Reflections from The Hill – Hair – John 12.1-9

 

Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair

Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen

Give me down to there, hair, shoulder length or longer

Here baby, there, momma, everywhere, daddy, daddy …

So begins the theme song of the Rock Musical “Hair”, a shock-wave of impropriety once upon a time that would hardly raise a gasp these days.

 

When this song starts, my old-man’s mind flips straight to the Gospel Reading for today. True. And a picture emerges of a long-haired lady falling at Jesus’ feet de-tressing her locks …

 

What on earth was she thinking? I mean, hair is such an intimate part of the body that its use as a washer and a towel for someone’s else’s feet only raises lots of questions that I’d rather not even think about.

 

I must admit, the whole hair thing is way out of my comfort zone. It’s hard enough having a haircut, without a blow-dry as well. Certainly, the length of hair on my hoary head precludes me washing my own face with it, let alone someone else’s feet.

 

It’s not at all surprising, then, to discover that Judas’ response to Mary’s actions was somewhat curt. He’s right: the year’s-wages worth of pure nard is a ridiculous amount of money to spend just on one pedicure or hairdo.

 

The fact that this scene had the added bonus of a resurrection does change things, so I don’t suppose you can blame Mary; not really. I guess that she was simply trying to put some shape to the feelings of thankfulness that were going on deep in her spirit.

 

Judas’ outburst only confuses things, for in response, Jesus links Mary’s actions with the question of discipleship and, to my mind, that’s the major factor.

 

Discipleship and its corollary of servanthood, is on show here; that much is obvious. And we see that it’s a double-edged sword – that discipleship and service is both giving to and receiving from another.

 

It’s not hard to be struck by the parallels we’ll read about before we get to Good Friday, where Jesus strips down and washes the feet of the disciples ‘while they were at supper’.

 

There’s no long hair there. There’s no fragrance of nard to fill the room, only a serious call to do similarly. The rub comes, as I’ve already intimated, in receiving: put up your hand if you really want your feet washed, your load made lighter or your ordinary life graced by the sweetness of sacrificial love?

 

It’s a tough ask, isn’t it? Tough because you and I tend not to believe that what we are offering is in the same league as what we’re about to receive. Leaving aside our self-deprecations, I wonder what it would take to stir us to offer something as lavish and intimate as nard?

 

Servanthood is not always about neatness, either. It’s often unconventional, wasteful and improper. It’s also messy. I’m beginning to think, however, that it’s what the generosity of discipleship actually looks and smells like most of the time.

 

 

Speaking of smells, death is already starting to cloy around the players in today’s story, so what Mary is doing – and what The Bloke does in the Upper Room a while later – is what we often wished we had done, up to a point anyway.

 

Mary discovers this truth: that discipleship is about community, not about a race to get a preferred personal place at His Side.

 

Unlike us, Mary didn’t have to wait for The Bloke to die before she acknowledged his gift to us. She was pouring it all out there and then …