“While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costy ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. But some were there who said to one another in anger, ‘Why was the ointment wasted in this way? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.’ And they scolded her. But Jesus said, ‘Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, and can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. She has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. 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.’”Breaking Open the Alabaster Jar
Where did she get it? The alabaster jar, I mean. Did she buy the jar at the market? Was it a family treasure? Alabaster is very special material. There is a church in Israel, the Church of the Agony, that has alabaster windows. They are translucent, and the light comes flooding through them. She broke open the jar. It was full of very costly ointment, and she poured it all over Jesus’ head. Was she nervous? Did she fear they would stop her if they realized what she intended to do? Was she fearful that she might lose her resolve if they disapproved? A little four year-old child that traveled to Europe with its parents returned from his visits to the old cathedrals to his Sunday School class. It was the Feast of All Saints, November 1, and the teacher wanted to know what a “saint” was. Wide eyes and silence greeted her question. Then the little boy who had just returned from the cathedrals raised his hand. “Saints are people the light shines through.” he said. The teached blinked, swallowed hard, and nodded her head.
Are we the alabaster that the light shines through? How do we need to be “broken open” so that the precious costly humanness that is ours might flow down upon that sacred face like refreshing dew? What is worth wasting our precious life for?
She has done what she could. She has performed a good service for me. Let her alone. In the recounting of our personal experiences as the raw material for our theological reflection these days, we need to celebrate that we too have been doing what we can. We have poured out the preciousness of our loving lives over the heads of the Christus in disguise, the Christ of the abandoned child, the abused woman, the jail inmate, the troubled priest. Our lives have been broken open, our days often unfolding far from how we plan them.
This gospel does not suggest we reproach ourselves for doing too little. This Word would have us ponder what “doing what she could” means. We are being asked to ponder the breaking open of our ordinary loving, our ordinary living. Make no mistake. The ointment’s fragrance fills the air. This word calls us to lift our hearts in the midst of insurmmountable obstacles, in the midst of challenges that test our faith daily. It calls us to silence the self-scolding that haunts us for not doing enough. It calls us to rejoice in hope over what we do so ordinarily that we don’t even notice it anymore.
Wherever the good news is proclaimed…in the whole world…this pouring out will be remembered…he has given his word. So take a deep breath and wake up tomorrow to continue the breaking open of your humble alabaster humanness. Let the precious ointment of yourself pour out. Your gift bonds with his dying and rising. You are, and will continue to be, a piece of good news.
