The past few weeks I’ve been considering the subject of the anointing — as in the anointing of Jesus recalled in all four Gospels, and it led me this week to dwell on the concept of “the empty cup”.
First, the anointing was the subject of the Lectionary for April 7th, when I had occasion to reflect upon the version in John’s account. Three days later, the same verses were the subject of the Daily Bible Study for April 10th. Then, on April 14th, Matthew’s version of the anointing was the focus of the lesson in the Adult Bible Studies Sunday school lesson.
The very next day, April 15th, it was once again John’s account of the anointing of Jesus by Mary, the sister of Lazarus, at Bethany that was a subject of the Daily Lectionary and the meditation in the Upper Room Disciplines. Two days later, on April 17th, Malcolm Guite revisited John 12:1-8 once again, and shared the sonnet he originally wrote for his book Sounding the Seasons:
I don’t recall ever having had occasion to reflect so much upon the anointing —
Part of it was, of course, my preparation for speaking at Bethel and Belden United Methodist Churches on the 7th and the meditation on the subject that I posted. Maybe it was my heightened awareness that made me pay more attention this year.
I suppose that the anointing is bound to be a recurring theme each season leading up to Easter, but I haven’t thought about it so much in the past, giving attention instead to the familiar stories of Jesus’ entrance to Jerusalem, the Last Supper, the betrayal of Judas, the failure of Peter and — on this Good Friday — the Crucifixion.
As I’ve turned the four versions of the anointing over in my mind against the larger story of the Passion, I’ve struggled to connect the meaning of those disparate accounts of the anointing with these other events in the Gospel story.
All four accounts of the anointing share the following in common:
A woman is the one who anoints Jesus
Jesus is the one who is anointed
The woman anoints Jesus with ointment or perfume from a jar
Jesus defends her actions
Against all the differences — the woman’s identity, the point in Jesus’ life and mission on which this occurred, the place where it happened, the identity of the others present, the identity of the one (or ones) who objected (either to the character of the woman, or the waste of the precious perfumed oil), even the exact nature of the ointment itself — there are those four things in common — plus one more: in each of the accounts of the anointing —
She empties the jar
In my previous post, I addressed the sufficiency of the anointing and it was with this thought in mind that I approached the familiar stories of Holy Week, starting with the Gospel reading for Tuesday in particular:
“I am troubled now. Yet what should I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? But it was for this purpose that I came to this hour.”
In John’s Gospel, the account of Jesus being troubled by his impending death occurs earlier, just after his entry into Jerusalem, while in the synoptic recollections he is portrayed more intimately and dramatically as he prays in Gethsemane immediately before his arrest.
I’ll quote from Mark’s version:
They went to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took with him Peter and James and John, and began to be distressed and agitated. And he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He said, “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”
It occurred to me as I recalled Jesus praying that the cup might pass from him, that he was raising the same question presented in the anointing —
“What is sufficient?”
“How much is enough?”
“Must the whole jar be emptied?”
“Must the cup be drunk to its dregs?”
And of course, the answer to the question was that Jesus did indeed have to drink the cup of human mortality — not just in the sense that he would have to die, but that he would have to confront the full spectrum of human vice, pettiness, sorrow and sin in order to accomplish what he had come to do — to demonstrate the depth of divine love and its power over mortal failings — to drink the cup prepared for us.
He had to drain the cup of human mortality in order to empty himself —
taking the form of a slave,
coming in human likeness;
and found human in appearance,
he humbled himself,
becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross.
Most scholars think that when Paul wrote those words to the Philippians he was quoting a hymn that was already in general use among the early Christian communities throughout the Mediterranean world — a hymn that originated with those who had known Jesus, who had walked with him and broken bread with him and had come at last to realize who he was and from whence he’d come.
Yes, he had to drain the cup of human mortality in order to empty himself . . .
. . . so as to empty a tomb