NOTES for Joh 12:1-11

Let us imagine a small town - Bethany, where Jesus and the disciples have gathered for another supper. Lazarus was also there, recently raised by Jesus, as were his sisters Martha and Mary and perhaps some other close people. Bethany still remembers the grief of these sisters, the disciples' bewilderment, Jesus' tears, and the amazing miracle of resurrection. And now many who were probably participants in and witnesses of this miracle have gathered at one table.

As always, conversation is going on. Jesus is telling something, or, on the contrary, listening to those close to Him, supporting them with a look, a smile, a word. The meal has already begun. And then one of the sisters does something that every person who hears the preaching of the Gospel will hear about (see Matt. 26:13). The house is filled with the fragrance of myrrh and of love brought to Jesus. Everyone is silent. Jesus Himself is silent, and so are all those present, not knowing how to react, or perhaps having understood that a reaction clothed in words is not needed. And only the emptiness in Judas's heart, which is not filled with love, cries out.

This can be called anything: betrayal, hypocrisy, calculation, greed, putting one's own opinion forward as the most important, and so on. Besides all this, the list may include qualities very necessary and useful to people. But one thing is clear: this is "non-love." Love can be displaced or replaced; one can act correctly and righteously (as the Pharisees, for example), but without love, and then it has no value, because it sweeps away everything in its path.

Let us try, during the coming Passion Week, before doing anything, to invite Love into our hearts, and therefore Christ. For where Love is, there God is.

Why does an enthusiastic crowd meet Jesus on the streets of Jerusalem? The Evangelist answers this question quite plainly: because the news that He had raised Lazarus had already spread through the city, since Bethany is very close to Jerusalem. And, of course, many people then thought that the long-awaited Messiah had finally come: it was His coming that would mark the beginning of that universal resurrection before the Last Judgment, in which most believing Jews of that time believed and for which they waited. It would seem that this faith and these expectations fully matched the main goal of the Savior's earthly ministry, whose fulfillment was already very near. Victory over death was close; it seemed that nothing now prevented Him from declaring it openly.

And yet there was something that substantially distinguished the people's expectations from the new reality coming into the world. The report of Lazarus's resurrection, or more precisely the reaction of the Jerusalem crowd to it, marked this difference as clearly as nothing else could. The people truly were waiting for and wanted a universal resurrection. But they saw this resurrection as a return to the understandable and familiar life of the untransfigured world, which, if only it were freed from illnesses and the threat of an unavoidable end, seemed to them an ideal. Of course, a solution to all social problems was also expected: in the messianic Kingdom there would be not only no sick people, but no poor people either; everyone would be fed and, if not rich, at least well-off. And many of those who greeted Jesus thought that now, when "the process had begun," He would finally proclaim Himself openly as the Messiah and take up what had long been expected of Him: drive the Romans and other Gentiles out of Judea, stand at the head of the newly created state, solve all social problems, issue just laws based on the Torah, and solve every problem miraculously, just as He had acted until now, healing, raising the dead, and feeding the crowds.

And perhaps only Jesus Himself knew that nothing of the sort would happen. The resurrection would begin only at the moment of His death on the cross, when the tombs would be opened and the first righteous people would come out of them, raised not to their former life but to a new life, to the life of that Kingdom which He brought into the world.

Today's reading once again returns us to Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from the dead. Although he remains in the background, he nevertheless takes part in such events as the anointing of Jesus (vv. 1-11) and the Lord's entry into Jerusalem (vv. 12-19). At the beginning of the account we meet Lazarus in the house where the events unfold (vv. 1-2), and his presence draws many people's attention to what is happening when they might otherwise have noticed nothing (v. 9). According to the evangelist, even Jesus' triumphant reception in the streets of Jerusalem was connected to a significant degree with the rumors spreading through the city about the man who had died and whom He had raised (vv. 17-18).

Such attention to Lazarus and to everything connected with the miracle of Jesus raising him is, of course, no accident. For most believing Jews, the resurrection of the dead was a sign that the day of Judgment and the messianic Kingdom had arrived. Someone capable of performing such miracles was naturally regarded as the long-awaited Messiah. Jesus Himself, who had previously concealed His messiahship and revealed the mystery of His ministry to only a few, now bears direct witness to His mission: He accepts the greetings of the people gathered in the city streets, who welcome Him as the Messiah (vv. 12-15). Indeed, after so evident a manifestation of the Kingdom's power before everyone, it would have been utterly impossible to continue concealing His messiahship. On the other hand, Jesus now had very little time left before completing His earthly ministry, so He no longer needed to fear being drawn into religious and political games by being made the leader of yet another messianic uprising.

But even such plain evidence apparently did not convince everyone. Neither the Temple leadership (vv. 10-11) nor most of the leaders of the Pharisaic movement (v. 19) changed their opinion of Jesus. Yet this position can hardly have been determined by any evidence or arguments. Had arguments been at issue, one could scarcely find one weightier than the living Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised before a multitude of witnesses. But judging by the evangelist's account, the priestly circles' only response to this argument was a plan to kill Lazarus and thus rid themselves of him as living evidence that Jesus was right.

This is plainly no longer about evidence or theological discussion but about a political game whose outcome is known in advance. Those who play it have no need of the Kingdom. They need religious and political stability in society, which in their view justifies any sacrifice. If at first the issue concerned only One (John 11:49-50), it now concerns at least two. Such is the logic of earthly power when it opposes the Kingdom: unwilling to acknowledge the obvious, it merely multiplies its victims as it tries to eliminate everyone who might become a witness to the Kingdom. It is the logic of the powers of darkness that leads the Savior to the cross.

Answering Judas's remark, the Lord says that, unlike the poor, He will not always be with the disciples. He went away, but He remained - this is the mystery of our faith. And He remained in those very poor whom Judas supposedly wanted to comfort ("What you did to them, you did to Me" Matt 25).

And there truly are many poor people around, and it is not only a matter of income or poverty - everyone lacks the living minimum of love. Are we not poor too?

And it is precisely thanks to this mystical presence of Jesus among us - on our streets, in the subway, in our homes - that we can follow Mary of Bethany, who showed mercy to her Lord by anointing Him with costly spices. To show love to those poor in love - this is our anointing too, for which Christ is always near.