Greetings friends! It is so good to be back with you again. As you have heard, my name is Bekah Maren Anderson, and this morning I bring you greetings from the First Church of Winsted, which was the last place I preached. And I would ask once more for your permission to bring your greetings to the next place I preach?

  Thank you.

  Do you ever read a passage in the Bible, and go, "Oh, that's happened; I've lived this." That's the feeling I get from this passage. It reminds me viscerally of conversations I've had in some activist spaces. Someone talks about something they bought, or an activity they enjoy, and someone else says, "Don't you know how that thing contributes to insert problem or injustice here? Why are you spending your time or money on that?"

  And there are a couple different versions of this conversation, right? There's the constructive version: the honest sharing of information, and brainstorming of alternatives. But then ... there's the less productive version: "Don't you know how bad that company is, _I would never support them." It's the implicit (or explicit) judgment. The implied superiority. The insinuation that, if you don't agree with me, you're probably a bad person.

  And personally, even when that's the tone taken, I often find it really hard to push back. Because, well, what if they're right? What if I _am a bad person for shopping at Amazon, and not eating entirely organic and local, and buying stuff that I don't absolutely 100% need, and on and on and on '''. Shouldn't I be taking every opportunity to do the most good I can?

  And because of that mindset, sometimes this passage trips me up. Because I kinda expect Jesus to be on Judas' side. Jesus, who repeatedly tells people to sell their possessions and give the money to the poor—_he approves of what Mary does here? He is glad to have this costly perfume used to anoint his feet, and not sold and given to the poor? 300 denarii, by the way, would have been about a year's wages. This is kind of like if I told you I spent tens of thousands of dollars on bath and body supplies—and then used it all in one go. Not gonna lie, the idea a little bit horrifies me.

  So why does Jesus approve of Mary's action here? Why is this perfume different from the other rich possessions he urges people to sell?

  The answer lies in the context. This passage takes place "six days before the Passover." AKA, the Passover during which Jesus will be arrested and killed. The passages immediately before and after this one talk about the anger of the authorities, and their increasing desire to put Jesus to death. Can you imagine living like that? With threats hanging over your head, knowing that your government would like to destroy everything you stand for and everything that matters to you?

  Oh, wait ...

  Yeah, remember how I said, sometimes things in the Bible remind you of your own life and times? Yeah. T.

  And how does Jesus respond to increased threat and oppression? In a lot of ways. He continues to speak out against empire, leading a rally on Palm Sunday, and teaching dangerous truths in the temple. But in the midst of all that? He has a dinner party.

  Which shouldn't be surprising, because that's Jesus' response to almost everything. Visiting a new town? Let's make new friends at dinner. Visiting old friends? Catch up over a meal. About to die a violent and unjust death? Let's eat about it.

  Why? Well, you all may have noticed: it's hard to live under an oppressive government. It's harder still to know that that government would kill you—or deport you, or disappear you, or your loved ones—if it can. I don't know about you, but some days, I wake up, listen to the news, and then it takes every ounce of energy I have to not just crawl back into bed. Just existing right now, as a person who is aware and paying attention, is hard.

  I have to imagine Jesus and his friends felt that. And so they gathered and ate. Because friends, we need a lot of things, in times like ours and Jesus'. We need protest, and organizing, and calling our congress people, and know your rights trainings, and lawsuits '''. And we also need connection, and community, and art, and play, and joy. We need to remember why we fight. And personally, at the heart of it all, I'm not really fighting for the constitution, or the concept of America. I'm fighting because life can be so good. There is love, and music, and laughter, and silliness and life is SO WORTH living. But those things are so much harder to access when your government abducts people for speaking their minds, or equates gender affirming care with child abuse. I fight because we cannot experience the fullness of life and joy when we or our neighbors live in fear and oppression.

  So Jesus had a party. Because we are fighting for all of us to live the best, most free, most joyful life we can. And all of us, includes us. If we deny our own need for joy, we are denying the movement itself, and we are denying something our spirits desperately need. Besides which, every time a marginalized person takes joy in being alive, in being their truest self—it means the other side hasn't won. It means we're still here, and we're still fighting. That fight just happens to look like a party sometimes. These days, I think often of queer activists during the aids crisis: burying their friends in the morning, protesting during the day, and dancing all night. Because the dancing made the other things possible.

  Which I think is where this very, very expensive perfume comes in. I am struck by the line, "The house was filled with the fragrance."

  We know we're alive when we're tuned into our senses. We're enjoying being alive when we take joy in what we find there. And scent is such a powerful vehicle for memory and emotion.

  What Mary does here is an act of sensory comfort. Jesus, beloved teacher and friend, soon to die, receives anointing and washing of feet, actions that are a recognition of the pain his body is about to endure, and an offering of something good, sensual, and comforting in this terrifying time. And everyone in the room receives the sensory gift of the smell. I've never smelled nard, but I imagine it as a soothing scent, one that invites the body to relax and untense. That is the gift that Mary gives: one more way for her friends, especially Jesus, to know that they are alive, and enjoy it, amidst suffering and death.

  And then there's Judas. The text tells us that his question was not in good faith, that he didn't care about giving to the poor. But I wonder. Was he simply a thief and a traitor? Or was he, like so many activists I've met, a purist, who could not grasp the depth of Jesus' teaching? You know the type. One mistake and they write you off forever. Well, what if you considered using an entire year's income in one anointing to be a mistake? I'm not saying that justifies what he did. But I have seen people who felt disillusioned turn their backs on causes they once loved. Poor Judas may never have realized the necessity of joy and comfort.

  Friends. Let's not be like that. In the midst of pain and suffering, let us turn toward one another, and find comfort and joy. Let us care for our bodies with tenderness and compassion. And sometimes, that's gonna mean making some tough calls. Do we go to the party, or the protest?

  The answer isn't gonna be the same every time. The revolution isn't going to be convenient, and sometimes, we'll have to sacrifice. But we also can't make the sacrificing choice every time. We must regularly make the joyful choice. The restful choice. The playful choice. And the sensual choice.

  If you need examples of how, here are a few of mine: singing, all the time, in every moment where I'm not doing something else with my voice or my mind; lighting scented candles; pausing at the end of the protest yesterday to listen to an a capella group; playing DND with my friends; singing some more; calling my loved ones; feeling the sunlight on my face as our part of the world tilts toward spring. And in all of it, reminding myself that God is here. That God is love and joy. That as long as I am feeling I am alive, and as long as I am feeling something good, empire has not won.

  Friends, may it be so for all of us. Amen.