We have some stories of Jesus in which he’s portrayed as what is sometimes called a "muscular" savior. Stories where he’s a "man’s man," kicking over tables and chasing everyone out of the Temple, or facing down a lynch mob and passing through it to safety.

This is not one of those stories. This story of Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus’ feet is tender, and touching, and heartbreaking, and (God willing) inspiring.

It helps to have some context. As our story begins, we are told that "six days before Passover Jesus came to Bethany." That short sentence sets the stage. The time: "Six days before Passover." Passover is when Jesus will die. The place: Bethany. Lest we haven’t been paying attention, John reminds us that Bethany is "the home of Lazarus, whom [Jesus] had raised from the dead." The situation: because Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, many people believed in him, and the authorities became alarmed. Caiaphas, the high priest, said, "It is better for one man to die than to have the whole nation destroyed," and from that day on they planned to put him to death, and Jesus had to leave town and hide. [Jn. 11]. When we are told that Jesus is returning to Bethany, it is ominous.

We know the time — shortly before he will die. And we know the place and what that means—great danger. But we also know the people. Lazarus is Jesus’ friend whom he loved. And Lazarus’ sisters are there, Mary and Martha. When Lazarus was deathly ill and Jesus delayed coming at their request, Martha — the boisterous, busy one — had gone out to meet him and complain. But Mary— the quiet, studious, reflective one — had stayed home until Jesus sent for her. Then she knelt at his feet, and, like her sister, said, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." And she wept, and wept, and wept. And Jesus, seeing her, wept, and wept, and wept. And he went to the tomb and said, "Move the stone." But Martha said, "Lord, he’s been dead four days already, and there’s a stench." But they moved the stone, and Jesus raised Lazarus.

So we come to this story knowing a lot. The stage is set.

It is at dinner with these people whom Jesus loves, in this very dangerous place, that this remarkable, tender, heartbreaking thing happens. Martha, who can never sit still, serves. She likes to serve, but Mary, the studious, reflective sister, doesn’t.

Jesus is reclining (they ate while lying on a mat, propped up against pillows). And he feels a soothing liquid on his feet. As he looks back, his nostrils explode with the beautiful fragrance. And he sees that Mary, Mary who knelt at his feet when Lazarus died, is now anointing his feet with pure, very, very expensive perfume (it cost a whole year’s wages). And now the whole house is full of the fragrance, and now everyone is looking at Mary, who is, amazingly, wiping his feet with her hair.

If this were happening at a dinner party at your house, I suspect that you’d find it pretty shocking, and they find it pretty shocking as well. First of all, there are the potential erotic overtones. Let’s go ahead and name that pink elephant in the room. I mean, a woman massaging a man’s feet, and then wiping them with her hair? Come on, that would raise eyebrows today, but even more so in their culture, where a woman only lets her hair down around her husband and brothers. This is a very intimate act.

So, is this scene crackling with sexual tension? No. The others might have interpreted the fragrance as a romantic offering, like giving perfume on Valentine’s Day, or as a contrast to the stench they all remembered after Lazarus had died, but Jesus and Mary understand. It’s like they are alone in the crowded room. They are the only ones who really get it. Mary knows, and Jesus knows, that this beautiful fragrance is, ironically, the smell of death. Mary knows, before any of the others, that Jesus will never live through this. And Jesus knows that she is anointing him for burial.

As we prepare for Palm Sunday and Holy Week (when we will hear of the horrors to come), this is such a tender, touching, heartbreaking picture. But, God willing, that’s not all it is. God willing, it is also an inspiring picture, because Mary’s act isn’t just about Jesus’ death; it’s also about our life. Mary — not Peter, not James, not John, not any of the men — Mary is held up as the model of faithful discipleship. Her actions are contrasted with those of Judas, who, as we all know, responds to the same circumstances . . . well . . . very badly. It is Mary who loves Jesus; it is Mary who responds to Jesus’ call; it is Mary who gives of her treasure to Jesus; it is Mary who gives bodily of herself in love. The Greek word used to label Judas a thief is the same word used in Jesus’ Good Shepherd story to describe the one who threatens the flock. It is Mary’s love and actions that characterize Jesus’ faithful sheep.

And she does this, is this example of what a disciple should be, even before Jesus teaches it. On Maundy Thursday, a week from this Thursday, we’ll hear Jesus’ love commandment, and how will he enact it? He will wash the disciples’ feet and ask them, and us, to be "feet washing disciples." The disciples are, of course, embarrassed and scandalized. Besides the embarrassment, which many of us feel, about letting someone wash our feet, the memory of Mary’s shocking act at the dinner party is fresh in their minds, and they are very aware that Jesus is teaching them about discipleship out of what Mary has taught him. In a world where women don’t count, that’s a lot to take in.

When Judas (disingenuously) scolds Mary for spending so much on the ointment, Jesus says, "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." "You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me." He did not mean, of course, that there is any justification for ignoring the poor. He meant that disciples must seize the day, and this was the day for Mary’s profound and touching act of discipleship.

As we head into the horrors of Holy Week and Jesus’ suffering and death, this story is tender, and touching, and heartbreaking. But, God willing, as we remember Mary of Bethany and her response to our Lord, it is also inspiring.

I look forward to seeing you on Maundy Thursday. Barefoot.