Be human, for God’s sake.

If Jesus ever advocated for taking a moment to stop and smell the roses and look at the beauty of the flowers, to enjoy the sensory experience of being human, it’s in this Gospel story. 

Do you ever wonder if Jesus stood outside in the rain just to feel the drops falling onto his skin?  What was his favorite color, and where did he see it?  Did he linger in the light of that golden hour just before the sun drops below the horizon, or did he fill his eye with the pinks and melons and purple hues of the setting sun?  Did Jesus ever touch grass? 

In our culture, relentlessly focused on productivity, if we want a righteous life, it must fit into our busy schedule.  We often look to the Gospels for digestible bits of divine instruction.  Jesus, tell us only what we absolutely need to know; I haven’t got time to wonder what this or that parable means. 

Because of our productivity focus, we might read a story like this one, where Jesus has a meal with his friends, and rather than sitting with it, sitting alongside the disciples and friends at Bethany, we want to squeeze some meaning out of it—after all, we know what’s coming in the story.  The storyteller, John, who is writing this gospel, even admits we all know what’s coming: Judas is the disciple who’s going to betray Jesus, suggesting Judas was crooked anyway, as if we knew that all along. 

We rush through the events.  Next week, we’ll observe Palm Sunday, and in the space of one worship service—which our worship leaders work mightily to preserve that time within one hour—we’ll go from waving palms in celebration at Jesus entering Jerusalem, to calling out “Crucify him!” and letting Jesus hang on a cross.  Even if you observe the Maundy Thursday and Good Friday liturgies of Holy Week, which I hope you do, the story barely slows down. 

The end goal of all of telling this whole story is not related to productivity.  There’s no neat and tidy bow to wrap up the story of God incarnate as a human being.  And if someone suggests that they have the whole Jesus story figured out and can explain it to you, feel free to retain your skepticism because I’d be skeptical too. 

I’m not sure there is a takeaway or a “moral to the story.”  What’s the meaning of Jesus’s death? What’s the meaning of Jesus’s life?  What’s the meaning of human life?  (What is love?[1]) 

God becomes human, like any of us.  And like any of us, Jesus sits with his friends and eats food.  And like a good guest, he doesn’t snarf it down and jump up saying, “Thanks, now I’ve gotta be going, there’s people out there to save.”  He savors the food, noting the spices and tasting the care that went into the meal.  Jesus is sitting next to his friend Lazarus who only recently had been dead—can you imagine?!  Does Jesus ask Lazarus what it feels like to die, or what it feels like to return to life again?  The table conversation alone would be worth sticking around for, don’t you think? 

When Judas, tapping his toe and looking at his watch—okay, watches didn’t exist yet in human history, but there had to be some equivalent action in ancient society—when Judas is counting the costs, in time wasted in this place, in money lavishly spent for something as insignificant as glorified scented lotion, he can’t take it anymore and exclaims, “Why wasn’t this sold and the money given to the poor?!” 

Judas is making noises like righteous indignation.  It sounds like advocacy for the poor, but Jesus knows the difference.  Hush, Jesus says.  Judas, please.  Mary is here, trying to do something nice for me.  She’s been saving this expensive scented oil for when I die, but then she decided, why wait until after he dies?  Why not let Jesus enjoy this before he dies?  Why not give him his flowers now? 

Have you ever walked into a hospice facility?  The pace is unhurried.  The volume is soft.  Life is slowing down for hospice patients but life isn’t yet over.  There’s beautiful art on the walls.  Musicians bring harps to accompany the symphony of a dying body.  Some of them are music thanatologists who have specifically studied the rhythm of a body slowing down, how to pluck from their harp strings a unique and therapeutic melody.  At some point, there’s no rush to save life, but there remains the priority to honor human life. 

Could all these resources go elsewhere?  Sure.  Could the expenses go toward saving other lives?  Yeah, it could.  Jesus says: the poor you will always have with you; you will not always have me. 

This is not the same as dismissing poverty.  Jesus isn’t saying that suffering doesn’t matter.  He’s simply saying that life does matter.  Human life matters.  Relationships matter.  There’s not an accounting of investments, no actuarial tables or risk/benefit analysis to evaluate human life.  Be present.  Show up for life.  For God’s sake, at least try it. 

You always have the poor with you; but you do not always have me. 

You always have stress with you; you do not always have the present moment. 

You always have your self-righteous false piety; you do not always have the internal strength to sustain true humility. 

You always have endless sensory delights; you do not always have the richness of experiencing these through your senses. 

You always have dirty laundry; you do not always have the physical ability to launder your clothes. 

You always have tests on the horizon; you do not always have the freedom to savor the mind-expanding force of learning. 

You always have endless excuses to distance yourself; you do not always have the opportunity to build connections. 

You always have self doubt; you do not always have confidence to trust in who God has called you to be. 

You always have death waiting for you; you do not always have this abundant life, right now. 

Don’t be afraid to savor life, to slow down, to embrace Sabbath rest.  Jesus did it.  For God’s sake, you can at least try being human. 

Amen. 

Pastor Cheryl

[1] Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me no more.