I will not always be with you.
Jesus says those words to Judas while they’re in Bethany. The statement comes in response to Judas’ critique of a woman who comes and anoints Jesus with perfume, expensive perfume we’re told. This is, we’re told, the last straw for Judas. This is the moment that pushes him over the edge, sending him off to betray Jesus to the Chief Priests. I figure he’s been looking for an excuse for some time.
Judas’ reasons seem good. He feels like they could have sold that perfume, given it to the poor the needy, the folks who have found themselves unemployed and struggling to pay the bills. Nothing wrong with that.
But he’s not understanding something, something that we, too, probably misunderstand. He’s trying to think about the big picture, trying to save the world. He’s focused on “the poor” and “the hungry” and all those other categories people fit neatly inside.
Jesus draws him back to the specific.
I keep Pandora playing as I write. This morning, as I read the story of Jesus’ anointing in Bethany the song “Afterimage” by Rush came on. It begins with the line, “Suddenly, you were gone from all the lives you left your mark upon.” The late Neal Peart wrote those words in response to the death of a friend who died unexpected and too young. It was no accident that those words, heard and read, came together.
Over five-thousand people died of this plague yesterday, thirteen-hundred in this country alone. Suddenly, they were gone. All the lives they touched now feel only the fading fingerprint of their presence. They are only a memory, and anything left undone for them, left unsaid will remain incomplete and unspoken.
You will not always have me.
In a very basic way, nothing is different this Holy Week than any other. I am just as mortal this April as I have been every month of my life. I have no idea how long I have before death comes for me. I never have.
But this plague has reminded all of us, I think, how fragile our lives are. We are, as was told to us at the beginning of this season, only dust that will return to dust. Our times might be shortened by this virus. We may find ourselves sick, unable to breathe, and taking our last breath. Worse, those we love dearly may be here and, suddenly, gone.
We will not always have one another.
The story of Jesus in Bethany isn’t about money, but it is about extravagance. It’s about breaking open the containers we’ve been saving for some special day and pouring them out upon those we love. It’s saying things in a bold and unashamed way. It’s letting our words and actions pour over those we love, drenching them in their perfume. Because, we will not always be able to do so.
And we will want to have left our mark upon those who have marked us.