The Gospel lesson today is a very familiar one, from John 12:1-8:
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “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.”
It’s a holy moment. And in my contemplations, I usually want to stay at the table, lingering in the presence of Jesus and Mary as the fragrance of the perfume lingers in the air.
But this week I’ve been reflecting on this text through the lens of discernment. And so I’ve been spending more time than usual with Judas. I began reading the text through the possibility that Judas was sincere, unaware of how wrong he was. What if, I asked, he really did not – maybe even could not – recognize his selfishness? What if he believed he had very reasonable, even good justifications for taking money from the common purse? What if he had been shocked to hear the gospel call him a thief? What if he really believed his defensiveness was born out of care for the poor? What if he thought of himself as the one in the right, making decisions that no one else was wise enough, or brave enough, to make?
The text does not say, and I am comfortable not knowing. Opening my heart to the questions has been helpful, though, in this practice of discernment. And discernment is most definitely a practice. How do we make decisions? Are we aware of the assumptions that dwell in our heart-minds? Do we perceive how we have been shaped by our experiences, our cultures, and the social norms that are all around us? When we practice discernment, we create some space around the ways our heart-minds have been trained to automatically answer and act.
Outwardly, Judas had the right answer. Solidarity with the poor is a wonderful practice and motivation. So where did the process go wrong?
Another story of a woman anointing Jesus’ feet comes to mind, this one from Luke 7. In that passage, it is a Pharisee that is outraged, this time by his zeal for purity, when a woman bathed Jesus’ feet in her tears: “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.” And Jesus invites us to go deeply within ourselves and look for the path of love:
“Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.” (Luke 7:44-47)
In both cases, I see how defensiveness closes up the heart, but love opens it. In my discernment, I pay attention to that kind of movement inside of me. If I can sense myself closing up, becoming defensive, there is some inner work for me to do, because I do not want to constrict my heart’s ability to love. Sometimes this comes easily, but many times it is difficult work. I come face to face with past wounds, or with assumptions I did not realize I held, or with uncertainties that I did not realize held me. Many times, the discernment requires honoring the pain alive inside of me, and healing it so that it does not become a weapon that harms others.
Our little order is founded upon and sustained by the aspiration of mutual support in spiritual growth. Often, this is joyful, playful work. We laugh and sing and are generally silly, and it is wonderful. But we also have all lived in, have been shaped by, a world that is full of suffering and unhealed wounds. So our spiritual growth has unavoidably meant discerning the way of Love in relationship with controversial and difficult issues. A beautiful example of the result of this hard work can be seen in how we have created a community where people of any gender or sexuality can belong – we still are growing in these areas, of course, but the tree is old enough that we also enjoy its fruit. For several years now, we have been engaged in a similar process around honestly engaging with racism and white supremacy; that work of discernment and transformation is still ongoing. Our hearts are also tender to ecological devastation, constant war, poverty, inaccessibility, and so many other issues around the world and in our communities.
So what is our work of discernment now? How are we being called to grow? And who will help us navigate those waters?
In just a few months, we will install a new Servant Council. Our practice of discernment is inside each of us, and also between us. We discern together. We help one another uncover those places where we are stuck, where the heart is constricted. Sometimes it is painful and sometimes we make mistakes. But it is also holy work, and it opens us to be able to love more deeply, generously, and joyfully.
Let our practice of discernment be an act of worship. Let it be itself like Mary’s costly perfume, generously anointing Jesus’ feet and filling the room with perfume. Let’s linger in these moments, letting love suffuse our hearts, softening what needs softened, healing what needs healed, giving clarity and wisdom, and opening our hearts to the way of Love.
Have a blessed and joyful fifth Sunday of Lent!
Jacoba