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John 12.1-8
John 12.1-8
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Fifth Sunday of Lent
Shelton, WA
Cracked Expectations
Yesterday was a good day. The weather wasn’t all that great, but really… it wasn’t too bad. We got to spend some time together… show Sarah a bit more of Washington. We were going to drive around Point Defiance, but we ended up heading over to Puyallup to get Timothy, and then we went out for some Thai food to celebrate Deanna’s Birthday. Cap off the day with dinner and a birthday cake, and all in all it was a pretty good day.
For me, though… for me, the highlight of the day (besides Deanna’s Birthday) was the morning. At nine o’clock, along with about 30o or so other runners, we took off for a 20k run through the hilly neighborhoods of Steilacoom. 20k—that’s 12.4 miles—oh, and did I mention that it was hilly. And somehow—I don’t know how, but somehow they were able to get more up-hills than down-hills. Anyway, it was still a blast. It really was a lot of fun.
You know, when I tell people about that—about how much fun it is to run for 12 miles—you end up getting a lot of different looks. There’s the are-you-nuts look. There’s the “why… what’s the point?” look. There’s the oh-my-knees-couldn’t-take-it look. There’s also the look of understanding… of those who have experienced that incredible—indescribable—feeling that running brings. It really is an amazing thing.
You can usually tell the person who runs—who understands… who gets it—just by the look in their eyes. Somehow their experience of running forms a connection with mine, and you can see it in their eyes before a word is ever spoken. And that’s true about a lot of things—not just running.
How a person approaches something or someone can tell us a great deal about that person. What we believe in… who we believe in… has a way of shaping us. It has a way of forming… conforming… transforming everything about who we are, what we do, and how we think. It has a way of shaping and re-shaping our expectations and our attitudes.
There’s a story about that very thing in John’s gospel. It’s found in the 12 chapter… six days before the Passover… the day before the Triumphal entry… a week or so after the raising of Lazarus from the dead. Let me read I to you.
John 12.1-8
Expectations and attitudes—we all have them. They color our world—or at least, how we perceive our world. They shape us and they form us. They are the template that gives continuity and direction to everything we do. Expectations are very much a part of who we are. And we all have them.
We have cultural expectations—those expectations that are shaped by society… by all the many influences that bombard us day in and day out… by the way we were brought up… by our environment… our social and economical climate.
We have personal expectations—those expectations that are shaped by personal experiences (past and present, good and bad). Personal expectations grow out of our goals… our desires… out of what drives us. They give our lives purpose and meaning.
We also have religious expectations—what we believe in… who we believe in… even how we believe, the form of our religion. Religious expectations determine how we view God… how we approach God… how we relate with God. And ultimately, how we relate with God determines how we relate with each other.
Of all our many expectations, I think our religious expectations are perhaps the most important for us to get straight in our head. We need to really examine those expectations carefully, get a clear picture of what they are, and then hold those expectations up to the light of God’s Word to see if there any cracks in them.
You see cracked religious expectations have been the bane of the Church throughout the course of history. Cracked religious expectations have caused more division, more strife, more dissention and deception, more violence than anything the devil could have ever thought up on his own.
And we don’t have to dig very deep into our history to uncover some of those cracks. The Inquisition, the Crusades, the violence in Ireland are all examples of cracked religious expectations. But it’s not just in violence that those cracks come to light. It’s not just those sweeping movements that shake and shape history that expose our cracks. Sometimes it’s in the small, seemly insignificant things.
How many church splits have occurred over the color of the carpet? How many divisions have come about over issues of music? How many churches are divided over worship styles, and liturgy, and even decor? …Cracked religious expectations… all of them.
And do you know what the really sad thing about that is? While we get all huffed and bent out of shape about all those cracks we’ve created, the world around us—the world Christ died to save—is going to hell. The folks we are commissioned to reach with the love of God are standing on the outside looking in, wondering what’s so different about us. And what they see… and what they experience… and what they hear is: it’s not much. We’re really not all that different. But we should be.
Jesus came to the home of Lazarus and Martha and Mary. They were good friends. They shared a lot together. Just recently they shared the heartache and joy of the death and raising of Lazarus. And on this night, they shared a meal, and they shared their friendship—perhaps for the last time.
Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem… to Calvary. He knew it. No cracks in his expectations. He knew what waited for him there—rejection, betrayal, the cross… death. He knew the pain of the road that stretched before him. Maybe that’s why he allowed himself this one small indulgence.
John says that this dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. The gospels don’t talk much about things given in Jesus’ honor. They seem to spend far more time dealing with Jesus’ rejection… with plots and traps… with accusations… the angry mobs. But here, a week before his death, the night before his misunderstood march into Jerusalem, John talks about a dinner given in his honor.
It was a dinner, no doubt, built on many layers of religious expectations. No doubt everyone who gathered around that table on that night had their own set of expectations. Lazarus, the disciples, Judas, Martha, Mary and all the other guest, all had an idea of what was going to happen… of who Jesus was, and what that meant for Israel.
But they all missed it. They missed the reality of what was truly happening… of what was really taking place. They all, every one of them, had cracks in their expectations—all that is, except for one… Mary.
As I thought about this whole scene… about Mary and her alabaster jar… about Judas and his indignation (which was no doubt representative of the indignation of most at that table)… as I though about Jesus and his mission… about what it is to honor Jesus… I came to understand that that little alabaster jar is the key.
Oh, much has been made about that alabaster jar… how it was molded as a whole unit and the only way to get its contents out was to break that jar—it was all or nothing… about how the perfume was such an incredibly large amount of money—a years wage or more. A lot has been made about that little jar and its significance to this story. But there was something else I noticed here as well.
You see this was a turning point in John’s gospel. It was the night before Palm Sunday…. the night before Passion Week… six days before the Passover… six days before the cross.
Three years had come and gone… three years of ministry… of teaching and preaching… of healing and miracles… three years spent preparing the disciples for what was about to happen in six day. It was a turning point. Things were about to take a dramatic change. Expectations were about to be crushed. Things weren’t going to turn out the way they were supposed to turn out.
I learned a new term recently: “discontinuous change.” The term is used to describe change that isn’t continuous. Continuous change is the kind of change that occurs in linier fashion. It is predictable. It can be planned for. It can be anticipated. Continuous change and our expectations tend to run the same course, taking us to pretty much the same place.
Discontinuous change, on the other hand, isn’t like that. It’s non-linier. It is unpredictable. It can’t be planned for. Discontinuous change and our expectations tend to take divergent courses.
Jesus and the disciples were at a point of discontinuous change in their ministry. The expectations of the disciples had things going in one direction… a linier extension of the way things were going for the past three years. The reality, though, was going to be far different—drastically different.
Somehow Mary understood this. I don’t know if she understood what it meant… if she understood everything… but somehow she could sense that they were on the verge of a huge cultural shift… a shift of seismic proportion. They were facing a time of discontinuous change where all the cracks in all the various religious expectations of the people were going to be exposed in the light of Calvary. Things would never be the same again.
I can’t help but wonder if maybe part of what Mary was doing in cracking open that alabaster jar was somehow symbolic of her breaking open her own expectations… letting them run out… yielding them to the will and purpose of God.
I wonder if maybe the significance of that little alabaster jar is found in all the expectations they represent. And I wonder if maybe somehow we all came here today carrying our little alabaster jar of expectations. We hold them gently, guard them carefully. We cherish them because they are so valuable to us… priceless even.
Sunday after Sunday we carry those little alabaster jars to church. And Sunday after Sunday we bring them home safe and secure. We tuck them away on a shelf… a bookcase… a night stand… someplace safe where they can be cherished and adored until next week.
All the while, though—Sunday after Sunday—God is waiting for us to take those alabaster jars and break open—bust ‘m to pieces, and let the content of those jars begin to fill the world with the fragrance of a life empty of self; one that is wholly devoted to the will and purpose and mission of God—the radical transformation of this world through the power and message of God’s redeeming love.
Maybe today you have come here carrying your own alabaster jar. And maybe today you’re sick and tired of carrying it around with you. Maybe today it’s time to bust it open.
Up front here we’ve got some pottery shards… some broken pieces of clay pots… fragments of shattered alabaster jars. If you want to be like Mary—letting go of your expectations to lay hold of God’s purposes—I would invite you to come and exchange your alabaster jar (whatever that may be) for one of these fragments. Let it become for you a symbol of your total commitment to God’s will and God’s purpose no matter what that might me, where it might take you, or how much it might cost you.
Take that fragment home with you. Keep it somewhere where you can see it everyday. And let it remind you of your decision to live a life empty of self, but full of God.
John Grant Page 8 3/25/2007