If you’re keeping track of the days until Easter, today is the penultimate – that is the next to last – Sunday of Lent. Now, why would we be counting down the days to Easter? Well I would like to tell you it’s because I’m in the zone – that penitential, repentance-filled, spiritual place of oneness with my Creator – and I can’t wait to proclaim that Jesus is risen!
But truth be told, while I do think – by God’s grace – I have made some spiritual progress in this season of Lent; if I’m completely honest, my inclination to count the days is because the fast – the forgoing of an unnecessary indulgence in my case – has me a little rattled. Part of me wants to turn back toward that indulgence; and part of me wants to leave it behind. It’s a bit like standing in the midst of a hedgerow. You can see a way out on the either side, but being in the middle among the poking branches and brambles is uncomfortable, and causes one to rethink the way through. Perhaps I should turn back, or do I press forward?
During Lent, I’ve been thinking a lot about the hedgerows – the uncomfortable places – in my life. While the hedgerow is not a bad place to be, it’s not perhaps what I am looking for, nor where I’d prefer to be. It’s a bit bewildering and it feels a bit like being stuck.
As we are gathered here today a fortnight from Easter, can you see a clear path to Easter on the horizon? Or is your view obscured by the branches and brambles of your expectation or desire to put it behind you? Perhaps you’ve been here before; bewildered by your circumstance or surroundings. Or perhaps this place reminds you of a well-known story passed down to you by your elders and ancestors. Just because the circumstance or story is well-known doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable when you’re confronted with it.
Consider, for example, the circumstance of our spiritual ancestors as Isaiah confronts them with the wilderness imagery of the Exodus as they stand on the cusp of their release from Babylonian exile and their return to the promised land. While there may be some assurance to be found in this familiar story, I can’t help but imagining there is also some bewilderment as they consider what lies before them. Do I turn back or do I go forward? In this hedgerow dilemma do I choose Babylon – the wilderness I know, or Judah – the wilderness I’ve only heard stories about?
The Lord tries to assuage their bewilderment, telling them “do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?”[1] But sometimes it’s hard to know the way forward when you’re being poked by branches or brambles of bewilderment. And new things can involve a semblance of wilderness, such as the leaving of something familiar behind for something new and uncertain.
Just as a new and peculiar thing is presented to the Hebrews by Isaiah, a new and peculiar thing is presented to us in the Gospel lesson from John. While this familiar story may seem straightforward on its surface, you can always count on John to tap into a story behind the story.
Given its place and timing in John’s Gospel – that is shortly after Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead, and shortly before the triumphal procession into Jerusalem – this dinner at Lazarus’ house is about much more than the particular words or actions of the people involved. And while this story is pointing to what is going to happen in Jerusalem within weeks, for now we need to focus on the context – the people and place – of this dinner.
In the story of Lazarus’ death, Martha is quite outspoken about Jesus’ failure to arrive in time to heal her brother. Yet in today’s story, Martha is unusually silent, which is quite unlike her. Is she still angry with Jesus because he did not come in time to spare her brother death? As a result has she retreated into a customary role of serving so she can sulk? It seems Martha may be stuck in her own kind of hedgerow of bewilderment, uncertain of whether to move forward or dwell in the past.
As for Lazarus, everything has changed. He now sees through the eyes of a man who has died and returned from the dead. Perhaps he has glimpsed what is to come for Jesus and simply wants to break bread and spend time with his friend? Or, perhaps, having tasted death, Lazarus has left his own hedgerow behind, no longer fearing what is to come.
Mary, like Lazarus, seems entirely attuned to Jesus. It’s as if she senses something momentous is going to happen, and she is doing what she can to prepare Jesus and herself for it. Like her brother, I don’t think Mary is entangled among the branches and brambles of the hedgerow. I think she has pushed her way through and found herself basking in Jesus’ light and love.
As for Judas, while John is clear about his opinion of Judas as a traitor and thief, there are theories that argue Judas is a zealot, part of a cadre of revolutionaries looking for a messiah to lead them in the violent overthrow of the Romans and their collaborators. One theory is that Judas betrays Jesus in an attempt foment rebellion over the arrest of this beloved teacher and miracle worker.
If this is Judas’ hedgerow, he sees only one way forward. He thinks or hopes he knows what is to come. He’s hoping for a revolution, and – in anticipation – he is marshaling resources. Thus he is appalled by Mary’s seeming extravagance because he is ensnared in the branches and brambles of his own expectations. Judas is so blinded by his expectations that he can’t even imagine a different outcome. Thus he will be bewildered by what he witnesses in the days to come.
In looking at this familiar story through the experience of these four followers of Jesus, we see a number of ways to relate to Jesus. Martha exhibits wariness, as if she’s not sure, a kind bewilderment. Lazarus exhibits quiet acceptance, perhaps his quiet demeanor is a testament to his release from the grip of fear of the unknown. Mary, lacking Lazarus’ insight just wants to make the most of the time she still has with Jesus, and is pouring out her love for him. And Judas is just determined to make this narrative about his own hopes.
Martha and Judas strike me as a little rattled as they shelter in their hedgerows. These hedgerows are not necessarily bad places to be. In fact they can offer a little protection for the same reason they can be uncomfortable. But they can be disorienting and uncomfortable especially if you’re poked by branches and brambles of resentment or fear that keep you from moving forward. Like our ancestors the Hebrews, do we choose the story we have heard and known, or do we choose the new story we’ve only heard about? Am I wary of the promise, or do I completely trust Jesus?
May we all have the grace to trust the promise of Jesus and claim it for our own so that we too can do and become a new thing.
[1] Isaiah 43:18-19
Foster Mays 