, grief…

Especially in our time of turmoil, there are plenty of people all around us who are still breathing but who are already in hell, but they – we – are never beyond Jesus’ reach and care – never beyond forgiveness and liberation.

So, very soon we will turn the page to Easter.

It will be glorious, no doubt.

But, let’s not forget Holy Saturday.

Let’s not forget that Jesus really died.

Let’s not forget that Jesus descends to the dead, doing what Jesus does on Holy Saturday, Easter, and all the time: transforming death into new life.

Amen.

In a Time of Turmoil, Sacrificial Love

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 15, 2022

Good Friday

Isaiah 52:13-53:12

Psalm 22

Hebrews 10:16-25

John 18:1-19:42

In a Time of Turmoil, Sacrificial Love

Two thousand years ago, Jerusalem was an occupied city in turmoil.

As we remembered on Sunday, the Jewish people were hungry for God to act again, to act as God had acted on the first Passover, breaking the chains of oppression, leading God’s people from slavery to freedom.

The people eagerly awaited the arrival of a messiah – a savior – who would dislodge the brutal Roman occupiers and their local collaborators, and restore Israel’s independence and greatness.

In Jerusalem, two thousand years ago, there were at least some people who had come to believe that Jesus of Nazareth was this long awaited savior – there were some people so full of expectation that they joyfully welcomed him into the capital city with palms and cloaks strewn in the road.

They shouted “Hosanna!” which means, “Please save us!”

But, as we all know, and heard again today, events did not unfold quite the way anyone had expected or hoped.

Instead of a triumphant coronation and a glorious victory, Jesus of Nazareth was betrayed by one of his own, handed over to the authorities, condemned and killed with maximum brutality.

In Jerusalem two thousand years ago, crucifixion was quite common – a form of capital punishment designed by the Romans to instill terror and subservience among the people under their rule.

The city was often spiked with crosses, holding the decaying remains of the crucified, each a stark reminder of what happens to those who dared to challenge Rome.

Horrifying, but no doubt effective.

For nearly two thousand years, we Christians have recalled these heartbreakingly tragic events today, on the day we paradoxically call Good Friday.

And for most of that time we have read and heard this story of sacrifice as told in the Gospel of John.

This gospel – completed around seventy years after the events it records – was written during a time when it was becoming increasingly difficult to be both Jewish and Christian, a time of growing hostility between these two ways of faith.

So, unfortunately, this particular gospel, even more than the others, casts Jesus’ Jewish brothers and sisters in a particularly negative light.

And, over the years, hearing this story, hearing this particular version of this story, the Church forgot – or chose to forget – some most important truths.

Over the years, Christians either willfully or conveniently forgot that Jesus lived and died as a faithful Jew, and that all of his first friends and followers were Jews.

Christians forgot that God has never and will never break the covenant with the Jewish people - that, while we certainly don’t believe all the same things, they are forever our elder brothers and sisters in faith.

The Church forgot all this, and Good Friday became a day that was no good at all for Jews.

But especially now, in our time of turmoil, with anti-Semitism on the rise, we must recall that what we remember today is a Jewish tragedy – Jesus was a victim not of the Jewish people, but, like so many of his countrymen, he was a victim of the Roman Empire that had no patience or mercy for any troublemakers.

As I mentioned on Sunday, one of the unfortunate effects of pointing our fingers at the Jews is that it lets us off the hook.

Today we draw near to the mysterious heart of our faith.

God enters the world in and through Jesus – and, just like people two thousand years ago, we reject him – over and over we reject his invitation – his commandments to love and forgive – over and over, when we choose hate and violence, we nail Jesus to the cross yet again.

There is another most unfortunate side effect of blaming others on Good Friday.

Our misdirected anger at others for rejecting and killing Jesus blinds us to the deepest meaning of Good Friday.

Faced with the rejection and violence of the world, Jesus the Son of God stretched out his arms of love on the cross.

Jesus does not condemn the world, not even of the people who sentenced him to death.

Jesus does not even express disappointment at his friends, the disciples who betrayed, denied, and abandoned him.

Instead, Jesus – Jesus, who washed the feet of his friends - Jesus offers only sacrificial love.

Jesus gives away his life to reveal the bottomless depths of God’s love for us all.

No matter what.

Not unlike the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, we live in a time of turmoil.

People close to home and around the world live under the shadows of oppression, fear, and violence.

There are loud and angry voices insisting we should hate and hurt people who are different.

There are loud and angry voices telling so many lies.

And yet, just like in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, in a time of turmoil, Jesus offers only sacrificial love, confident that hatred, cruelty, and death will not have the final word.

But, for now, we wait.

In a Time of Turmoil, Remembrance and Service

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 14, 2022

Maundy Thursday 

Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

In a Time of Turmoil, Remembrance and Service

For a long time, Jesus had predicted his fate, trying to prepare his disciples for all that was going to happen in Jerusalem, during the days around Passover, in a time of turmoil.

But, you know how it is, right?

Jesus’ closest friends would not – or could not – accept that the one they had come to know and love as Lord was going to suffer and die.

But, with the city outside in turmoil, Jesus and his disciples gathered around the table for what everyone must have realized would be their last supper together.

The hard truth was sinking in.

It would have been understandable to simply sit for a while in the terrible sadness of it all, but instead Jesus the great teacher uses this precious opportunity to get across a few last, most important lessons.

At this last supper with his friends, Jesus takes and blesses bread and wine and promises that he will always be with them - always be with us - when we gather together around the table to remember him.

And, as we heard this evening, Jesus also washes the feet of his disciples, an act of service so lowly that Peter, reasonably enough, is shocked, and insists that he simply will not allow it.

The fisherman says flat out, “You will never wash my feet.”

But Jesus patiently explains that this is how it must be – this is how it must be if Peter and the others want to be part of Jesus, part of this community.

Hearing that, Peter, showing some wisdom, quickly gives in, enthusiastically inviting Jesus to wash not just his feet, but his whole body.

When the foot-washing was complete, Jesus gives the command – the mandatum - that gives Maundy Thursday its name: the command that we are to love one another as Jesus loves us.

And this love is not merely a nice warm feeling.

No, this love is action – this love is expressed by offering lowly service – this love is shared by washing feet. 

Jesus the great teacher managed to get these lessons across, because despite all the turmoil of that night and the days ahead, despite the heartbreak of the cross and the wonder of the empty tomb, despite all of that and much more to come, the disciples remembered these most important lessons and passed them down through the generations, all the way to us here this evening.

My sense is that during our own time of turmoil, especially the many months when we were forced apart, when we could not gather around the table as Christians have done for two millennia - my sense is that we have come to appreciate the Bread – and soon, the Wine - more than ever.

Shocked out of our familiar routines, we recognize more clearly that Jesus really is present in the bread and wine, really is present when we remember him.

And, our own time of turmoil has also revealed so much need all around us – making us more acutely aware of just how many feet need washing.

So, in our time of turmoil, you found creative ways to continue serving the people at Paul’s Place and the Community Crisis Center.

You have been caring for each other with even more tenderness – more calls made, more cards sent, more prayers offered.

In our time of turmoil, we have been looking at new ways of being a servant church, new ways to love the people beyond our doors and walls.

And now we are on the cusp of welcoming Afghan refugees to their new home, offering loving service to long-suffering people whose worn-out feet have brought them so far from home.

Near the end of this evening’s service, we will follow the ancient practice of “stripping” the altar, putting away most of the furnishings and ornaments, symbolizing the end of the Last Supper, and preparing for Good Friday.

We will conclude by bringing the Bread, the Body of Christ, here to the garden.

I invite you to stay for at least a few quiet minutes of prayer and reflection.

Remember Jesus, his teachings, his example, his sacrifice – remember his command to love one another - and recommit to washing feet.

Amen.

In a Time of Turmoil, the Faithfulness of Jesus

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 10, 2022

Year C: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Luke 19:28-40

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Luke 23:1-49

In a Time of Turmoil, the Faithfulness of Jesus

Today is the most disorienting day of the Christian year.

In fact, today is such a disorienting day that we can’t even settle on just one name.

Instead, we call today “The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday.” 

Even our worship on this day – usually so orderly and dignified – is kind of disorienting.

Some of us began this day outside, where we heard about the first palm parade in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, and then our palms were blessed and distributed.

There was a sense of excitement as we started our parade, singing our songs, waving our palms, shouting “Hosanna!” as we slowly made our way to the church.

There was even a donkey, just like at the first palm parade in Jerusalem long ago.

But then we arrived here in this holy place and the mood quickly changed.

And, maybe before we realized what was happening, a day that started with an almost festive atmosphere ends with death - an unspeakable, and seemingly quite final, loss.

Two thousand years ago, Jerusalem was an occupied city, ruled by the brutal Romans and their various local collaborators, including religious leaders who desperately wanted to keep the peace, or what passed for peace, anyway.

Two thousand years ago, in Jerusalem, it was nearly the Passover, that great Jewish feast recalling God leading God’s people from slavery to freedom, the start of a journey from oppression to the promised land.

Of course, the Romans and their local collaborators were well aware of the festival and its meaning, and were always on high alert during these holy days, ready to crush any uprising, determined to snuff out any would-be kings – or any potential messiahs.

By the time Jesus arrived in Jerusalem, his fellow Jews were so eager for God to act once again – ready for the start of another journey to freedom.

Word had surely gotten around about Jesus of Nazareth – true, he was not quite the messiah that anyone expected – not very much like Moses or King David – but there was no denying the power of his healings and the wisdom of his teaching.

So some thought – hoped – expected - that this Jesus of Nazareth was about to start an uprising that would restore Israel’s independence and greatness.

So, not unlike our little palm parade this morning, there was excitement in the air in Jerusalem that day two thousand years ago.

In a time of turmoil, the people were eager to welcome their king into his capital city.

But then everything seemed to go so terribly wrong.

It’s usually assumed that some of the same people who had welcomed Jesus with waving palms and by placing their cloaks in the road later turned against him and called for his death.

Maybe they were disappointed that Jesus turned out to not be the kind of messiah they thought they wanted or needed, or maybe they were just swept up in the frenzy of the crowd.

We know how that can happen.

Today, in a time of rising anti-Semitism here in our own country and around the world, it’s especially important to make clear that this is not a story of Jews versus Christians.

It’s important to make absolutely clear that “the Jews” of two thousand years ago were not responsible for the death of Jesus and the Jews of today certainly carry no guilt.

The Romans killed Jesus.

Just like so many people in his own time and so many people today, Jesus was a victim of state-sponsored violence.

Besides, looking to cast blame on long-ago people, or their modern day descendants, conveniently lets us off the hook.

On this most disorienting day we draw near to the mysterious heart of our faith: God enters the world in and through Jesus, inviting us to walk in love, and we reject him – over and over we reject him, choosing instead hatred and violence.

And yet, God does not give up on us.

Reflecting on the story of Jesus in Jerusalem in a time of turmoil two thousand years ago, I’m struck by his faithfulness.

We often talk about our faith in Jesus but we should probably talk more about the faith of Jesus.

When the crowds hailed him as he entered his capital city, desperately hoping that he was the king to oust the Romans and their collaborators, Jesus resisted the temptation to give the people what they wanted.

In a time of turmoil, Jesus remained faithful to God’s mission.

And later, when the powers of the world had their way with him, dishing out their worst, Jesus resisted the temptation to fight back, to reveal his divine power.

And near the end, as his life was slipping away, Jesus resisted the temptation to condemn the people who had turned against him, to curse his friends who had abandoned him.

Instead, Jesus endured the suffering, revealing the depths of God’s love.

In a time of turmoil, Jesus remained faithful to God’s mission.

Not unlike the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, today we are living in a time of turmoil.

With so many loud and angry voices clamoring all around us, with the shedding of blood close to home and far away, it is tempting to just be like most everybody else – to despise the people who are different, to always put our interests first, to look away from the suffering and despair endured by people from Baltimore to Ukraine, to judge others without mercy.

But, as disciples of Jesus, as the Body of Christ in the world, we are called to walk in love, as Christ loved us.

So, in our own time of turmoil, let’s keep our eyes on faithful Jesus, and, especially during this holy week, together, let’s follow him to the cross, the tomb, and to the new life of Easter.

Amen.

Mary of Bethany & Sonia of Jersey City

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 3, 2022

The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Isaiah 43:16-21

Psalm 126

Philippians 3:4b-14

John 12:1-8

Mary of Bethany & Sonia of Jersey City

Back in New Jersey, I served on the board of a really wonderful organization called Garden State Community Development Corporation.

It’s a non-profit that was founded a couple of decades ago by a few Jersey City Episcopalians who wanted to develop housing for people in need.

Over time, thanks to the hard work, persistence, and creativity of some truly amazing people, “Garden State” expanded its portfolio of good.

Today it rehabs old houses and apartment buildings and also does new construction. One point of pride is that if you were to visit any of their projects you would notice the high quality of materials and craftsmanship. Unless someone told you, you’d probably never know that you were looking at low-income housing.

In addition, they also operate a homeless shelter, which is often at full capacity, especially in the winter. And, they also provide a homeless drop-in center, not far from Journal Square, which is Jersey City’s transportation center.

Most days the drop-in center, located on the first floor of a housing project, is full of people who come by for coffee or to relax in a large TV room.

At the drop-in center, people can also meet with social workers, who try to connect folks with much-needed services.

As a board member, I learned that providing food to the guests at the homeless drop-in center was a real and ongoing challenge.

Often the best they could do was some basic sandwiches, peanut butter and jelly or cheese.

Once a month one of the local African-American churches came in and offered something more substantial.

And that was it.

One time, about four years ago, I was giving a ride to one of my parishioners, a woman named Sonia, and we got to talking about Garden State CDC and the needs of homeless people we both saw all the time around Journal Square.

Sort of thinking out loud, I said something like, “Wouldn’t it be great if our church could provide lunch at the homeless drop-in center once a month? But, it would be a big job and I don’t know if we could really pull it off.”

Without hesitation, as if she had been waiting all along for this opportunity, Sonia said, “I can do that, Father Tom.”

Now, I should mention that coffee hour at my previous church was much more than coffee and some cookies. Just about each Sunday, a parishioner or a small team of parishioners prepared a hot lunch. As the church grew, these sit-down meals became more challenging, with fewer people willing or able to take on this large task.

A few times I suggested maybe scaling back coffee hour a bit.

All I’ll say is that every church has a third rail that it’s best not to touch!

Anyway, I mention this because right from the start of this new ministry Sonia made the commitment that the hot lunch we provided to the guests at the homeless drop-in center would be just as elaborate and delicious as the meals we served and enjoyed at our church coffee hours.

I remember our first lunch.

We chose a day near the end of the month, when most assistance would have long since run out, making the need greater than ever.

I remember the guests carefully watching Sonia and her little band of volunteers as they brought in trays of food – the delicious aromas filled the room, letting everyone know that something much better than peanut butter and jelly was on the menu that day.

When it was time to serve the meal, some of the guests were shocked and excited by the sight and taste of this home cooking, thanking us profusely, while others were too lost in the haze of mental illness or addiction or just beaten down by life to say anything much.

Yet, they were all fed. 

They were all blessed with the best homemade meal Sonia and her little team could provide.

And, not to mix up my Bible stories, but there was plenty of delicious food left over for the people who worked at the drop-in center, and for all of us volunteers.

And, over the years, this amazing generosity has continued, month after month.

Even if you didn’t know that today is the Fifth Sunday in Lent, even if you didn’t know that there isn’t much time left in this holy season, you can feel the mood shift in today’s lesson from the Gospel of John.

As had been true so many times in the past, Jesus and his friends were gathered for a meal.

They were not far from Jerusalem, in Bethany at the home of the sisters Mary and Martha. And, we’re told that their brother Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead, was also present.

For everyone who attended, this must have been a particularly memorable dinner because Mary of Bethany anointed Jesus’ feet with costly perfume – so much perfume that the aroma spread throughout the whole house.

And then, as if that weren’t notable enough, Mary then wiped the Lord’s feet with her hair.

In the face of such an intimate act, probably the best response would be to look away, or to at least remain silent.

But, we’re told that Judas complains about the extravagance, that this perfume could have been sold for three hundred denarii – nearly a year’s worth of wages for the average worker – and all that money could have been given to the poor.

Now, I don’t know about you, but this story puts me in the uncomfortable position of kind of agreeing with Judas. Maybe that’s why the Evangelist John adds the parenthetical remark that Judas didn’t really care about the poor, he just liked to steal money from the common purse.

Anyway, we might expect Jesus to agree with Judas, but instead he says, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

“You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

Obviously, Mary of Bethany’s generous and intimate gesture is also richly symbolic. She prepares Jesus’ body for all that is to come in Jerusalem – the suffering, death, and, most of all, the new life that we will remember over the next few weeks. 

As Jesus said, it’s true that we don’t have him with us in the same way as Mary, Martha, and Lazarus and everyone gathered around the table did on that long ago day in Bethany.

But, we do have Jesus here every time we get together, and Jesus is especially here in the sacrament that we are about take into our bodies and into hearts.

As for the poor, I do not hear Jesus’ words as bleakly fatalistic.

Jesus is not shrugging his shoulders and saying that no matter what there will always be poor people.

No, I hear Jesus’ words as a reminder that when we are truly his church – when we are truly a servant church – then we will always be close to the poor. 

We will always have the poor with us.

And, Jesus can always be found among the poor. 

Long ago, Mary of Bethany anointed Jesus with costly perfume, giving away the very best that she had.

And in our own time, Sonia of Jersey City and her friends anoint Jesus by giving away their delicious food month after month to people who are often hungry, usually ignored, and sometimes even despised.

So, today, to prepare for the holiest days of the Christian year, let’s recommit to being a servant church – a church that feeds people at Paul’s Place and provides for clients at the Community Crisis Center – a church that opens its doors to refugees fleeing violence and destruction - a church that anoints Jesus by sharing our very best with the poor. 

Amen.