NOTES for Mar 14:4-5

One of the unique, endlessly valuable, and dear qualities of the Gospel of Mark is that it notices living, one could even say everyday, details, details that seem insignificant but always turn out to be filled with immense meaning. Remember how he alone among the Synoptics notes that blind Bartimaeus throws off his cloak before coming to Jesus. Here, in today's reading, he alone notes that the woman broke the jar. It is a simple, highly visual image, but it is filled with the deepest meaning. Let us rest our prayerful gaze on it today. Why did she do this? The first answer is that nothing would ever be poured into that jar again. This is a remarkable interpretation, found in modern exegesis, and it is fully true. By doing this she brought the moment to completion. But let us allow ourselves one more interpretation. Let us remember that this woman is a sinner, as the evangelists portray her. And what is this state of sin for her? Let us remember the psalms. "Because of all my enemies I have become a reproach, even to my neighbors, and an object of dread to my acquaintances; those who see me in the street flee from me. I am forgotten in their hearts like one dead; I am like a broken vessel, for I hear the slander of many; terror is on every side, as they take counsel together against me, plotting to take my life (Ps 31:12-14)." The wholeness of the vessel from which myrrh is poured on the head of Jesus, and its brokenness as soon as it ceases to serve Him. Wholeness with God, brokenness in the hands of sin. Or simply the impossibility, the uselessness of a thing, and of a person, "I am like a broken vessel," if it does not serve Christ.

In today's reading Christ stops those who, out loud and in His presence, condemn the woman because she poured ointment on His head. In the Gospel there are only a few examples of such an offering of a gift to Christ. The first were the Magi on the day of His birth.

Christ says to the people condemning the woman: "Why do you trouble her?" It happens that in some impulse of the soul, in an aspiration of the heart, we perform personal and sincere acts for which we are mocked and condemned. This woman, in a kind of silent love and openness of heart, poured out precious ointment. She brought a gift. "Throughout the whole world this will be told in memory of her."

In the text we do not find her words. But Christ says: "She has done what she could; she has anointed My Body beforehand for burial." This woman is one of those silent witnesses and workers of Christ, like those who gave the donkey colt before the Lord's entry into Jerusalem, or the room where He could eat the Passover. And this woman became a witness to the path of Christ: the path of Christ's life, execution, burial, and Resurrection in glory and for the salvation of the world.

The matter is moving toward its resolution. The true traits of the characters and their real desires appear more and more clearly. The scribes and Pharisees no longer argue. They have lost every argument. And this did not convince them, did not stop them, did not make them doubt. "Brood of vipers," as John called them. They argued with the Truth for a long time; now all that remains is to kill it. At last they have openly understood their real desire: "to take Him by stealth and kill Him." They had done this in their hearts long ago. They are concerned only that the people not think anything bad of them.

The woman, however, "who was known in the city as a sinner," could have feared anger and condemnation. It is impossible for her to hide her vices. Yet she is the one who brings the precious ointment. The impulse of her heart draws her irresistibly to Jesus. In it everything is expressed: love, gratitude, repentance. She does not think about what people will say about her.

Judas finally goes to carry out his betrayal. He too has made his decision.

What else can Jesus still manage to do for us, for His disciples, for people? What could He do at all? Give Himself. Remain with us. The Paschal Meal with the disciples continues to this day. Jesus comes to us, as He promised, in the Sacrament of the Eucharist. The covenant with God, the New Covenant, is renewed at every Liturgy. The Bread and Wine, transformed by His Spirit, nourish and satisfy each one: "...and they all drank of it." He remains faithful to the end and forever. And our heart rejoices after Communion, as did the disciples: they "sang a hymn."

At the same time, however, another theme runs through the passage: the theme of betrayal. Judas betrays. Peter will deny Him. The disciples are distressed and doubt themselves: "Is it I?" They do not know what is in their heart. They would like to "die with Him," but it turns out they cannot. They still cannot decide. And we?

And why does this keep happening to us? Everything has been given to us: wisdom, truth, love, life. Yet we doubt, deny, and often betray. Is it possible to remain faithful to the end? What is our decision? What is in our heart?

Today's reading includes several episodes linked by one theme: the theme of faithfulness and betrayal. It begins with the story of the woman who anointed Jesus with precious aromatic oil ("myrrh") (vv. 1-11). It is noteworthy that the description of the event itself is preceded here by a mention of the chief priests' and scribes' desire to kill Jesus (vv. 1-2), and immediately after it follows a mention of Judas's betrayal (vv. 10-11), so that the story of Jesus' anointing and the story of Judas's betrayal merge into one and become a single story. In the evangelist's account, Judas's betrayal is somehow connected with the act of the woman who poured the oil on Jesus' head. It would seem that there can be no connection here, especially since the thought of betrayal, as usually happens, must have arisen in Judas's mind long before the final decision was made. But it is entirely possible that at that moment something in the situation became the final push after which he decided to carry out what he had long been planning. A clue in this case may be the mention of the indignation openly shown by some of those present, who considered such use of costly oil too wasteful (vv. 4-5). But Jesus at once puts everything in its place: first He Himself, and only then help for the poor (vv. 6-9). And in this way He points us to one of the most important laws of spiritual life: concrete, living relationships with God and with Christ are more important than anything else, while everything else, even something as important as works of mercy, is only a consequence of those relationships. The poor will always be in the world. Plans to rid the world completely of poverty are utopian, and charity, evidently, does not have that as its goal. It is only a means to something else, a way of expressing one's love for a neighbor who needs help. And if this deeply personal relationship to the one you help disappears, charity ceases to be a work of love and becomes an abstract idea, which of course can also be served, like any idea, but which in that case ceases to be mercy in the Gospel sense. Gospel love is not an idea and not an emotion; it is a relationship, and therefore, unlike ideas or emotions, which are often quite abstract, it is always utterly concrete. And therefore at the Last Supper, where this relationship of Jesus to His disciples is revealed in all its fullness, the bread and wine become His Body and His Blood (vv. 22-25). Every sacred meal among believing Jews was always, above all, an expression of spiritual unity and brotherly love, the very thing that reaches its ultimate fullness in Gospel love. And the more clearly this unity and this love were revealed, the more spirit there was in such a meal and the less there was of pure, unspiritualized nature. But the love of an ordinary person never by itself reaches the fullness that can completely transform nature and spiritualize it. This is available only to the One who bears in Himself the whole fullness of God and can love to the end, so that in His relationship to the one He loves there is no longer any place for untransformed nature. And then before us are no longer bread and wine, as before, but Body and Blood, which unite us quite truly with the One who came to give us the Kingdom. Yet precisely this depth of relationship can become unbearable for someone who is not ready to trust to the end. It is impossible to follow Jesus only in the name of an idea; without a personal relationship with Him, without the love that He gives to everyone who is ready to trust Him, such a campaign can end only in spiritual collapse. Apparently this is exactly what happened to Judas, who may well have been ready to accept Jesus as a leader and ideological inspiration, but apparently did not love Him at all. And this lack of love led Judas to spiritual collapse, which in his case turned into betrayal of the Teacher. And the push, evidently, was precisely that Jesus pointed to Himself as the main thing His disciples had. For here it was necessary to accept Jesus Himself, not as the leader of a movement or the bearer of an idea, but precisely Himself, as a Person, as a Man who simply had to be loved, loved humanly, as friends are loved. To love, or to betray. This is the choice before which, at some moment in his spiritual life, everyone stands who has decided for some reason to follow Jesus. It is the choice on which depends whether we will be in the Kingdom or in darkness.