John 12:1-8

Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served and Lazarus was seated at the table with Jesus. Mary brought a pound of costly perfume, made of pure nard, anointed Jesus feet and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

Now Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him) said, “Why was this perfume not sold for 300 denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this, not because he cared about the poor, but because he used to keep the common purse and would steal from what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought to 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.”

If you’ve been around for any number of the many funerals we’ve had at Cross of Grace in the last few months (many of you know we’ve had too many funerals around Cross of Grace in the last few months), you know that Pastor Cogan does a very deliberate, careful job of inviting and encouraging those gathered to act on their grief. I mean, he goes out of his way to encourage those who are grieving and celebrating the life of someone we’ve lost to do something about that sadness – to send a card, a note, a text; to make a phone call or an appointment for lunch; to tell the stories, to share the memories, to let others who are grieving know that you’re grieving, too.

It is worthwhile, compassionate, pastoral instruction. It’s how we grieve together, love one another, give thanks for and celebrate a life well, even after the big day of someone’s funeral – a day that can’t possibly contain or cover or resolve all of the grief we carry for those we’ve loved and lost.

And I think that’s something like what Mary is up to with Jesus this morning, only in a pre-emptive sort of way.

As the story goes, Jesus returns to Bethany – where he had been before and where he had gotten into trouble for raising his friend Lazarus from the dead. And, when “raising the dead” was added to the list of things Jesus could do – people kept following him and believing in him and wanting to see more of him. And all of this worried the powers that be, so they made plans to kill Jesus because of it. They’d even given orders for anyone who knew where he was to hand him over. So, when Jesus returned to Bethany – the scene of his crime as it were – trouble was brewing.

Which is what makes Mary’s anointing so remarkable.

It was like his days were numbered, and she knew it. Like, the end was near. Like his diagnosis was terminal. Like it was time to say and to do what needed to be said and done, before it was too late.

I think, like Pastor Cogan’s encouragement at a funeral service, Mary’s anointing was a worthwhile, compassionate, pastoral example of how to love one another, to give thanks for, and to celebrate a life well – on this side of a loved one’s grave.

It’s remarkable because there was plenty of other important work to be done. Maybe they should have been hiding Jesus away somehow, not calling attention to him by dousing him with perfume. Maybe they needed to devise a scheme to get him out of town or to plan his defense. They certainly didn’t need to be wasting their time and money on nard and anointing – as far as Judas was concerned, at least.

And isn’t that always the case? Aren’t we often too busy, too distracted, too much in denial about our own mortality – or about those that we love – to say the things we wish we had said? To do the things we pretend we can put off until tomorrow? To offer the forgiveness? To make the amends? To say the hard thing? To take the trip? To make the change? To take that leap of faith, convincing ourselves there will be time for that when … when we graduate; when the kids are older; when the nest is empty; when we’re finally retired; when we have more, or make more, or when… when… when…

But Mary and Jesus show us a different way. We may never know all that was running through Jesus’ mind as he readied himself for Calvary and for his own crucifixion. Was he full of fear or faith? Was he anxious and exhilarated? Was he full of doubt or determination? Was he at peace, calm, having second thoughts, resigned … some combination of all of these things?

Whatever it was, it makes me wonder about what he longed for most, in his most human heart of hearts, in those days before his dying. And I imagine he wanted the same things we would each long for if we were given enough advance notice of our demise: to be with the people we love and with the people who love us back; to say and hear and share all the things we hope we’ll have the courage, the faith, the time, and the words to say.

Which is why, I imagine, Jesus appreciated Mary’s anointing, like he did. She wasn’t trying to fix things or postpone the inevitable or make plans or busy herself with distractions. All she wanted to do was honor her teacher… to worship her Lord… to love her friend in a way that was deep and real and as true as could be.

Mary shows us something like what each of us would, could – and maybe should – choose for ourselves – or for those we love the most – if we are fortunate enough to have the chance for a last hurrah, a final goodbye, or time to think and pray and plan for our final moments with them.

So, what if we readied ourselves for the last days of Jesus’s life – for his entry into Jerusalem, for his last meal, his last words, his last breath – all of which we will regard through worship – and by way of at least one more funeral for Jerry Mielke – in the days ahead … what if we readied ourselves with a little Lenten discipline that hits more close to home?

What if, in honor of Mary’s expression of love, devotion and gratitude to Jesus, we not wait to do something like it … something kind, loving, generous and full of grace for someone we love – even if they’re not knocking on heaven’s door?

What if Mary’s moment with Jesus is an invitation for us not to wait until we can’t wait any longer? What if Mary’s anointing is a call for each of us to do NOW, what Pastor Cogan will remind, invite, and encourage us to do at the next funeral, and the next, and the next, and the one after that, too, I hope.

Let’s let Mary’s anointing be an invitation to say the thing now; to send the card, the note, the text; to make the phone call or the appointment for lunch; to tell the stories, to share the memories, to offer the gratitude before we can’t do that any longer.

Let’s be more generous. Let’s forgive like we mean it and let’s be forgiven like we deserve it, in a way only God’s grace can manage.

Let’s share moments of grace with no expectations and no strings attached and I’ll bet you three hundred denarii it will lead to joy. I’ll bet it will lead to peace and hope and all kinds of other good stuff, too. Because when we share that kind of love and devotion with another, Jesus comes to life among us, and our mortal selves put on immortality, in this life, on this side of eternity, and we stir up the power of God in our midst and we get a glimpse of the kingdom and of resurrection and of new life, on earth as it is in heaven.

Amen

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So he told them this parable:

“There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.’ So [the father] divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.” ’ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

“Now [the father’s] elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then [the elder son] became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’ ”

Two Cross of Gracers, in two weeks’ time, sent me two different social media posts about something that was entirely new to me – but that is apparently picking up steam and support in certain circles of Christianity. And since then – over just the last couple of weeks – various expressions of this same idea, this belief, this theological notion keep showing up in the world around me. Have you heard people talking lately about the proposition that “empathy is a sin?”

Yeah. Empathy has been deemed a “sin” in some fundamentalist, “conservative Christian” circles of the faith. Empathy … which, according to most dictionaries means something like “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another person.” Empathy … the willingness to learn about and have compassion for the experiences of somebody else. Empathy … which sounds something like – oh, I don’t know – loving your neighbor as yourself, perhaps?

Again, in certain Christian circles, this thing called empathy is being warned about as an expression of sin.

There are books. One is called The Sin of Empathy: Compassion and its Counterfeits and another is called Toxic Empathy: How Progressives Exploit Christian Compassion. One podcaster proposed that the very word “empathy” should be struck from the Christian vocabulary, because it’s just too dangerous. And, be careful, ladies. The same guy who suggested that said that “women are especially vulnerable to this” whole empathy thing.

Another theological pundit posted this recently, which seems to come from the same cesspool of corrupt theology:

“Jesus is not a bleeding heart liberal. He did not ultimately save you out of pity for you. He saved you for his own glory. And he saved you from the infinite wrath He had against you for insulting His glory. This is the masculine theology of the Bible. Learn to love it.”

Now, the Seven Deadly Sins aren’t any more “scriptural” in that they aren’t laid out explicitly as such, like the Ten Commandments, for example. But it’s worth considering why, in the name of Jesus, anyone would add “Empathy” to a list that includes things like Pride, Gluttony, Sloth, Wrath, Greed, Lust, and Envy. Does it seem like Empathy has anything in common with the evil and brokenness on that list?!

From what I can tell, the logic/the rationale/ the theology behind all of this is a sort of self-serving, pop-psychology-inspired effort at “tough love.” It implies that being empathetic – having the capacity to share another person’s feelings, experiences, or emotions – or taking the time and doing the work of trying to accomplish that to the degree that it inspires your ability to care about and love them … that all of that is an expression of brokenness in that it looks like weakness on your part and results in harm toward others because it may allow them to keep living in their own sinfulness.

And this seems to be the case because, from what else I can tell, this way of thinking is being used very deliberately to dissuade Christian people from caring about or tending to the hurt and harm of those with whom they disagree; those they want to dislike; those that some factions of the faith are working really hard to disenfranchise. And it seems to me that, by calling Empathy a sin, they can do all of that dirty work in the name of Jesus.

It’s as if they’re saying, “Close your eyes and stop your ears to the cries of the LGBTQ+ community because your empathy, your willingness to see them as people – as Children of God, created in God’s image, just like you – only affirms, encourages, and perpetuates their capacity to sin.”

It’s as if they’re saying, “Don’t listen to the very real struggle, concerns, or need of that woman or girl who is considering an abortion, because you risk understanding her very real struggle, concern, or need, thereby facilitating her capacity to make a decision you should already disagree with.”

It’s like they’re saying, “Don’t listen to the stories and experiences of those sex workers. It might soften your heart and encourage their poor choices.”

It’s like they’re saying, “Don’t get to know the story behind those migrants who have crossed the border to save the lives of their children, as you might very well choose to do, if you were in their shoes; just keep pretending they’re all gang members and drug dealers and psychopaths so that you can more easily despise, deport, and fear them with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.”

It’s like they’re saying, “Don’t dig too deeply into the stories of those people who are homeless or you might learn about the mental illness, addiction, loss of healthcare, neglect, abuse, bad luck and broken social networks that landed them on the streets and keeps them there.”

This is a ruse. It’s a lie. It’s a trick. It is fake news that empathy is a sin.

It’s also a grand expression of cognitive dissonance for anyone who’s ever heard today’s parable. It’s like their saying, don’t pay any mind to what is probably the most popular, well-known story in all of Scripture that comes straight from the mouth of Jesus himself – this little ditty about the Prodigal Son – and, more importantly, the parables’ prodigal dad…

…this story where Dad had every right to offer some tough love to the punk ass kid who ran off with his inheritance, squandered it recklessly, and had the nerve to come back for more.

…this story where a Dad – had he been worried about committing the so-called “sin of empathy” – would have sent his long-lost-son back to the wilderness of those pig pens to slop it up with the hogs until he learned his lesson, got his act together, groveled, apologized, and learned to live right.

None of that is the story Jesus tells today, because it’s not God’s story. That is not God’s way.

Jesus tells the story where Dad – God, the Father – is overcome by empathy and compassion, lifts up his robes, runs to his child, embraces him because of his lostness – not in spite of it. Where he slaughters the fatted calf, throws a party, and then calls for some empathy from the other son who’s too busy being mad and selfish and self-righteous to understand what it means to be really, truly lost in this world. That other son – the elder brother – the one who gets corrected, if not reprimanded – by the father, was like one of these 21st Century Theo-Bros who would have called his father’s empathy a sad, sorry, sinful expression of something other than the faithfulness, mercy, and LOVE that it was.

People, do not be fooled, deceived, or tricked into seeing empathy as a sin, or as a weakness, or as something God doesn’t desire from each and every one of us. And please pay attention to and pray for the pastors, politicians, and people who proclaim otherwise.

And if you need a touch point – a reminder – some encouragement about the Truth of the worldview Jesus’ parable proclaims, please continue making your way to Calvary in the days to come.

God, in Jesus, climbing onto the cross that we find there is the greatest sign, symbol, and source of empathy the world has ever known. It is The Way. It is God, in the person of Jesus, personifying the power and blessing of empathy by living, moving, breathing, and dying his way into the shoes of the world’s people. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t easy. And it wasn’t a sin, for God’s sake.

It was faithfulness. It was virtue. It was grace. It was tough love turned inward so that the fullness of that cosmic mercy could be poured outward for the sake of all people … all people … all people. And, it was and remains to be THE calling and cause and claim upon any of us who want to faithfully follow Jesus, in this life, for the sake of the world.

Amen

Anointing Now

Prodigal Empathy