Sermon preached by Dr Paul Hibbert

Fifth Sunday of Lent, 21 March 2010

I wonder what you might say, if I asked you to think about the most significant moment of your life so far? What would be the first thing that would cross your mind?

On the one hand, the memory might be something heart-breaking, like letting a loved one go when the time comes; knowing all the while that you will never forget them. On the other hand, the memory that comes to you might be something joyous. Perhaps you remembered the birth of a daughter or a son, and the first time you held them in your arms. Or perhaps you remembered some moment of particular achievement, such as passing tricky examinations, or becoming fully qualified in your profession. Alternatively, many of you may have remembered your wedding day, a memory that comes rushing back in response to a few notes of music, or a brief scent of particular flowers.

Whatever it is that comes to your mind, there can be no doubt that life has its moments of special meaning and significance. In such moments we often find that things are changed forever, and future possibilities are hinted at. Quite often, these are moments where we have significant choices to make, choices that can seem deceptively simple; for example, just choosing to say two little words: “I do.” At the right time, these words have tremendous significance and a new union of two people begins, and all the possibilities it brings depend on that moment; possibilities that cannot be foreseen at the time. This little “I do” is actually an extravagant and sincere gesture of love, as you offer your very selves to each other.

There is a similar extravagant gesture of love in the reading from the Gospel of John today. Mary anoints the feet of Jesus with costly perfume – what an extraordinary thing! The cost of the perfume – three hundred denarii – was roughly a year’s wages for a labourer at that time. It is an act of extravagant love indeed, but as Paul points out in today’s reading from the letter to the Philippians, nothing is of any value when compared to knowing Christ Jesus. So Mary’s seeming extravagance can be seen quite differently, especially since her action here anticipates the imminent death of Jesus on the cross. The anointing that Jesus received on that day was indeed an anointing for burial.

I am not saying here that Mary understood fully all that was to follow, but she had love and faith enough to make a moving and significant gesture. It was a gesture that embraced a future with Jesus, wherever it would take her. Her anointing of Jesus is indeed a particularly poignant “I do”, since it is aware that a “goodbye” will come, perhaps all too soon. For we know that an ending was indeed coming, that would change Mary’s life – and all of our lives – forever. Jesus took all of our stories, all of joy and sorrow with him to the tomb – and beyond it.

But it was difficult for the disciples to understand the full significance of the change that was to come, just as we all struggle to see and understand the new possibilities that God offers to us each and every day. As the reading from Isaiah today says[1]:

Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old

I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

If we cannot always see and understand the new invitation that God offers to us every day through Jesus, how are we to act and respond, to show our commitment? For Mary, as we read in the gospel today, Jesus was there with her and she knew him well, so although her response was extravagant and costly, recognizing the invitation was not so difficult. We, however, have to be ready to see the invitation to know Jesus not just directly, but in the people all around us. Most especially in the broken and the lost, who every day put a question into our hearts, the question: “do you care?”

What kind of extravagant gesture says, in response, “I do”?

For many of us, I expect that the price of this gesture might not be worldly goods. I imagine it will more often be an offering of precious time, or an opportunity given up, or an easy choice rejected, because love and faith demand that we take a more difficult way. These are the kinds of choices, the calls to make extravagant gestures, that we all face as we seek to be better disciples of Christ.

I guess that we all struggle to make this kind of gesture, or even to recognise the question “do you care?” when it is presented to us. I know that I do. There are many distractions and excuses for me. With all the busyness of a day job and ordination training, I can find myself pre-occupied with getting the next essay written, and much less aware than I ought to be of the people round about me. But for all of us, moments will come when we do realise that Jesus is calling us to love him and to bring our gifts to lay at his feet. And when the time comes, with Paul, we must be ready to set aside everything that we have, for Jesus offers us something much more precious – his very self.

So, when the significant time comes for your extravagant gestures, will you recognize the moments of invitation? Perhaps, amongst the broken and lost of humanity, there are those that only your extravagant help can reach – for the poor, as Jesus said, are always with us.

But the extravagant gesture, the gesture that truly shows love for the broken and lost, is often one that responds to a different question than the one we expected. The question that is still on the table is “do you care?” But if your answer to that question is “I do”, what follows next is not “so, do you have some spare money?” the next question that follows, which should guide all of our extravagant gestures, is instead: “so, do you see me as a person like yourself, equally loved by God?”

It was something of a breakthrough in my own spiritual life when I recognised this key question – but it took me a long time to realise it, and longer to think about what I might do about it. The key, for me, has been personal contact; for example, taking just a little more time and effort to get to know my local “Big Issue” seller Stevie, and his girlfriend Christine. I have been wonderfully uplifted by their hope and optimism, while they were waiting expectantly to find a permanent home. Or similarly, when I realised that I was always walking quickly past the man I see rooting around the shop bins near my home. One day, I finally got over my shameful revulsion and whilst he was rummaging in the bins, stopped to offer him some help and conversation. I found that I was then deeply moved by listening to him and seeing how deeply this man, Malcy, cared about his little black dog, Bernie. Malcy has very nearly nothing, but the little that he does have is used to care first for his wee friend and companion.

The point I am trying to make with these examples is not that I am a particularly good person – far from it, I still get it wrong, I still walk by when I’m pre-occupied with my own concerns. But I do want to suggest to you how much I received from Stevie, Christine, and Malcy. Their hope, optimism and love in the worst of circumstances, amidst suffering visibly written on their features, was Christ-like. They have helped me to understand better what life is really about, and I have been blessed by their extravagant gift of friendship.

Probably much more often than we realise, the Lord Jesus comes to us through the ordinary people round about us. Every day, we have the possibility of meeting him, perhaps in those we already know well, or maybe in a new friend: a Stevie, or a Christine, or a Malcy. And when we meet him we will find that he is offering us, extravagantly, life to the full. He only asks that we answer the question that he asks of all his disciples: “Do you love me?”

I do.

[1] Isaiah 43:18-19a