Third Sunday of Easter, 2024 - Thomas

It seems to me that Thomas has gotten a bad rap.

According to the gospel of John, Thomas was not with the other disciples when Jesus appeared to them on the evening of resurrection Sunday. When they told him they had seen Jesus, he responded, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe” (John 20:25). All he asked was to have the same experience the others had. “He (Jesus) showed them his hands and his side” (John 20:20).

Because of his response, Thomas has been viewed as a doubter. He is commonly called Doubting Thomas.

I believe a better descriptor for Thomas would be realist. Thomas was a realist, not a doubter.

This character trait is readily seen in an event found in John 11. Jesus had been summoned to Bethany by Mary and Martha because their brother Lazarus was sick. Rather than responding immediately, Jesus remained in Galilee for two days. When he told the disciples they were going back to Judea, they were hesitant, resistant to the idea. “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” (John 11:8). When Jesus told them he was going because Lazarus had died, Thomas said to the others, “Let us also go, that we may die with him” (John 11:16).

Thomas assessed the situation. The Jews were seeking to kill Jesus. Going back to Judea would expose Jesus to that threat. Thomas dealt realistically with the situation, recognizing the danger and the possibility. He was a realist. In spite of the danger and the risk involved, he was willing to go with Jesus, even if it meant death for them all. He was deeply committed to Jesus. He was willing to die with him. In addition, he encouraged the others to move beyond their fear and hesitancy. He called them to act in spite of the danger. Could we say he challenged them to have faith, the very thing we accuse him of not having regarding the resurrection?

Thomas’s reaction on the evening of resurrection Sunday reflected that same kind of realism. He had seen Jesus crucified on the cross. He had seen the spikes in his hands, the spear thrust in his side. He had seen Jesus die. That was the reality he knew. In order to believe Jesus was alive, Thomas needed an experience that would offset that reality. He needed more than the word of the other disciples. He wanted to see the wounds just as the other disciples had.

When Jesus appeared a week later, he offered Thomas what he needed. “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side” (John 20:27). Thomas’s response was immediate. He proclaimed his faith. “My Lord and my God!” (John 20:28). Interestingly, his response was without touching Jesus’s hands or side. Seeing Jesus alive was the experience he needed to offset the reality he had known. He now had a new reality with which to deal. Jesus had indeed been raised from the dead. That reality would now shape his life.

What about today’s Thomases—those realists who assess the situation and deal realistically with it? They do not have the opportunity that Thomas and the other disciples had—to see the wounds of Jesus, to see Jesus alive. What might today’s Thomases experience that would stir their response of faith?

Indulge me as I answer my own question. Faith is spawned when today’s Thomases see the impact of the resurrection in the lives of others. Transformed lives are as convincing as Jesus’s wounds.

The resurrection becomes a reality today’s Thomases can accept when they see people they know set free from guilt and shame, living with freedom and joy and peace . . . when they see people they know moving beyond the self-serving, what’s-in-it-for-me spirit to live out of a servant spirit that seeks the good of others . . . when they see people they know facing life-threatening illnesses and the threat of death with faith, not fear . . . when they see people they know accept and embrace those who are different from themselves, treating them with dignity and respect rather than viewing them as a threat or as undeserving . . . when they see people they know give freely and generously of their time and material wealth to make a difference in the life of another . . . when they see people they know live with openness and authenticity rather than projecting a pretentious persona created to gain attention and social standing. The resurrection becomes a reality today’s Thomases can accept when they see the followers of Jesus living the ways of God that Jesus taught.

Notice that I said nothing about beliefs or church involvement or morals. These things do not point to the reality of the resurrection as does living the ways of God Jesus taught. Sadly, church people too often substitute beliefs and church involvement and moral living for living the ways of God Jesus taught. Even more sad is the reality that beliefs and church involvement and moral living do not require us to live the ways of God that Jesus taught. They often become barriers to doing so.

“Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe” (John 20:29). Blessed are those who embrace the resurrection as a reality, giving themselves to learning and living the ways of God Jesus taught. Blessed indeed!

 

Second Sunday of Easter, 2024 - Shaped by the Reality of the Resurrection

 It was the evening of Resurrection Sunday—the evening after Jesus had appeared to Mary Magdalene (as told in John’s gospel). The disciples were gathered together behind locked doors our of fear that they might be the next target of the religious authorities (John 20:19). They were still living out of an old reality—that Jesus was dead, killed by his enemies—in spite of Mary’s testimony that she had seen him alive. The resurrection had happened, but it had made no impact on them or their lives—at least, not yet. It was not, in their minds, a reality.

Then Jesus stood in their midst and spoke to them. One minute he wasn’t there; the next, he was standing in their midst. That’s when the resurrection became a reality for them. That’s when it began to impact and shape their lives.

The gospel writer packed a lot into a few short verses—the validation of the resurrection, the gift of peace, the gift of the Spirit (Pentecost in the gospel of John), an assignment for their lives (the Great Commission in the gospel of John), and authority to proclaim forgiveness (John 20:23). Each of these are related.

Jesus’s presence validated the testimony of Mary Magdalene. Jesus indeed was alive! He had been raised. They too had encountered the Risen Christ! The resurrection was a reality—a reality that had the power to shape—yea, transform—their lives.

The Risen Christ gave to them the gift of peace. Twice, he said to them, “Peace be with you” (John 20:19, 21). Before his death, he had promised them the gift of peace. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid” (John 14:26-27). Now, in assurance of the resurrection, in experiencing his presence, they could know his peace—peace with God, inner peace that calmed their sense of guilt and shame, peace that quietened their fear of what might happen to them. All of that inner dis-ease and debilitating anxiety was replaced with his gift of peace.

His gift of peace was associated with the gift of the Spirit. The apostle Paul wrote peace was a gift of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22). Jesus breathed on them, bestowing on them the gift of the Spirit. The gospel writer drew on the imagery found in Genesis 2. There, the Lord God breathed into the lifeless form he had fashioned from the earth and the form became a living being—Adam. Here, Jesus breathed the Spirit into his disciples. They came alive in a new way—alive with the very life of God through the Spirit. They experienced the life of the Spirit at work in them and through them. They became Spirit-filled, Spirit-guided, and Spirit-empowered.

The gift of the Spirit empowered them for the work Jesus gave them to do. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you” (John 20:21). The central message of the gospel of John was the Father had sent Jesus, the Son, to reveal the Father (John 1:14, 18)—that is, that we might know what God is like at the core of God’s being, that we might know the steadfast, faithful love that fills the heart of God. Jesus was sent that we might know the Father personally and experience God’s grace and forgiveness in our own lives. “From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace” (John 1:16). Now, empowered by the Spirit, his followers were to continue his work—helping people know the love-filled heart of God, helping them open their lives to God so they would know God personally, helping them claim and live out of God’s grace and forgiveness.

This Spirit-empowered commission centered in the awesome authority to proclaim God’s forgiveness so others could experience it in their own lives. It also included the terrifying responsibility of withholding forgiveness. They (we) withheld forgiveness by failing to proclaim its reality, thereby offering others the opportunity to open their lives to its transforming power. 

The reality of the resurrection has life-shaping, life-transforming power. When it becomes real to us, it leads us into the inner peace of Christ. It fills us with the life of the Spirit, empowering us to love as Jesus loved. It gives us a new purpose in life—helping others know this God of self-giving, servant love that we have come to know through the Risen Christ, helping others experience God’s grace and forgiveness—which brings the peace of Christ—in their lives.

Easter Sunday, 2024 - Easter Faith

It is the shortest account of the resurrection—only eight verses long. It is also the strangest account. It records no appearances of the Risen Christ. It ends with the women running from the tomb in fear. Having been traumatized by what they experienced, they told no one about it.

The story of the resurrection in the gospel of Mark is so strange that other people wrote what they considered a more appropriate ending. There is a short ending that follows verse 8 and a longer ending—beginning with verse 9—that reflects the resurrection stories found in the gospels of Luke and John.

What if the strange ending of Mark’s gospel was by design? What might the gospel writer have been trying to say with this seemingly abbreviated, strange ending? What is its meaning for us on this Easter Sunday?

The abrupt ending leaves the end of the gospel hanging, waiting to be written. The implication is that we, the readers, have to write the ending. It is as though the biblical writer is saying “Write your own ending.” We write that ending by how we respond to the story—by what we do.

The heart of the story is found in the words of the young man dressed in white. “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you” (Mark 16:6-7).

There was no encounter with the Risen Christ to confirm what the young man said. All they had were his words. “He has been raised; he is not here.” The only evidence that what he said was true was “there is the place they laid him.” Confirmation that what he said was true would come when they acted on what he said. “He is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.” They would see the Risen Christ when they did what the young man said to do.

In the first part of his gospel, the gospel writer told a story of a woman who was healed when she acted on what she believed to be true. The woman suffered from a condition in which she had been hemorrhaging for twelve years. Her condition kept her physically depleted. It isolated her from the community as it made her ritually unclean. Her pursuit of medical help had cost her everything she had. Having heard about how Jesus healed people, she thought, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well” (Mark 5:28). Believing Jesus could heal her, she slipped up behind him in the crowd and touched the hem of his cloak. Immediately, she was healed. Jesus, sensing “that power had gone forth from him" (Mark 5:30), turned to see who had touched his cloak. When the woman came forward, Jesus said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease” (Mark 5:34). This story shows us what faith looks like. Faith is believing something to be true, then acting on that belief.

The young man’s instructions challenged the women to act in faith. “He is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.”

The gospel of Mark also tells the story of a blind man whose healing required a second touch. The writer used the blind man as a metaphor for the disciples. His story is their story. The man was blind, unable to see. In the first half of the gospel, the disciples were blind. They did not recognize who Jesus was. They struggled to understand what he taught. The man was healed of his blindness with Jesus’s first touch, but not completely. He could see, but not clearly. “I can see people, but they look like trees, walking” (Mark 8:24). In order for him to see clearly, Jesus had to touch his eyes a second time. Only then was he was completely healed. In the second half of the gospel, the disciples recognized Jesus as the Messiah (Mark 8:29). They could see, but—like the blind man after the first touch—they did not see clearly. They struggled to understand or accept what Jesus taught about what he would experience in Jerusalem. They struggled to understand what was involved in being a disciple. They needed a second touch. The resurrection offered the second touch.

We live as Jesus’s disciples by embracing what he taught, allowing his teachings to shape our lives. As his disciples, we write the ending to the gospel by acting on what he said.

In other words, we write the ending to the gospel through faith. We believe what Jesus taught and act on it. We allow his teachings to shape how we live.

Being a disciple—like believing in the resurrection—is an act of faith. What Jesus taught goes against the way the world trained us to think and live—what Jesus called “the yeast of the Pharisees and the yeast of Herod” (Mark 8:15). To be a disciple is to live out of a servant spirit (Mark 9:35) rather than the self-serving, what’s-in-it-for-me, do-whatever-it-takes-to-get-ahead spirit that drives the way the world functions. To be a disciple is to use power to serve, addressing the needs of others (Mark 10:42-45) rather than the way the world uses power—over, down against others, for personal benefit at their expense. To be a disciple is to be out of step with the world.

Faith is believing something to be true, then acting on it. It is embracing what Jesus taught, allowing it to shape how we think and live.

We write the ending to the gospel of Mark by being Jesus’s disciples who put into practice what he taught—who do what he said.

This Easter, we have the opportunity to write our own ending to the story of Jesus’s resurrection.

Holy Saturday, 2024 - Waiting

It was the Sabbath—the day after the Passover. Jesus had been crucified the day before. After receiving permission from Pilate, Joseph of Arimathea had hastily removed his body from the cross and placed it in a near-by tomb as the Sabbath was quickly approaching. There had been no time for anything other than putting the body in the tomb, wrapped in a linen cloth. Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses had watched him bury Jesus’s dead body (Mark 15:42-47).

Saturday. The Sabbath. The day after Jesus had died.

The disciples huddled in fear behind locked doors (John 20:19). Would the religious leaders and the Roman soldiers who had killed Jesus come looking for them, his followers? Their fear was laced with their grief and guilt. After all, they had all fled, deserting him in Gethsemane when the temple guard arrested him. Now, he was gone—dead.

What was Peter thinking and feeling—Peter who had sworn that he would die for him; Peter who had denied that he knew him, not once but three different times? Was his grief overshadowed by guilt and remorse? Was he filled with self-hate and despair over what he had done?

What about the women? They had been at the cross. They had seen him die. They had seen where Joseph had buried his body. Now, on this Sabbath day, they sat with their grief and disbelief, making plans to wash and anoint his body as soon as the Sabbath was over. They waited, filling the time with their preparations.

I wonder if the detail of Roman soldiers ever gave any thought to the three men they had crucified the day before. Did the soldier who had won Jesus’s garment with a roll of the dice wonder about the man who had worn it? about what had happened that he was arrested and sentenced to die? about why he was called the king of the Jews?

Did the centurion—the officer in charge of the detail assigned with the gruesome task of crucifying Jesus—do any more reflecting on Jesus? Seeing the way Jesus died—not the way he had seen other men die by crucifixion—he had said, “Truly this man was a son of God” (Mark 15:40). Did he continue to reflect on how Jesus died? Did Jesus haunt his thinking in the days that followed?

Simon of Cyrene had been compelled by the Roman soldiers to carry Jesus’s cross for him as they led him to Golgotha (Mark 15:21). Did he get away from the cross as quickly as he could or did he hang around to watch the soldiers crucify Jesus? Did he know who Jesus was? Did he ever escape the memories of that condemned man, beaten to within an inch of his life, whose cross he carried?

Because it was the Sabbath, the religious leaders were likely involved in Sabbath observances. Did the events of the previous week invade their religious observances? Did their religious observances lead to any self-reflection, identifying the part they played in those events? Did their thoughts of Jesus—if they had any—stir any sense of remorse or guilt? Or did they simply feel immense relief that they would never have to deal with him again?  

We each deal with pain—death, loss, violence, trauma, failure, grief, regret—in different ways. The experiences of these people who were there on that Sabbath invite us to reflect on our own life experiences as we wait in anticipation of Easter morning.

This Holy Saturday, we reflect as we wait.

Good Friday, 2024 - Reflecting on Jesus's Death on the Cross

 It’s not always about us.

Good Friday—the day Jesus was crucified. The day he died on a Roman cross.

Each year, a common theme is repeated about Good Friday. This theme is repeated in a variety of ways. Jesus died on the cross for our sins. Because of our sins, we deserved death, but he died in our place. He paid our debt. Through his death on the cross, we have forgiveness of our sins.

This theme lies at the heart of evangelical theology. It is accepted as the only way to understand Jesus’s death on the cross. It is seldom questioned. I guess that’s where I come in. You know me, always looking at things from a different angle. (In case you haven’t figured it out, that different angle is the character of God revealed to Moses and in Jesus of Nazareth.)

I am uneasy with this Jesus-died-for-me thinking for a number of reasons.

I am uncomfortable with what this thinking implies about God. It speaks of God’s wrath that had to be appeased before God could/would love and forgive us. In this thinking, God provided a means of appeasing that wrath in sending the Son to die on the cross. This understanding of God does not align with the biblical witness about God.

In the description of God’s character given to Moses (Exodus 34:6-7), there is no mention of wrath. The central feature of God’s character—according to that revelation—is God’s steadfast, faithful love. God’s love is steadfast—i.e., it never waivers. It is faithful—i.e., it never gives up on or abandons us. This covenant love is expressed in forgiveness. Forgiveness is an expression of God’s character. It is a part of what makes God to be God. God’s steadfast, faithful love moves God to embrace us just as we are, in our sinful nature. BTW—this revelation came in the wake of the golden calf incident in which Israel violated the covenant, breaking it. God refused to give up on or abandon them in spite of their failure. God replaced the broken covenant with an unconditional covenant (Exodus 34:10). This truth is what Moses learned as he interceded for the people (Exodus 32:7-34:10).

The prophet Hosea understood the depths of God’s love. Having proclaimed judgment against the nation, the prophet spoke of how the prospect of judgment tore at God’s heart. In the end, God’s love overcame God’s anger “for I am God and no mortal” (Hosea 11:9). “I’m not like you,” God said.

            How can I give you up, Ephraim?

            How can I hand you over, O Israel?

            My heart recoils within me;

            my compassion grows warm and tender (Hebrew: blazing hot).

            I will not execute my fierce anger,

            I will not again destroy Ephraim;

            for I am God and no mortal,

            The Holy One in your midst,

            and I will not come in wrath (Hosea 11:8-9).

Hosea’s words point to another reason I am uncomfortable with Jesus-died-for-our-sins thinking. This understanding of Jesus’s death reflects merit-based, deserving-oriented thinking. Death is what we deserve because of our sins. Merit-based, deserving-oriented thinking is our default thinking as humans. It is how we relate to one another. It is not, however, how God relates. God does not relate to us out of what we have done or not done—that is, according to what we deserve. God relates to us out of who God is—out of God’s character of love. The psalmist expressed it this way:

            He does not deal with us according to our sins

            Nor repay us according to our iniquities (Psalm 103:10).

The reason the psalmist gives for this reality is the greatness of God’s steadfast, faithful love.

            For as the heavens are high above the earth,

            So great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him (Psalm 103:11).

That steadfast, faithful love is expressed in forgiveness.

            As far as the east is from the west,

            so far he removes our transgressions from us (Psalm 103:12).

God relates to us out of who God is, not out of who we are. God loves us because it is God’s nature to love, not because we deserve it. Nothing we can do can change that love. God relates to us out of grace. That grace is expressed in forgiveness. That forgiveness is given freely, lavishly, unconditionally—not because Jesus died on the cross.

The list goes on. This Jesus-died-for-our-sins thinking keeps the focus on us. We are subtly center stage in this story even though we focus on Jesus and his death. Behind his death—according to this version of the story—is us. This version of the story—like so many of our religious practices—is at its core egocentric. It is about us.

This version of the story is about us and our sins. This version of the story keeps us focused on sin—how we fail to measure up. It does nothing to move us beyond our sins even though it proclaims the forgiveness of our sins. The apostle Paul spoke of salvation as a transformation of our hearts and minds. He spoke of living in the Spirit and in the power of the Spirit “so that the just requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit” (Romans 8:4). That’s moving beyond sin. Paul spoke of being conformed to the image of Jesus (Romans 8:29). That’s spiritual maturity.

This Jesus-died-for-our-sins presents a one-and-done transaction. Believe, accept, be forgiven, go to heaven. It ignores the relational dimension—God’s relationship with us, our relationship with God, living in relationship with God through the indwelling Spirit. It ignores the concept of growth that is the essence of life—growing in the likeness of Christ. It has no hint of being God’s partners in doing God’s work of bringing the kingdom into reality on earth.

In my opinion, this Jesus-died-for-our-sins thinking is an impoverished concept of salvation that misses the point. It reflects egocentric thinking, keeping the focus on us.

So what is the alternative to this Jesus-died-for-our-sins thinking?

Jesus’s death on the cross is about God, not us. It is about God’s love. It is an expression of the steadfast, faithful love of God that never gives up on or abandons us. It proclaims how God responds to us and our sins—with forgiveness. “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). As Richard Rohr has said: Jesus did not die on the cross to convince God to forgive us; Jesus died on the cross to convince us that God has already forgiven us. Jesus’s death on the cross shows how far God will go in loving us—not just the cross, but the incarnation; not just forgiving us, but embracing us as beloved children.

In shifting the focus from us to God, we open the door to the possibility of our falling in love with God in response to God’s love for us. We just might love God in return. We might be captivated by the beauty of God’s nature and character. Focusing on God and God’s unconditional love just might cultivate within us a desire to love God with a love that is greater than our love for our own egocentric selves. Then, everything will no longer always be about us.

Maundy Thursday, 2024

The day probably started out like every other day when it was time to celebrate the Passover—“On the first day of the Unleavened Bread, when the Passover lamb is sacrificed” (Mark 14:12). Someone had to take the lamb to the Temple to be sacrificed while others had to prepare the room and the dishes for the Passover meal. Nothing about the day prepared the disciples for what they would experience as they gathered that evening for the Passover meal.

The Passover celebration followed a carefully scripted liturgy built around the Passover meal. It told the story of how the LORD acted to set the people of Israel free from their slavery in Egypt. Each dish shared during the meal recalled some aspect of the story. As faithful Jews, the disciples knew the liturgy by heart and could recite it along with those who were assigned the different parts in it. That night, however, Jesus didn’t follow the script. They never forgot that night or what Jesus did. What he did was that disturbing.

Jesus said three disturbing things that evening.

The first thing he said was that one of them—on the twelve, one of their trusted circle of companions, one who was sharing the Passover meal with him—would betray him. That betrayal would result in his arrest. Naturally, they were distressed by what he said. One by one, each sought to reassure him—and maybe themselves—by saying, “I would never do such a thing!”

Then, of all things, Jesus changed the Passover liturgy—the liturgy that had been used by every generation since the Passover had begun to be observed. That liturgy was sacred! That night, Jesus didn’t talk about how the LORD acted on behalf of the people trapped in Egyptian slavery. Rather, he talked about how the LORD was at work in his death—in his body broken for them, in his blood shed poured out for them. He talked about his blood as the blood of the covenant that bound the LORD and the people together in relationship with an unbreakable bond. It made no sense!

The third disturbing thing he said was after the meal as they made their way from the city to the place they often escaped to on the Mount of Olives. “You will all become deserters” (Mark 14:27). First, one of them would betray him! Now all of them would desert him! What in the world was Jesus thinking?! They had followed him for going on two years, through thick and thin. Why would they desert him now?!

Peter—good ole Peter, you could always count on him to say something when no one else would—challenged what Jesus said. “Even though all become deserters, I will not” (Mark 14:29). Jesus responded to Peter’s vow of loyalty with another disturbing prediction. “This day, this very night, before the cock crows twice, you will deny me three times” (Mark 14:30). Not only would Peter desert him, before the next morning Peter would deny that he even knew Jesus—not once, but three times! Jesus’s words cut Peter like a knife. He pushed back, asserting, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” That’s when all of them found their tongues and vowed the same.

Betrayal, desertion, denial—not to mention all his talk during the Passover meal about his own death! It was all so disturbing, so unbelievable. Yet, before the night was over, Judas had fulfilled his promise to the religious leaders. He led their soldiers and a mob to Gethsemane where he knew Jesus would be. He used a kiss of greeting to identify Jesus, betraying him into their hands. As they grabbed Jesus, binding his hands, one of his disciples—was it Peter?—made good on their vow. Wielding a sword, he attacked the slave of the high priest, cutting off his ear. Jesus, however, rebuked the attack. He even healed the man’s ear! That’s when the disciples ran, escaping into the night. Fleeing for their lives, they deserted him as he had said they would.

Peter, at least, followed the mob in the shadows. As Jesus was on trial before the Sanhedrin, he tried to go unnoticed in the courtyard so he could hear what was going on. He could not escape being seen, however. When someone accused him of being one of Jesus’s followers, he—fearing for his life—denied it. Then it happened again and again. Then the rooster crowed, announcing the dawn of a new day.

The disciples never forgot that Passover or all the disturbing things that happened on it—just like Jesus said they would. Neither have we.

Holy Week, 2024 - Wednesday - In Remembrance of

She drew reprimands from others along with complaints about what she had done. Yet Jesus defended and praised her for what she did. 

It was Wednesday of that Passover week—just two days before Jesus was crucified. Jesus was in Bethany having dinner at the home of Simon the leper. As he sat at the table, this unnamed woman approached him, carrying an alabaster jar containing a very expensive ointment made of nard. Those who reprimanded her noted that it would have cost a day laborer a year’s salary to buy it—“this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii” (Mark 14:5). Without saying a word, she broke open the jar and poured its contents on Jesus’s head. She anointed him with oil. “You anoint my head with oil” (Psalm 23:5).

That’s when others at the dinner began to grumble among themselves, complaining to one another about what she had done. They were angry with her for using the ointment to anoint Jesus (Mark 14:4). They complained that she had wasted the ointment. Selling it and giving the money to the poor would, in their opinion, have been a better use of it. As is so often the case with those of us who believe we are right and the other is wrong, the critics voiced their disapproval and anger. “They scolded her” (Mark 14:5). They reprimanded her for what she had done. Their reprimand not only expressed their disapproval of how she used the ointment, it belittled her for doing so. They attacked her.

Jesus stepped in at that point to put a stop to how they were attacking her. “Let her alone” (Mark 14:6). He argued that they—not surprisingly—did not understand what she had done. “Why do you trouble her? She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial” (Mark 14:6, 8).

The disciples were seemingly oblivious to what Jesus was facing even though he had spent the past six weeks telling them over and over again what would happen when he got to Jerusalem. This woman, however, had heard what he was saying. Even more, she sensed the battle he was fighting inside himself as he faced the events that were beginning to unfold. That sensitivity led her to respond with compassion to him—to do something to ease the burden that she sensed was weighing so heavily on his mind and spirit—to share the sorrow she sensed beneath the surface—to express her love for him. She expressed her love by anointing him with oil. “She has done what she could” (Mark 14:8).

Jesus affirmed her as he applauded her generosity and compassion. “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” (Mark 14:9). Although we don’t know her name, even though she is often overlooked and forgotten, this woman’s compassion and generosity—though criticized and reprimanded at the time—are still remembered because of Jesus’s appreciation of them. She was, after all, there for Jesus when no one else was.

The gospel writer frames this woman’s story with two stories that carry a radically different tone. While this woman’s story is one of sensitivity, compassion, and sacrificial love, the two framing-stories are about plotting, deceit, and betrayal. The characters in these stories act out of unrestrained self-interest. Interestingly, they—unlike the woman—are identified. The first story—which precedes the woman’s story—tells how the religious leaders plotted Jesus’s death. “The chief priests and the scribes were looking for a way to arrest Jesus by stealth and kill him” (Mark 14:1). The second—which follows the woman’s story—tells how Judas approached the chief priests, volunteering to betray Jesus to them. These two stories set in motion the events that would lead to Jesus’s death—the death the woman anticipated.

“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” (Mark 14:9). In keeping with Jesus’s words, I add my voice in telling what she did. She anointed the head of Jesus which he interpreted as anointing his body beforehand for its burial. I also speak of why—as I understand it—she did so. She acted out of her sensitivity, compassion, generosity, and sacrificial love. In doing so, “she has done what she could” (Mark 14:8).

On the Wednesday of Holy Week, may we be like her, doing what we can.