A Guru asked his disciples how they could tell when the night had ended and the day begun.  One said, “When you see an animal in the distance and can tell whether it is a cow or a horse.”
“No”, said the Guru.
“When you look at a tree in the distance, and can tell if it is a neem or a mango tree.”
“Wrong again”, said the Guru.
“Well then, what is it?” asked his disciples,
“When you look into the face of any man and recognise your brother in him; when you look into the face of any woman and recognise in her your sister.  If you cannot do this, no matter what time it is by the sun, it is still night.”

St. John’s Gospel is full of imagery contrasting light and darkness, good and evil.  It seems only moments ago that we were celebrating the Feast of the Incarnation and heard those wonderful words from the opening of John’s gospel – In him was life, and that life was the light of mankind.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has never overcome it.

But for now it seems, that darkness is all around our Lord.  In his preceding chapter, John tells his readers that the chief priests and the Pharisees had given orders that anyone who knew where Jesus was must report it so that they might arrest him.  “Accordingly”, we are told  “Jesus no longer went about openly among the Jews, but withdrew to a town called Ephraim, in the country bordering on the desert, and stayed there with his disciples.”

Those of us who live in safety and security can have no real idea of what our Lord might have been feeling at that time – Morgan Tsvangirai and Nelson Chamisa, on the other hand, and others like them who oppose and challenge brutality and oppression at great personal cost, probably know only too well. 

Jesus responded to a very human need – to take refuge for a while in relative safety and in the company of friends; to recharge physical and spiritual batteries.  And then, six days before the Passover, when the religious leaders are actively seeking his arrest, Jesus returns to Bethany, to spend time with other friends.  Ignoring the danger they were exposing themselves to by sheltering him, Mary, Martha and Lazarus welcomed Jesus into their home, prepared and served a supper in his honour.  The sisters played out their accustomed roles – Martha preparing and serving, Mary we might imagine sitting at the feet of Jesus – listening – maybe to his fears about what the future held, maybe reminiscing about the extraordinary events of the past few years; or maybe just being there together,  in what I call companionable silence – nothing needs to be spoken, but in the silence, everything is said.  And then there is that incredible act of total love and devotion.  It was quite normal for the host  to ensure that the feet of guests were washed and refreshed following their journey along the dusty and dirty pathways of the towns and villages – but Mary does much, much more.  She takes her jar of very costly perfume – pure oil of nard – and anoints the feet of Jesus, gently wiping them with her hair.  The perfume wafts its welcome fragrance all through the house as Mary gives to her Lord all that she has – nothing is held back materially or spiritually.

But then darkness impinges on that experience of light, and love and hope – and Judas condemns Mary for her act of love.  Here was a man who had lived with, travelled with, eaten with Jesus throughout His ministry, and yet was unable or unwilling to understand anything of that experience.  We can only watch in horror as Judas retreats further into the night.  We might assume from his cutting remarks that his own devotion to Jesus has already evaporated; we are made aware of his dishonesty towards others (the thieving from the common purse); but worse still is his lack of personal honesty and integrity – he complains that the perfume could have been sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor, but more probably, a significant amount of that money would have found its way into his own pocket.  Finally, we will witness his complete capitulation as he betrays the man he once called his friend for a few pieces of silver.  Judas chooses to retreat into a world of darkness symbolising the way of self-destruction just as Mary demonstrates the way of self-giving.  Both are extremely costly, but in utterly different ways.  Mary gives of her love, and in just a few days, will feel the cost of that love – unimaginable pain and sorrow.  The cost to Judas was the loss of everything – integrity, hope, love and friendship and in the midst of that utter darkness, he took his own life.

Mary and Judas stand in stark contrast to each other, reflecting something of humanity’s continuing struggle seen throughout history. The prophet Isaiah recalls that God makes rivers flow in the desert, paths appear in the sea;  in the face of all this, the wild animals will look on and worship.  Our reading this morning stopped there but he goes on to lament in the next few verses that the very people for whom these acts are lovingly undertaken will look the other way, preferring to continue life as before, rather than opening their eyes to exciting possibilities of God at work in and around them.   The were retreating into the darkness.
 However, in Mary we see faith, loyalty, love and devotion, with the ability to glimpse the divinity of God working in and through the humanity of His Son; a person who remains open to the unimaginable possibilities of what God can accomplish through His children and in His world – human nature at its very best.     By contrast, Judas displays a meanness of spirit, a closed mind, an inability to comprehend the divine, deceit and betrayal – the worst of human nature.

In reality, however, people are not neatly divided in those who are Mary’s and those who are like Judas – there may be elements of both in all of us,  especially, perhaps when we come face to face with people who lifestyles, opinions or circumstances are different to ours.  Such situations frequently provide the fertile ground for a meanness of spirit, closed minds and betrayal to flourish.  The real challenge is whether we are willing to acknowledge this in ourselves and having acknowledged it, a deep desire and determination to change.  It is a painful and uncomfortable process.  Jesus made it perfectly clear both that the poor  will always be with us, and that we all have a duty of care (love your neighbour as yourself).   Last Sunday morning I had just finished my ward round and was approaching the Chapel when I became aware of a most unpleasant smell.  Sitting outside the Chapel was a gentleman of the road, an old raincoat pulled up around his ears, a woolly hat pulled well down – hardly any of his face was visible, save for his beard.  His trousers were dirty, he wore no socks and grubby feet could be seen within his shoes which were4 in danger of disintegrating.  The images that dominated by senses in those split seconds were his constant scratching and the overwhelmingly unpleasant smell.  To my shame, I told myself that time was pressing, and I had a service to prepare for, I walked by on the other side.  I allowed an opportunity given to me to slip through my fingers – a short while later he had gone.  The hospital is a warm place whose doors are always open, a sanctuary against the bitter wind – perhaps he will return and I hope that given a second chance I will have the grace and humility to act with greater sensitivity and compassion.  What is preached and professed within these walls, or within the Chapel of Peace must be lived out in the streets of Kettering and the wards and corridors of our hospitals and prisons among the many people who long to know what it feels like to be loved, accepted and cared for. 

As we journey through this season of Lent, Christ moves us from our comfort zone and challenges us to look honestly at our lives and values. Can we see our brother or sister in the eyes of the drug addict or alcoholic, in the person sleeping rough who smells so dreadful? We have two choices – to be like Mary, willing to take risks and give unconditionally. If we cannot, or do not, then we run the risk of living in the shadow of Judas and betraying the one who gave his life for us and calls us to his service.   

 Lesley McCormack, March 25th, 2007