Palms, and Other Symbols (John 12:12-16)

 

I don’t know if you realize it or not—I think probably you do—but the cross that we use as the symbol of our Christian faith, it is an ironic symbol, one that is used almost satirically, or mockingly. Because the cross, of course, was a symbol of defeat. It was a symbol of oppression and intimidation. It was a symbol of death. 

Simply put, crosses were used to kill people, to execute people.

Jesus knew well what the cross meant. When he was a very young child, there was a violent uprising in Sepphoris, a city next door to Nazareth. Rome crushed that rebellion—brutally crushed it—and as a warning to others, Rome crucified 2,000 of the rebels. They took them down to Jerusalem, hung them all on crosses… and the roads leading to Jerusalem were lined with crosses, with bodies hanging on them. 

The message was clear: don’t challenge Rome, or this will be your fate.

Jesus challenged Rome. He didn’t challenge Rome with military might, which is probably why he was able to get away with it for as long as he did; Instead, Jesus challenged Rome by offering people an alternative way of living, a way that went against Roman ideals and mores.

But Rome could only put up with that for so long. Eventually, Jesus himself was crucified by Rome; and just like the crucifixions after the Sepphoris uprising, Jesus’ crucifixion was Rome’s way of saying, “Look: this movement that he started? It’s over. Go back to your lives.”

So the cross was a symbol—a powerful symbol—of defeat.

But, because of the resurrection, Christianity took that symbol of defeat, and turned it into a symbol of victory. Christianity took that symbol of death, and turned it into a symbol of new life. What was once a symbol of evil, became a symbol of good.

I mention this, because the palms that we wave on Palm Sunday work in a similar way.

Let me explain.

The great leaders of Jesus’ time, like Herod, and Caesar… when they had a procession, it was a daunting display of military power and might. Soldiers lined the roads; they wore their finest armor, decorated with Roman insignia; and they raised into the air spears and swords—symbols of Rome’s power and might. 

The weapons, raised in the air, were a warning to the people: obey Herod. Obey Caesar. Rome is unassailable, and you cannot possibly challenge the mighty power of the Roman Empire. If you do, you will find yourself at the wrong end of one of these swords, one of these spears, one of these weapons of death.

Well, Jesus’ followers didn’t have very many swords or spears or other weapons. On one occasion, when one of his followers did produce a sword, Jesus rebuked him, and told him to put away his sword, because that was not his way.

So, since they didn’t have swords or spears, Jesus’ followers didn’t have anything to raise in the air as he made his way into Jerusalem—except for palm branches.

Beautiful palm trees grow in many areas around Jerusalem; all the people had to do was climb up and cut the branches off the trees. 

And, palm branches were a symbol that had once been placed on Jewish coins when the Jewish nation was free. Palm branches were a symbol of Jewish nationalism, an expression of the people’s desire for political freedom.

That did make the palm branches a powerful, and potentially dangerous, symbol.

On the other hand, they were just palm branches. How could a palm branch possibly compare to a sword or a spear? Who would take a soldier seriously, who rides into battle with a palm branch, a leafy stick, as a weapon? 

And those who waved the palm branches… they weren’t soldiers wearing armor. Few of Jesus’ followers could afford armor. Instead, those who lined the roads at his procession were clad in rags and other raiment of the poor.

Then there is the donkey; or, the “donkey’s colt,” as it says in John’s gospel. A humble animal. A funny-looking animal, not as big as a horse, with a short, scrappy tail, ears that are slightly too large for its head, and which makes a funny sound: hee-haw, hee-haw.

Now, if Herod were making his way into Jerusalem, he’d be on a mighty warhorse, or in a chariot pulled by a mighty warhorse: a majestic animal, strong, with a beautiful mane and tail.

It kind of makes me think of Donkey in the movie Shrek, and how excited Donkey gets when Fiona calls him a “noble steed.” It’s funny, because Donkey is definitely not a noble steed.

Well, Herod gets the noble steed; Jesus gets the donkey.

So, you see the contrast between the two. Mighty Herod, gleaming armor, ornately decorated chariot, pulled by a mighty warhorse, processing into Jerusalem, with legions of soldiers lining the roads, raising their weapons of steel into the air as the procession passed by.

And Jesus: humble; on a donkey; without armor; without any weapons. Just a ragtag group of peasants and other poor folk, raising their palm branches.

And maybe this has you feeling sorry for Jesus. Certainly some of those who saw his procession felt sorry for him. They expected a king like King David, one who would rule in power, in place of Herod, or even in place of Caesar; one who would restore the nation of Israel and free them from Roman oppression.

In other words, they expected Jesus, on a warhorse, surrounded by a well-dressed army with enough swords and spears to drive Rome out of their land.

Those who had such expectations were, without question, disappointed.

Others, however, knew that Jesus would not ride a horse. After all, Psalm 20 says: “Some take pride in chariots and some in horses, but our pride is in the name of the Lord our God” . And Psalm 33:17: “The war horse is a vain hope for victory, and by its great might it cannot save.”

Nevertheless, there are a lot of people today who are still disappointed that Jesus arrives on a humble donkey, with no army, and no weapons. It is a hard thing to swallow. 

Have you ever seen a Christian school choose a donkey as its mascot? Every Christian school I’m familiar with,.. They’re the Warriors, or the Crusaders; and often, their mascot includes the warrior or crusader sitting on a horse. 

Even the writer of Revelation had a hard time with this. A humble Jesus on a donkey just would not do for him; so the writer of Revelation re-imagined Jesus as a mighty warrior on a mighty warhorse, carrying a mighty sword.

Jesus himself was tempted by this vision...

You may remember that, at the beginning of his ministry, when Jesus was in the wilderness, he was tempted with authority over all the kingdoms of the world; all the power and might of Rome and every other nation would be his, and he would have total control, and unlimited power. 

Jesus could have had the warhorse; Jesus could have had the armies, all of them, under his command; Jesus could have had all the weapons on earth, to rid the world of injustice and oppression, and establish the kingdom of God by force.

But Jesus resisted this temptation. Jesus knew that this was not his calling. It was not the way. God’s kingdom would not be established through power or force. 

Only love would build the kingdom of God.

So the palm branches and the donkey were chosen deliberately, not just because they were “all he could get.” Jesus rode a donkey and the crowd waved palm branches, to show, in dramatic fashion, that the kingdom of God was not at all like the kingdom of Herod; that it was, in fact, something completely different; a radical alternative.

The palm branches and the donkey not only became a way of demonstrating that difference; but they also mocked Herod’s kingdom and the Roman Empire. And Jesus’ procession, his triumphant entry, mocked the processions of Herod and Caesar.

In fact, because of the Passover festival, it is quite possible—quite likely, even—that Herod was arriving in Jerusalem on the same day as Jesus; that there were, in fact, two royal processions into Jerusalem that day! 

One, with Herod riding a warhorse, and his armies, and their weapons of steel; 

…And the other, with Jesus, riding a donkey, with his “army” of people, waving their palm branches.

And all the people of Jerusalem, and all the pilgrims who had come to Jerusalem for the festival, had to choose—they had to choose—which procession they wanted to see. 

Because Herod was probably coming in by one road, and Jesus by another. So the people had to choose: Herod, or Jesus? The kingdom of Rome, or the kingdom of God? The kingdom of intimidation and coercion, or the kingdom of compassion and love?

The people had to choose between everything Rome symbolized, and everything God’s kingdom symbolized. They had to choose between death and life, between injustice and justice, between oppression and liberation, between power by force and the power of love. 

And this is the choice we have to make every day.

After Herod’s procession, once he had arrived and had settled in, Herod probably hosted a great formal banquet, as was customary. Invitations with the royal seal were sent out, and at the appointed time, the invited guests arrived and were seated according to importance. Those without invitations were barred from entering by armed guards.

And at the meal, bread was broken, a sign of fellowship. This sign of fellowship was significant; to break bread with someone unworthy of your company, it would affect your own standing. So only those with a certain level of importance were on the guest list.

At these banquets, everyone tried to impress upon their host and upon the other guests how important they were. The banquet was an opportunity to prove one’s worthiness, and possibly even rise up in status.

And after bread was broken, a cup was lifted, in honor of Caesar. Whenever Romans gathered to eat and drink, they remembered Caesar.

Well, we know that Jesus would also soon have his own banquet with his disciples—his last supper with them. 

Those on Jesus’ guest list—the disciples—included fishermen, tax collectors, and other types of people who would not normally be invited to a formal banquet, because they were looked down upon. They weren’t the type of people with whom one would choose to break bread.

But Jesus did. And not only that; immediately after the meal, Jesus further humbled himself by taking up the towel of a servant, the towel of a slave, and washing his disciples feet, doing a lowly task that no respectable Roman would do.

And when Jesus took the cup, and lifted it, he didn’t invoke the name of Caesar, as was expected; instead, Jesus said that, from now on, when you drink from this cup, you are to remember me; invoke my name when you eat and drink together…

And finally, in the context of that Last Supper, he commanded his disciples to love. Because God’s kingdom is not about status; it’s not about power; it’s not about might…

God’s kingdom is about love.

So: now we have the donkey, and the palm branches, and the weaponless army; and we have the servant’s towel, and the command to love, and the invocation of Jesus’ name when raising the cup, instead of Caesar’s name.

These things are all connected. They are all symbols of humility, symbols of a generous, sacrificial love, and symbols of a kingdom, a way of living, that is very different from that of the Roman Empire.

But there is one more symbol yet to come, the one I mentioned at the beginning of the sermon.

The cross.

The ultimate sign of weakness and defeat.

But, out of love, Jesus willingly took on this symbol, just as he willingly took on: the palm branches, the donkey, the servant’s towel, and all the others.

And like all these other symbols, it, too, is transformed by the power of God’s love into a symbol of hope, a symbol of joy, a symbol of victory.

2,000 years later, we are still faced with a choice: do we choose the symbols of modern society: wealth, power, influence, intimidation?

Or do we choose the humble, loving, merciful qualities of the one who, instead—as a sign of his love for all the world—rode a donkey, and donned a servant's towel, and accepted death on a cross?

Seeds, Death, New Life (John 12: 20-33)

 As a child, I loved visiting Grandma Eileen’s house. Not only because my grandmother was the sweetest, kindest person in the world, but also because her house itself was a place filled with peace and beauty. It had big windows which looked out to a yard filled with trees, plants, and flowers. Crystal prisms hung in those windows, reflecting rainbows into the living room. On the table in front of those windows was a small lamp with a colorful stained glass lampshade, and next to it, a basket filled with rocks that Grandma Eileen had collected, each one labeled as to the type of rock, which I found fascinating.

Grandma Eileen’s ancestors came from Ireland, and elsewhere in the house were small plaques with Irish sayings on them. There was one on the wall in the bathroom that said, “May you arrive in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead.”. And in the back room, hanging on the wall, was the flag of Ireland.

So, St. Patrick’s Day has always been kind of a fun day for me. But even so, I never really knew much about Patrick himself.

Over the years, I learned a little bit, but this year, I wanted to learn a little more. So I checked out an audio book from the Bloomington Public Library, and have been listening to it over the past couple of weeks, to further enhance my knowledge.

Patrick was born in Britain (not Ireland) at the end of Roman rule, in the late 4th century. He was born into nobility; his family was rich, and Patrick was spoiled. 

He didn’t care much for religion; he didn’t care much for anything, really. Years later, looking back on his youth, he described himself in those days as idle and immature. 

 When Patrick was 16, Irish raiders invaded his town, and his home, and Patrick was captured and taken to Ireland as a slave.

In an instant, his life was turned completely upside down. I imagine it felt like a kind of death. The person he was, no longer existed. The Patrick who lived a life of ease, among nobility, never really having to work hard at anything, was gone. That person, the person he was, no longer existed.

In its place was Patrick the slave, who most certainly had to work long and hard, and who had no hope of ever seeing his home or his family again. It’s amazing that Patrick even survived the transition. I don’t know how a person does that.

As a slave, Patrick mostly worked as a shepherd. He would spend hours, sometimes days, in the country, tending his master’s sheep. No soft pillow under his head at night. No one else to do his chores for him. 

As the years passed, Patrick experienced a transformation. He learned the Irish language. He also began to grow in faith. 

He started reciting prayers; he did this so much that other slaves began calling him “Holy Boy.” He started fasting—and other slaves and his owners thought he had lost his mind.

Through his prayers, he started to realize that God had a plan for him. One night he had a dream, and in that dream, he heard a voice say: “you have done well; soon you will be going home.”

Then, in a second dream, the same voice said: “Behold, your ship is ready.” And the dream told him exactly where to find his ship.

Patrick believed that it was God speaking to him through his dreams. And if God was telling him to escape, then, that’s what he should do.

It took Patrick two weeks to travel nearly 200 miles, on foot, across the boggy, marshy interior of Ireland, to reach his ship. He mostly kept hidden, and didn’t ask for help, for fear that anyone he might meet would recognize him as a slave, and return him to his master. And, he refused to steal any food from the farms he passed, because his faith taught him it was wrong to steal.

When he arrived at Ireland’s east coast, he saw the ship from his dream. He found the ship’s captain, and explained that he had no money, but that he would gladly work his way back home as part of the crew.

The captain said no. 

Patrick went off, wondering why his dream would have led him here, to this ship, only to have the captain refuse to allow him to board. But before he got too far, some of the crew ran after him and started yelling, “Wait! Don’t go!”

It seems the captain had changed his mind.

And so, Patrick was on his way home, leaving Ireland, never to return…or so he thought.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Patrick would return to Ireland some years later, this time as a free man, intent on sharing the gospel with the people of the Emerald Isle. 

So profound was his impact on the people of Ireland, and so complete was his love for them and for the God who rescued him from slavery, that people in Ireland, and all around the world, still celebrate Patrick today.

So if you ever find yourself in a situation that feels like an end, like a form of death,... remember Patrick. If you ever find your life turned upside down, remember Patrick.

Remember Patrick, and how God led him out of the deepest, darkest time, to a time of new life, new hope, not just for Patrick, but for all those who would eventually be blessed through Patrick’s life and ministry.

In our scripture today, Jesus is contemplating his own upcoming death. This would be a literal death, and, as he says in John’s gospel, his soul was troubled, thinking about it. 

But Jesus does not pray for God to deliver him from his time of trial—not in today’s scripture, anyway—because he trusts and knows that, through him, and through what he is about to endure, the world will be blessed, and the world will find wholeness.

Jesus compares what he is about to experience to what a grain of wheat experiences. The grain falls into the ground and dies, and by all accounts, it seems as if its life is over. But then, from that grain, buried deep in the soil, new life springs forth…

And, strangely, there are a lot of similarities to being buried in a tomb, and planted in the ground. They are very similar, and yet, so very different. Buried… or planted… Jesus was buried in a tomb, but new life sprung forth…

One could say that about Patrick’s life. In so many ways, his life was over. Done. He may have even thought, “Just bury me now!” 

And yet, new life was waiting for him; and, through him, new life was waiting for many others.

I wonder how it was that Patrick’s family even recognized him when he returned home. He left a lazy teen who didn’t care about anything, and returned a strong adult man who was willing to work hard and pray hard. He left as someone who didn’t care much about faith, but returned so devout, that he eventually trained to become a priest—and, later, became bishop.

As for Jesus… Well, we’ve learned this Lenten season that he spent a lot of time preparing his followers for his death, but that his frequent predictions of his death were also a way of helping his disciples consider their own deaths, and their own lives—what it was that they were living for, and what it was that they felt was worth dying for.

In today’s scripture from John’s gospel, Jesus says: “Those who love their life will lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” That’s very similar to what we heard Jesus say a few weeks ago, when our scripture was from the gospel of Mark. In fact, almost every scripture the lectionary has presented us this Lenten season has been a variation on this theme.

And you, perhaps, might think this is all a bit morbid, that enough is enough, that maybe we can just stop talking about death already, thank you very much.

But Jesus just won’t let this topic go.

In college, I actually took a class called “Sociology of Death,” and in that class, we read a book by Carlos Castaneda, called Journey to Ixtlan… 

…which, I admit, was kind of a weird book. But one thing that stuck with me was how the book described Death as an advisor.

Here’s a quote from the book: “Death is the only wise advisor that we have. Whenever you feel, as you always do, that everything is going wrong and you're about to be annihilated, turn to your death and ask if that is so. Your death will tell you that you're wrong; that nothing really matters outside its touch. Your death will tell you, ‘I haven't touched you yet.’”

I feel like in some ways, Jesus is telling us to let our death be our advisor. Contemplate your death, just as you might contemplate your baptism. See what lessons death has to teach you. 

It could be that a person doesn’t really know how to live, until they contemplate their death.

Could that have been true for Patrick? What emotions do you think he was experiencing, when he was kidnapped, taken away to Ireland, forced to work as a slave? 

Perhaps, at first, he struggled against his new circumstances, thinking, “this can’t be happening!” But at some point, I suppose, he would have come to accept his new circumstances.

And, in accepting his new circumstances, he had to accept that he was no longer who he was, that the person he was, was dead.

And how long did it take him to realize that, in place of that person he no longer was, a new person was developing—the person he was meant to be all along?

I’m finding it hard to even describe the transformation that must have taken place in Patrick. I’m finding it hard to imagine what it must have been like. The old Patrick, dead; a new Patrick, reborn—in captivity, no less.

And, I don’t know, maybe it’s fair to say that, in some ways, Patrick was freer as a slave than he was as a free youth back home, because as a youth, Patrick was a slave to his own laziness, his own self-centeredness, and that, somehow, when he was made a slave in Ireland, God worked through him somehow to free his mind and his soul.

Last week, I talked about the Israelites, and their struggles on the way to the Promised Land. The Bible says that those who left Egypt died on the way, and that those who entered the Promised Land were a whole new generation. That’s a lot of death, and a lot of new life. That’s a lot of transformation. What could that mean for us?

Most of the time, I feel that I’m pretty much the same person I was when I was a kid. And yet, that doesn’t mean I haven’t changed. As I’ve evolved and grown in faith over the years, I’ve let go of old ideas, and embraced new ideas, and each one was a kind of mini-death and mini-rebirth, because gradually, I let go of who I was, and embraced who I was becoming.

How about you? Do you see yourself in the story of Patrick, in some way? What have you died to over the years, and how has God worked to remake you into something new? 

Or, what needs to die in your life? Remember the snakes from last week, how they were chosen as a symbol because the way they shed their skin made people think of rebirth… What in your life needs casting off, like the shed skin of a snake?

Or, to put it another way: what needs to be buried in the ground, where it can die and be reborn, to bring forth new life, in you, and in those around you?

Nothing Held Back (John 12:1-8)

(Preached at North Long Beach Christian Church as part of a pulpit exchange.)

It is my great pleasure to be with you this morning. Earlier this year, Pastor Heather suggested we arrange a pulpit exchange, and I’m so glad she did. 

North Long Beach Christian Church and Bixby Knolls Christian Church are two wonderful congregations doing God’s work, and we have so much in common; yet I’ve also discovered that there is much we can learn from each other. When some of you joined us at Bixby Knolls Christian Church for Ash Wednesday, I realized that North Long Beach Christian Church has some remarkable gifts and strengths that we at Bixby Knolls Christian Church can learn from, and I believe that the same is also true in reverse. 

Anyway, I know that I am blessed by this opportunity to be here today. Your presence in worship is a blessing to me, just as I know your presence is also a blessing to Pastor Heather and to one another. I’ll say it again: your presence is a blessing.

Pastor Heather and I are both preaching from the same scripture this morning: the story of Mary anointing Jesus’ feet.

When I read or hear this scripture, I always imagine that I’m watching a scene from a movie. On the screen, I see Jesus entering the home of Lazarus, with Martha and Mary and some of the disciples also present.

I see Mary take a giant bottle of perfume, and pull the cork out (pop!), and begin pouring it on Jesus’ feet. Not just a little bit - the whole jar! (glug! glug! glug!) 

And the perfumed oil lands on his feet and his ankles, and pools on the floor beneath him; and Mary begins wiping his feet with her hair.

Thank goodness this movie doesn’t have smell effects; because it only takes a little bit of perfume to achieve the desired effect, but Mary poured the whole jar! The smell would be overpowering!

In my imaginary film version of this, the camera now shifts, and focuses on Judas; Judas shakes his head; he hasn’t said anything yet. But I have a friend, watching this movie with me, and this friend… 

Well, his name is John, and he’s obviously seen this film before, and he can’t stop talking. You know the type, right? You probably have a friend or family member like that…

So when the camera focuses on Judas, my friend John says: “he’s the one who’s about to betray Jesus.”

Well, thanks for the spoiler!

Then Judas speaks: “Why was this perfume not sold for 300 denarii and the money given to the poor?” 

And the thing is, if my friend hadn’t interrupted the scene with that spoiler, and I didn’t know that Judas was going to betray Jesus, I would have agreed with Judas. Why wasn’t this perfume sold, so the money could be given to the poor? 

And I start to think about just how much money 300 denarii is. It’s about 300 years’ worth of pay for a laborer in those days! It’s more money than most people could imagine!

My friend John (bless him!) interrupts again. 

John says: “Judas doesn’t actually care about the poor; he’s a thief. He’s the one who holds the money, and he just wants to steal it.”

Here’s the thing: whenever I read the gospels, anytime something negative is said about Judas, it always seems to come from the narrator - that annoying friend who can’t stop talking during the movie. 

But whenever Jesus talks about Judas, or talks to Judas: there is disappointment, there is sadness; but there doesn’t ever seem to be any condemnation, or anger. Not from Jesus.

Last week, at Bixby Knolls Christian Church, I preached about the Parable of the Prodigal Son. A father had two sons; the younger one asked his father for his share of the inheritance, then went off to recklessly spend it all.

He was a great disappointment to his father.

But his father never stopped loving him. Never.

And I think that’s how Jesus feels about Judas. 

We know that when Jesus showed love to his disciples by washing their feet, he didn't skip over Judas. At least, there’s no mention of that. 

And when Jesus breaks bread, and says, “This is my body, that is for you,” again, Judas seems to be included.

Even though it is clear that Jesus knows that Judas will betray him.

And that part of the story - that Jesus never stopped loving Judas - is challenging for me, and it always makes me want to consider carefully how I judge Judas. 

And sometimes it even makes me want to ignore the comments of the narrator - that friend who can’t stop talking during the movie.

And, at times, I even find myself agreeing with Judas - like here, when he objects to the extravagant waste of perfume.

Even if his motives are questionable, as the narrator says, don’t you think there’s some logic to Judas’ argument? Shouldn’t that much money be used to help the poor?

But Jesus’ response makes me remember that I’ve been known to miss the point. Sometimes what’s important just goes right over my head.

Did you see the movie The Power of the Dog? It’s not the easiest movie to watch. I watched it, and I recognized that it was, in fact, a good, well-made movie, but I wasn’t sure I would ever want to watch it again.

But when I reached the end of the movie - which I won’t give away - I realized that I had missed… something. 

So when my son watched the movie the following week, I sat with him and watched it again, to try to catch those things that I had missed the first time around. Little clues (and even a few big ones) that point to what is really going on in the story.

I think, in today’s scripture, Judas misses what’s really going on. And because I’m so inclined to agree with Judas here, about what a waste it is to pour out all that perfume…yeah, I’ve probably missed the point as well.

Which means I need to go back, and watch this film again.

Part of the challenge is that this is only one scene in a much longer film. If you just watch one scene from a movie - if you watch just one scene of Power of the Dog, and not the whole movie, there’s no way you’re going to understand what’s really going on. 

In this scene from John’s gospel, it helps to know that, in an earlier scene, Lazarus (the brother of Mary and Martha) was dead, but Jesus raised him back to life. 

That’s a pretty important thing to know if you want to understand what’s going on here.

We also know that many films have more than one version. How many films have there been that tell the origin story of Spiderman, or Batman? And each one puts a different spin on the story…

In the Bible, we have four gospels. Each gospel writer has their own interpretation of the events and the meaning of Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection.

In Luke’s version, there are two sisters named Mary and Martha, who appear to be the same Mary and Martha who appear here in John’s version. 

But in Luke’s version, there’s a scene where Martha is busy preparing the house and the meal for Jesus and his disciples, doing all the things that are expected of her - while Mary throws out all those expectations, and sits right down with all the disciples, listening to Jesus teach and tell stories.

That sounds like the same Mary, because here, in John’s gospel, she is again defying expectations; because certainly, one would expect that an entire jar of perfume worth that much money would be used prudently. You want to make it last. 

But Mary defies expectations. She does not do what is expected. And Judas calls her out on it.

And, initially at least, I’m inclined to agree with Judas.

Or, I’m inclined to agree with Martha, in Luke’s gospel, when she complains about Mary not doing what’s expected of her.

Because I also feel compelled to always do what’s expected of me. No more. No less. 

When I preached last week about the prodigal son, I mentioned how I tend to identify more with the older brother - the one who stayed home - the one who did what was expected of him. He did what was considered right and proper. He tried the best he could to be the perfect son.

And for those of you who joined us at BKCC on Ash Wednesday, you may remember I talked about expectations; particularly, the expectation to be perfect. Many of us are trying to live up to those expectations, just like the older brother in that parable from last week. 

Pouring out all that perfume all at once - one just didn’t do that. It’s not what was expected.

But Judas’ objection to the pouring out of all this perfume is like the older brother’s objection to the big party thrown for his younger brother’s return. 

The older brother didn’t think it was right for the father to throw a party at great expense for a son who had already taken his whole share of the inheritance, and squandered it.

The father in that story had to go out and plead with his older son - he had to go out and talk some sense into him. 

And here, in today’s scripture, Jesus has to plead with and talk some sense into Judas, because Judas - like the older brother - has failed to see the bigger picture.

They’ve both missed the point.

Well, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one who misses the point!

So what is the point? Mary has poured out a reckless, extravagant amount of perfume. Judas sees a waste of money. But Jesus sees an expression of reckless, extravagant love and devotion.

And Jesus sees beauty in that. And Jesus sees God in that.

Because, when it comes to love, God doesn’t portion it out, a little bit at a time. God doesn’t hold any love back, saving it for another day. God doesn’t withhold love from any person, for any reason.

“Oh, but what if you spoil them with love, and they get too accustomed to it?”

No. You can’t spoil anyone with love. There is no such thing as too much love. Not with God.

And, yeah, there are people who just can’t wrap their head around the idea that God’s love is so extravagant, and they even get offended by the generosity and unconditional nature of God’s love. 

I don’t know what to tell them, other than: I understand where you’re coming from. It’s a challenge for me, too. 

But just look in scripture at how generously God bestows love!

It’s not what’s expected. God’s love flows endlessly, like a giant bottle of expensive perfume poured out, flowing down upon one’s feet, pooling on the floor. 

And I know that sometimes, I still get caught up in expectations, and that sometimes those expectations limit the amount of love I’m willing to give. It’s true in my family, it’s true in my church, it’s true in my community. I don’t want people to think I’m crazy in love! Let’s keep things reasonable - right? Let’s not overdo things…

But… that is, in fact, the path I am called to follow. Isn’t that the path Jesus calls us to follow? The path of crazy, reckless, extravagant love? 

The love God shows to us and the love we are called to show to one another isn’t just a few drops. It isn’t a tiny stream tickling down. It’s an ocean. A mighty ocean of love!

And I am so thankful, that at Bixby Knolls Christian Church, and here at North Long Beach Christian Church, and in many congregations here in Long Beach, and in many congregations in our Disciples’ denomination, people are learning to follow the path of crazy, reckless, extravagant love. We’re learning to grow in love. We’re learning to just pour it all out - every last drop - and not worry about running out.

Because when we give God’s love away, there’s always more where that came from. God’s love never, ever runs out. And nothing - nothing! - will ever separate any of us from God’s love.