Monday in Holy Week
Of Violent Reservoirs & Gentle Falls

Readings: Isaiah 42:1-7; Psalm 27:1, 2, 3, 13-14; John 12:1-11

We’re entering what is probably the most powerful week in our liturgical year. During this time, we are invited to accompany Jesus as he journeys into Jerusalem and all that awaits him there. In the rather lengthy readings of yesterday, we were treated to a preview of what this journey looks like, of what it is all about. We were invited to consider the significance of Jesus’ actions as he sets his face like flint and walks steadfastly onward into the Garden and onto the Cross, into the Tomb and then beyond. We were reminded that it is a journey that began long before we were born, even before time began. For it is the pilgrimage of the timeless and eternal One who though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself.... to the glory of God the Father. And it is this process of self-emptying unto glory that we are being invited carefully to contemplate and generously to share.

Our readings today help us in this effort. They call to mind two opposing images even as they transform their significance for us. The first image is that of a reservoir. At first glance, it is as comforting as it is inviting. It speaks to us of serenity and calm. It evokes for us a value that we have all been taught to cultivate from young, the value of saving, of putting something aside for a rainy day. But in the readings of today, this image is subverted into something that is far less desirable. For it is the devious words of Judas that bring this same image to mind, the same Judas who argues for saving Mary’s ointment for the poor. But his protest is born not of altruism but of self-interest. He is not setting aside alms for the poor but hoarding resources for himself. Beneath the apparently serene surface of the reservoir of his speech lies a demonic force that seeks to do Mary harm. Behind the caress of right-sounding words is a cruel hand that reaches out to break the bruised reed and quench the smoldering wick. Reservoirs can do violence too.

In contrast, Mary’s actions evoke a different image. It is that of a waterfall, cascading violently from a height. We find this in Mary’s extravagant act of affection and gratitude, as she anoints Jesus’ feet with perfumed oil. There is no pause to think about other possible uses for the costly ointment. There are no second thoughts, either about what others might say, or about the apparent waste involved. There is only a single-minded desire, on the part of Mary, to pour herself out as she does her precious salve, to express her sincere devotion to the One who comes to save us all. Of course, we must acknowledge that, in all we do, there is always room for prudence and right judgment. Even so, why does Jesus rise to her defense, if not because her extravagance mirrors, however obscurely, his own abundant and selfless outpouring of himself? You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me. Isn’t this what Holy Week is all about? And here, as with the reservoir, we find that the waterfall too is transformed. For violent as the cascading waters may be, they can also mask an exquisite tenderness, evidenced, of course, in Mary’s caress and in Jesus’ words in her defense, but also especially in the meekness with which Jesus walks to the Cross. And in the first reading we find the source of this paradoxical gentleness in extravagance: I, the Lord, have called you… I have grasped you by the hand… A bruised reed he shall not break, and a smoldering wick he shall not quench. Waterfalls can be gentle too.

As we continue to accompany Jesus on his journey this week, and contemplate the significance of his self-emptying, perhaps we might consider which image our lives tend more to evoke, the violent hoarding of the reservoir, or the gentle extravagance of the waterfall…