We had just finished a luxurious meal at Simon's house. Simon had really put out a spread and it was close to Passover and so we were supposed to be celebrating but of course, we weren't. There was a lot of tension because we all knew that something awful was going to happen to Jesus, yet not one of us would speak of it that night - until Jesus spoke of it.

I had cleared the table and took the dishes to the kitchen to be washed and then I went to get the gift I had been saving for Jesus.

Have you ever washed someone's hair? Maybe a child's, maybe your wife's or husband's? When I was a little girl, I loved having my hair washed by my mother. At the end of my bath she would take a dipper and pour warm water over my head and down my back. To me, washing someone's hair is an act of love.

Of course, you can't wash a man's hair in public and you certainly can't wash a man's hair to whom you aren't even married. But I thought it would be lovely if I anointed Jesus' head. After all, it is customary for servants to wash the hands and feet of guests and anoint them with perfumed oils in between the courses of a meal. The smell of the perfumed ointment and the feel of the oil on his head - well, I thought he might like that. I thought I would just cool his forehead maybe I could give him a moment of peace. Maybe I could calm him. There was so much tension and worry and angst for all of us that evening, but especially for Jesus.

He was sitting back at the table when I reentered the room.

I realized as soon as I broke open the jar that it was a daring act. I didn't think that before but as soon as the jar was opened, the smell filled the room. It couldn't help but be noticed. That nard had such a strong aroma. It had come all the way from India, sealed in an alabaster jar for its long journey over mountains and through deserts to finally find its rightful place on the forehead of Jesus of Nazareth.

The aroma of the nard caught the attention of everyone in the room. Suddenly, all eyes were on me and I became quite self-conscious. So I said nothing and continued to rub his head. But then the men started talking about me. Some of them became very angry with me! As I said before, there was tension in the room and emotions were running high to begin with. I can understand, now, that the anger that was directed at me was really misdirected sadness, but still it hurt.

Oh, it was such an outrageous act. The men there raised their voice in anger to me. They scolded me. They told me what a waste it was for me to pour oil on Jesus - oil that was worth a week in wages, oil that could be used to raise money for the poor. They were right, it was outrageous.

But Jesus was about to die. We all knew it.

It was all I could do; it was the least I could do. You want to be able to do something when friends are sick or under threat. I felt so powerless to do anything. So we bring flowers to loved ones and friends who are sick. We bring food those in mourning. We pour perfumed nard on a friend's forehead, realizing that they will not always be with us.

And I guess that was what I was doing, though I didn't really realize it until Jesus came to my defense. "She has anointed my body for burial," he said. Then, he gave me the highest complement anyone has ever given me. He said that I had done a good and beautiful act. He said that my actions were morally right and aesthetically pleasing and more than that as well. He said that what I did was admirable because it was timely. He said that I had nothing to fear.

Jesus had a way of speaking like no one else. Jesus was the only person, ever who made me feel whole, made me feel complete. Usually men said things that made me feel small and sad inside. Usually with men I had much to fear but not with Jesus. Jesus treated me like I was equal to a man. Maybe that's why so many people got angry at him. Jesus just didn't play by the same rules at everyone else.

How would you react to a man like Jesus? A man who would get so angry at injustice that he turned over tables in the Temple. A man so serious about living God's love that he talked to women openly in the streets, Samaritan women, no less. A man so connected to God's wisdom that his words silenced the largest crowds and the smartest men. How would you react to a man like that?

(Take off headgear and belt.)

Would you be like the chief priests and the scribes who reacted to Jesus with hostility? They rejected both him and his message outright. They were full of fear and envy. They were so threatened by him. Can you relate to that? Can you understand that feeling of fear and envy?

We are all like the chief priests and the scribes when we react to anyone with fear and envy. Many are envious of people who are given money because of who they are rather than what they have done: status Indians, the Queen, and disabled people on welfare are all entitled by law to a certain portion of our tax dollars. When we reject these people with anger because of our deep rooted jealously, we are like the chief priests and the scribes.

Would you react to Jesus like Judas did? Would you proclaim friendship and love for Jesus but in fact betray him? Judas lifted no violent hands against Jesus, but his inner disloyalty manifested itself in a kiss as deadly as a sword.

Anytime anyone suffers because of our gain we are like Judas. Much of our rich, comfortable lifestyle comes to us on the backs of people in the Third World. Those are the people who make cheap food and clothing possible for us. The indifference of rich Christians to the plight of the poor is one way Jesus' declared friends betray him.

Would you react to Jesus like Peter? We when don't share the Good News, when we don't talk about our faith, when we don't want to offend others so we say nothing of the joy of Christ, then we are like Peter.

And the rest of the disciples, all of them deserted him and fled. Well, when the going gets tough, its sometimes hard to believe, hard to have courage and perseverance.

Yes, everyone was against Jesus. They either plotted to have him killed, betrayed him, denied him or fled.

We cannot say that the Jews killed Jesus. Indeed, we all share responsibility for killing Jesus. If we had been there in person, we would have, at the very least, fled in fear like the disciples. Or we may have even participated in the mob scenes. In any case, we cannot relinquish our responsibility. There is good news in this, however unlikely it may seem.

The good news is in the power of forgiveness. We can only forgive someone for the wrongs that they have committed against us personally, not something they have done to another. It works the same with Jesus. Jesus can only forgive us for the wrongs that we have done to him. With Jesus our sins HAVE been committed against him. When we hurt our brothers and sisters in Christ, we hurt Christ. What we do to the least of these we do to Jesus. And so, the weight of the world's sins falls on Jesus' shoulders. Jesus can forgive us: he does have that power. Jesus can forgive us for what we have done to him and he does forgive us.

Look to the cross and ask for forgiveness. Look to the cross and rejoice in the forgiveness Christ offers. To God be the glory. Amen.

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