It is finished.
It is finished.
Bruise, crush, pierce.
Thorns bear down
A hate-woven crown
pressed upon the head
of the One who loves fierce.
Red flows down,
a washing stream.
Keys are taken
The world goes black.
The world waits.
The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!
Jesus made flesh. Flesh that lives, flesh that dies.
Jesus left heaven’s gates and put on a coat of skin and bone over the makings of blood and guts. He couldn’t have died without being human. He couldn’t have died until he became one of us.
Though he was God,
he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to.
Instead he gave up his divine privileges,
he took the humble position of a slave-
and was born as a human being.
When he appeared in human form,
he humbled himself in obedience to God,
and died a criminal’s death on a cross.
He breaks bread. He pours wine.
In remembrance of another lamb.
In remembrance of another rescue.
This time blood will spill on one wooden beam for all. All who will say yes.
In an upper room Jesus tells his friends to eat and drink. To remember him on this passover of all passovers. He explains that what he is showing them through the broken bread and poured wine, he is about to accomplish through the brokenness of his own body and the poured down red of his own blood. A ransom will be paid tomorrow.
Jesus tells his friends to eat and drink, but he will not.
And he said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. For I tell you, I will not eat it again until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God.” After taking the cup, he gave thanks and said, “Take this and divide it among you. For I tell you I will not drink again from the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.”
Until the kingdom of God comes…
So begins Jesus’ fast.
We eat, drink and remember, while he waits for the kingdom of God to be fulfilled for every race, tribe, people group, neighborhood, and city in this whole wide world. He knows the timetable of this fulfillment, just like he knew that night in the upper room the timetable for the ransom he would pay the next day.
Unimaginable suffering is about to occur.
The deepest darkness will descend.
A stone will be rolled to seal a tomb.
A ransom will be paid in full.
“For when she poured this perfume upon my body, she did it to prepare Me for burial. Truly I say to you, wherever this gospel is preached in the whole world, what this woman has done shall also be spoken of in memory of her.”
This was too much for Judas.
Right away he goes to the chief priests and asks,
“What are you willing to give me to deliver Him up to you?”
He left with 30 pieces of silver jingling in his pocket.
Why the sudden betrayal?
Was it the extravagance the woman poured out on Jesus?
Was it Jesus’ comment about his burial?
Perhaps it was that Jesus esteemed the woman so highly that he declared her act of devotion would be remembered every time someone shared the gospel.
Because when the jar busted opened the fragrance of its contents changed the atmosphere of the room. It seeped into the cloaks and robes and beards and walls and tapestries. No one could escape it.
This is how it is with Jesus. You can’t escape Him if you tried.
God is everywhere.
For we are to God the sweet aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing.
Judas’ perishing is already beginning and the fragrance of the gospel is a stench in his nostrils because this is not playing out as he’d hoped. Jesus seems bent on talking about his death when he should be talking about conquering Rome once and for all.
It is time to take matters into his own hands.
To the one, we are an odor of death and demise; to the other, a fragrance that brings life. And who is qualified for such a task?
The Rose of Sharon is about to release a fragrance that will change the world.
Men do change, and change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfume of wildflowers hidden in the grass.- John Steinbeck
Breaking open a jar of expensive perfume over some rabbi’s head is a bit ridiculous.
Especially if it’s all you’ve got to get you through retirement. Maybe you were saving it for marriage, but judging from the “sinful” life you’ve been living lately, that ship as most likely sailed.
This woman. Coming into this man’s house breaks so many rules. Although, this is no real surprise knowing what kind of woman she was.
Besides all that, the audacity of walking into a man’s home while he’s entertaining somone of noteriety, someone inching toward celebrity status at this point…did this woman see how the crowds welcomed him into Jerusalem? Did she hear what he did in the temple courts with the moneychangers?
She made such a spectacle of herself, it was embarrassing for all sitting there. If she’d wanted to give away her entire life savings, she could have at least been a bit generous to the poor and sent some their way. Judas would have seen to it.
Instead, she wasted everything on this man. This Jesus.
And she kept touching him. Weeping like a mad woman and letting her tears fall on his feet, wiping them with her hair.
His feet! To touch so intimately what had walked through the day’s filth.
How lovely on the mountains
Are the feet of him who brings good news,
Who announces peace
And brings good news of happiness,
Who announces salvation,
And says to Zion, “Your God reigns!”
Jesus’ feet that calloused and stubbed and mucked about the dirt of humanity.
Majesty became sandal-tied.
To be so over the top. So extravagant.
Extravagant– exceeding what is reasonable or appropriate, absurd.
Can you even come close to this kind of love?
What if you gathered your entire 401K, your insurance policy, the equity in your house, and all the little bundles of 20’s and 50’s you have stashed in a bank vault somewhere and you walked into the home of the most prominent man in town during a party?
Everyone there knows your deepest, darkest secret. Jesus is there. You had an encounter earlier with him where you were set free of all that had held you captive your entire life, so you gathered everything you owned and managed to squeeze it all into a sealed jar and you just wanted to give Jesus everything.
Instead of crying tears of sorrow, you wept tears of joy and thanksgiving and you didn’t care who saw it. Life had crushed you and somehow knew this man was about to be crushed for your sake.
What would happen if you broke open your jar?
It is Passion week.
The week when Jesus, motivated by compassion, walks into Jerusalem, and His extravagant love for us spreads like a broken bottle of perfume.
It goes everywhere.
Tables get turned over and coins scatter and distorted passion for wealth and riches and highway robbery spill over cobble stones and cobbled lives.
Passion withers the roots of a fig tree when hypocrisy is exposed.
Passion laments a city when desolation comes to withered souls.
The uptight upright whisper and plot, but Jesus already knows the whisper of their hearts before they do.
Then…a woman gets involved.
A jar gets busted and its contents are dumped on Jesus’ head. Passion perfume fills the room and Jesus and the woman are the only ones who get it.
Meanwhile, Jesus was in Bethany at the home of Simon, a man who had previously had leprosy, a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, which she poured on his head as he was reclining at the table.
What if you busted open a jar of your passion?
What if you shattered the glass of your broken self and let it spill everything you own?
Spilled everything you love and
every tear you let slide down your cheek,
every cry you wailed.
What if you broke open every talent,
every strength, every lame step you walked
and you just poured out to Jesus.
Past the stare, the glare,
the lips thin-gripped,
the mouths jaw dropped of those who can only see
the mess, the waste.
Everything takes on the scent of extravagant love and
everyone there, except the ones that matter,
think you’re a fool.
How dare you love this way.
But, like an expensive perfume that emits layers of fragrance and mystery, this woman went to another layer, she realized another depth.
Pouring everything she owned onto Jesus wasn’t about how much she loved, but about how much she was loved.
This is what those who mocked her passion missed and what the enemy of our souls does not want us to know.
How dare we to believe that we can be loved this way.
We owe something to extravagance, for thrift and adventure seldom go hand in hand.-Lady Randolph Churchill