Bodies

Since its Sunday, I thought I would post one of my sermons. This one fits right into the theme of this blog in that its about intersections between my counseling work and my running. Thanks for reading!

John 12:1-8
12Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. 2There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. 3Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. 4But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, 5“Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” 6(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) 7Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. 8You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”


Bodies:
John 12 1-8
preached at St. Andrew’s UMC, Edgewater, MD
21 March 2010

At Yale Divinity School, where I went to seminary, they have chapel every day from 10:30-11am. Nobody is required to go, but everyone is invited. In fact, everything shuts down on campus for that half hour so that anyone who wants to be there can be. It usually draws a decent crowd.

Most days, someone preaches a sermon. The preacher might be a professor, an alum, or a special guest. About once a week, it’s a student. Preaching at chapel is voluntary. Its only open to seniors, and its not for the faint of heart. As a student preacher, you get 9 minutes to show your teachers and your peers everything you’ve learned in 3 years. You have no control over what text you get, and you never know who might be in the audience. The week that I preached in chapel, the other preachers included the dean of the seminary and the president of the American Academy of Religion, both of whom were in the audience for my sermon. Agreeing to preach at chapel is like agreeing to cook a 3-course meal, using unknown ingredients, for a room full of chefs.

When it was time for my friend Kurt to preach, he was assigned today’s Gospel text, and we all agreed that he drew one of the short straws. This is one of those stories where Jesus’s message is just plain hard to understand:

Jesus and his disciples are having dinner with friends. During the dinner, Mary brings out a pound of expensive perfume and begins wiping it on Jesus’s feet. Judas is appalled at this luxury- why would Jesus allow this lavish perfume to be used on him? Why not sell it and give the money to the poor?

I don’t know about you, but I think that Judas asks a valid question. In my New Testament class, we learned that the cost of the perfume- 300 denarii- is an enormous amount of money. In today’s terms it comes to roughly “a gazillion dollars.” So, when Judas says that this money could help the poor, he isn’t talking about restocking a food pantry. He is talking about building homes, buying medicines, sending kids to college- literally transforming lives. Why wouldn’t Jesus want to do that?

If we want an easy answer from Jesus here, we don’t get it. Instead we get “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” Huh? Isn’t this the same man who told us to sell everything we have and give the money to the poor? Didn’t he make his own disciples- including Judas- leave everything they had to serve the needy?

Standing before an audience of seminary students and professors, Kurt named the confusion we all felt about this story. The Jesus we thought we knew wouldn’t place his own comfort ahead of the poor. The Jesus we thought we knew certainly wouldn’t yell at one of his followers for remembering the poor. The Jesus we thought we knew had called us to give up more profitable career paths and go into ministry. We associated Jesus with sacrifice, self-denial, and simple living.

I imagine that many of us here are St. Andrew’s feel the same way. We all appreciate Pastor Dave and Reverend Nowers, and we think they should be rewarded for their hard work. But how would we feel if they took the money from the collection plate and used it to go to a spa? Would we just shrug our shoulders and say “That’s okay. The church’s problems will be here when they get back.” I doubt it.

I think the Gospel writer knew people would struggle with this story. Did you notice how he works in some digs against Judas? He interrupts the story once to remind us that Judas is the one who will betray Jesus. Then he interrupts it again to say that Judas doesn’t actually want the money for the poor, but because he’s a thief. Its as if the Gospel writer knows we need a reminder of who’s the good guy here.

This is a confusing story. Yet, the Gospel writer thought it was important enough to preserve and share. There must be a lesson about Jesus in there somewhere. When Kurt preached on this text, he found enough lessons to fill a sermon that I’ll remember for the rest of my life. He did it by taking a closer look at the story and finding the parts that he could relate to. So, when I found out that I would be preaching on this text, I decided to follow Kurt’s lead. I looked at the story and asked myself- what can I relate to here? For me, the answer is bodies.

When I take a closer look at this story, I realize that it isn’t just a story about luxury being spent on Jesus. It’s a story about luxury being spent on Jesus’s body. Mary loves Jesus, and she wants to show that love by giving him something extravagant. But she doesn’t build him a mansion, or give him fancy clothes, or even feed him an expensive meal. She takes her expensive perfume and uses her own hair to anoint Jesus’s feet. And Jesus, who spent his whole ministry saying no to riches and luxury, says yes to this one extravagant gift. For Jesus, there is clearly something right and good about loving a body extravagantly.

This past year, I’ve thought a lot about bodies. Since September, I’ve been interning at the Wendt Center, a grief counseling center in Washington, DC. As part of my internship, I spend every Thursday at the DC morgue working for a program called RECOVER. RECOVER is a team of counselors who work at the morgue 365 days a year, helping people identify loved ones who have died. I learned about RECOVER last year when I was looking for an internship, and I was blown away by the whole idea. RECOVER counselors are there with people facing one of the most difficult and painful tasks imaginable. They go with complete strangers into some of darkest moments of life, and they experience some of that darkness themselves, just so those strangers won’t have to do it alone. The Wendt Center is not a religious organization, but I can’t help thinking of this program as a ministry.

When I learned that I could be a part of RECOVER, I knew it was an opportunity I had to take. I also knew that I was scared. I was afraid of many things about working at the morgue, but I was most afraid of the bodies. I’m not one of those people who can get comfortable with sickness, violence, and death. I could never be a doctor, or a police officer, or a mortician. I can’t watch violent movies or see dead animals on the road without feeling sick. I won’t even kill bugs- I’d rather pick them up and take them outside than have to look at their squished bodies. At the DC morgue, IDs are done with photographs, so I knew I wouldn’t see many actual bodies. But even the pictures scared me- I didn’t know what I might see, but I could imagine plenty of terrible things. And I was scared of simply being in a building where bodies are stored and autopsies are performed. Being that close, I was bound to see, hear, and smell things I didn’t want to.

When I accepted my internship, I knew I needed to toughen up a little. I needed a way to prepare myself for what I might experience, and an outlet for the stress I was bound to feel. So, in August I joined a gym and a running club. I spent the month before my internship getting used to early morning weight training, evening spin class, and weekend long runs with the club. I prepared myself for the dead bodies by focusing intensely on my own, living body. I’m almost 9 months into this journey now, and when I think about the all of the time I’ve spent at the morgue, in the gym, and on the roads, I realize that I’ve learned a lot about loving the body extravagantly.

Spend even a little time at a morgue and you’ll learn that bodies are precious and fragile things. On my first day, I spent some time reading through the census of cases brought in for autopsy. I had ideas of what I might see, but my ideas were far from reality. Being in a major city, I was prepared to see many younger people dying in homicides. I was not prepared to see so many younger people dying from heart disease, diabetes, and substance abuse. Yet, there it was, time and time again- a person between 30 and 50 with heart disease, diabetes, or both, who had a few drinks, went to sleep, and never woke up. I was not prepared to see so many suicides, and yet they seemed to happen at least once or twice each month. I was not prepared for the number of people who die in freak accidents, like the man who broke his neck jumping on a trampoline at a birthday party. I was not prepared to see the number of people found decomposed because they lived alone and nobody checked on them for a few days.

Within a few weeks of starting at the morgue, I noticed changes in my behavior. Before, I always struggled to make myself exercise. At times in my life when it was really convenient, I would work out pretty regularly, but I never pushed myself too hard. Sometimes I enjoyed it, but mostly I did it out of vanity- trying to stay a certain size. In the 9 months that I’ve worked at the morgue, I’ve been to the gym 4 or 5 times a week, every single week, and I’ve pushed myself to places I never dreamed I could go. I’ve tripled the amount of weight I can lift. I’ve run farther and faster than I ever thought I could. Two weeks ago, I ran a half-marathon. I was right in thinking that the gym would be a great way to relieve stress, but that’s not the only reason I go now.

Being around so much sickness and death has made me realize in a whole new way just how precious healthy bodies are. Seeing young people die from heart disease and diabetes makes me want to take better care of myself. But it goes deeper than that, too. Working at the morgue, I am constantly reminded of the randomness of death, the reality that any of our lives could end at any moment. We have limited time with our precious bodies, and I want to use mine well. I want to be healthy and fit so I can experience all of the blessings my body can offer.

On the surface, running and going to the gym seem very different from being anointed with expensive perfume. To me, spending money on expensive perfume or other bodily luxuries seems ridiculous. In fact, I can be pretty quick to judge people who buy $250 face creams, or get expensive cosmetic surgeries, or pay hundreds of dollars for a haircut. But when I think about my time at the gym and on the road, I have to admit that I invest a whole lot in my body. My gym membership alone eats up 5% of my monthly grad student income. Running shoes are really expensive, and so are the special socks, clothes, and water bottles that you need when you run long distances. Races aren’t free either, and the longer ones can easily cost $75 just to enter. There’s also the time. Training for my half-marathon meant spending at least an hour at the gym nearly every morning and 2 or 3 hours every Saturday running outside. Getting up early enough to work out means going to bed almost as soon as I get home at night, and passing on Friday night social events.

What I give to my body definitely takes away from the money and time I have for other things, like work, my family and friends, and even this church. Is it worth it? Judging from today’s text, I think that Jesus might say yes, and when I think about my time at the morgue, I begin to understand why.

Just like I had ideas about who I might see on the morgue case load, I also had ideas about what I might see from the family and friends who came to identify those people. I was prepared for some people to be very sad- to cry, or scream, or hyperventilate. I expected some people to be angry, and maybe to take some of that anger out on me. I expected some people to be numb- to avoid eye contact or to make jokes as if nothing had happened. I’ve seen all of these reactions, but I’ve also seen other things that I never imagined.

One of the things which has surprised me most is how people react to the photos. I expected many people to be upset by the photos or not want to see them, and this happens from time to time. More often, though, people treat the photos like priceless treasures. They kiss them, talk to them, hold them to their hearts, and touch them gently. Some people buy copies to take home with them. Before I spent time at the morgue, I only thought about death and grief in terms of relationships. Someone dies, and those left behind miss their relationship to that person. Watching people with the photos of their loves ones, I realized how much of grief is about missing the person’s actual body. People touch and hold on to their loves ones’ photo because they can’t touch or hold that person anymore.

This longing for the body really hit home for me when I helped an 88 year-old woman identify her son. From the moment this lady walked through the door, she reminded me of my grandmother, who died when she was 88. Like my grandmother, this lady had bright white hair carefully brushed and styled. She was perfectly made up, and she wore her Sunday best clothes, including a long fur coat, stockings, and nice shoes. I had the distinct impression that she wore these clothes whenever she left the house, just like my grandmother. She even smelled a little like my grandmother.

Before they view the photo, everyone who does an identification has to fill out paperwork, giving information about themselves and their loved one. As I helped this lady complete the paperwork, she told me a bit about herself and her son. Her husband had been dead for almost 30 years, and her son had been her only child. He had never married or had any children himself. As she wrote down her son’s information, she told me how he had always fussed over her, worried about her, and tried his best to care for her. She was very proper and composed… until I brought in the photo. As soon as I handed this lady the photo of her son, her prim and proper veneer crumbled. She sobbed, kissed the photo, held it to her heart, and said “Goodbye, baby” over and over.

I went over and put my arm around her while she signed the photo, verifying her son’s identity. When we were finished, I asked her if there was anything more I could do for her. She said “the only thing I want is my son back and you can’t do that.” I told her she was right, and gave her a hug. While I was hugging her, she started to cry and, all of a sudden, I felt tears in my own eyes. This surprised me. As emotional as things can get in the ID room, I know that I have a job to do and I can usually maintain my composure. When I thought about it later, I realized that I got upset because hugging this lady felt so much like hugging my grandmother, something I hadn’t done since she died. This woman would have given anything to hug her son again, and I would give anything to hug my grandmother again, but the best we could do in that moment was to hug each other.

Bodies, especially the bodies of those we love, are priceless treasures. Anyone who’s ever lost someone knows this. Jesus, Mary, and Lazarus knew it too. At the time of this morning’s reading, Jesus knows that he may be visiting his friends for the last time. Mary doesn’t know that, but she knows what’s its like to miss someone’s body because she has just buried Lazarus. The chapter before this morning’s text tells the story of how Mary called Jesus to help when Lazarus was sick, but Lazarus died four days before Jesus arrived. We know that Jesus went on to raise Lazarus from the dead, but Mary spent four long days where she thought she had lost him forever. She may have even anointed his dead body with some of the perfume she uses on Jesus’s feet.

Mary, sitting around the table with Jesus and the resurrected Lazarus, appreciates the priceless treasure of being physically present with people she loves. She wants to anoint Jesus with her expensive perfume now because she knows that the people she loves could be gone at any time. Jesus allows her to give him this extravagant gift because he also knows that the physical presence of our loved ones is priceless- worth far more than expensive perfume, or anything else a gazillion dollars can buy.

When I think about this story in relation to bodies, Jesus’s comment about the poor makes more sense too. Personally, I believe that caring for ourselves is a necessary first step toward caring for other people. If we don’t appreciate our own bodies, how can we have compassion for the bodies of others? Its hard to appreciate the suffering of those who don’t have enough food when we mindlessly consume junk food, or skip meals in order to race from one activity to the next. Its hard to show kindness to the teller at the bank who has been on her feet all day when we don’t pay attention to our own aches, pains, and exhaustion. Its easy to get impatient with hyper, overly excited children when we don’t take a minute to enjoy the spring sunlight that got them so wound up. In seminary, we learned that exhausted, overworked clergy are the most vulnerable to inappropriate relationships. Clergy who stop caring for their own bodies are more likely to abuse and exploit the bodies of others.

In our church and in our culture, we aren’t always kind to bodies. Today, all we have to do is read a magazine, turn on the TV, or look at a billboard to hear how our bodies are bad and need to be changed. At different times in history, the church has taught that bodies are evil and gateways to sin, or at least that bodies are just vessels for our more important souls. But I think that if we pay attention to Jesus in this text, and throughout the stories of Lent, we hear a different message. Jesus lived in a body just like ours. He walked, and talked, and touched people in his body. Over the next two weeks, he will enter Jerusalem and experience the sights, smells, and tastes in his body. He will spend his final hours with his Disciples eating and drinking with them, and washing their feet. On the cross, he experiences suffering for our sake in his body. Finally, after he is raised from the dead, he reveals himself to those he loves by breaking bread with them and allowing them to touch his body.

Jesus doesn’t just love us. He loves our bodies. And in today’s text, he calls on us to appreciate our own and other’s bodies as the priceless treasures that they are. So, as we move toward Easter, I encourage you to be kind to your body. Take a few minutes to prepare and enjoy a healthy meal. Go for a walk outside and experience the beautiful spring with all of your senses. Spend a few minutes each morning and evening clearing your mind with deep breaths. I also encourage you to give some extravagant love to the bodies of those around you. Hug your kids. Hold hands with your partner. Offer a kind touch to a co-worker who seems down.

Let’s start by reaching out to one another in peace right now. Amen.