The Sweet Scent of Death

The Venerable Joan Clark

John 12:1-8

What does death smell like? I’m guessing that many of you might say flowers. But not just any flowers. Heavily fragrant flowers. Dozens and dozens of them. Huge floral arrangements freshly plucked and designed to impress ooze that honeysuckle smell that masks the decomposition of the body. These aren’t light, wisps of perfume but a pungent, aromatic, overwhelmingly oppressive scent that chokes our senses, even as it chokes us up emotionally. Why? Because for us, this is the scent of funerals and memorial services. Whether in a church or in a viewing space, the sheer number of fresh, floral arrangements, containing several deeply ambrosial kinds of flowers, fills the air in that room with a thick, sickening aroma that reminds us with every molecule of our senses that our loved one lies silent among them.

With that sticky, fruity, pungent odour comes the smell of silence. The smell of decay. The sickening sweet smell of death.

Lilies, carnations, gladiolus, chrysanthemums, gardenias, a veritable garden of funerary reality. These may mask formaldehyde and embalming fluid. But they also mark the reality of death, and in so doing become the symbol of death itself.

All you need to do is get a whiff of that heavy, blanket-like sweetness, and a pall comes over your heart.
In Jesus’ time, that equally thick, heady scent was perfumed oil: spikenard, myrrh, aloes, frankincense, or other spices, resins, and other heavily fragrant oils.

In the first century, and still in the Jewish tradition, a body must be buried the day of its death. This was not only a hygienic custom, but one that honoured the dead. The worst imaginable fate would be for animals and birds to feast on the corpses of family and friends. Loved ones therefore would gather the body of their dead relative or friend and quickly prepare it for burial. Tradition called for the body to be cleansed and then wrapped in linens soaked in spices and perfumed oils.

Spikenard, one of the most expensive but common of oils used for burial, was an amber coloured oil derived from a flowering plant from the honeysuckle family, grown in the east, primarily in India and the Himalayas. No doubt, it was bought as an import, perhaps from a ship merchant in Capernaum during one of the disciples’ travels. We learn in our scripture for today that Jesus himself saw the nard as put aside for his eventual burial. When Mary pours the liquid resin over Jesus’ feet and wipes them with her hair, an extremely intimate gesture, Jesus sees her as preparing his body for death. In doing so, she is honouring him beyond measure, but also demonstrating the depth of her faith and commitment to him and his mission.
Throughout Jesus’ ministry, his disciples continually thwart his plan to journey to his death. They do not fully understand his plan of resurrection, nor do they want to think about the end of the mission as they know it. Their minds are always on Plan B. No matter how many times Jesus tells them that he must die, in order for all of them to live, most of the time, they pass it off as one of those things he says that they really don’t get and don’t want to think about.
Except for Mary.

Mary, who in a prior story sits at Jesus’ feet enthralled with who he is.

Mary, who believes that Jesus can heal and raise her brother Lazarus from the dead just days before this dinner.

Mary, whose faith is so deep and so pure that she takes Jesus at his word, and instead of trying to coax him from his fate, instead anoints him in his mission.

Mary, who prepares Jesus for burial, honouring him and preparing him for the struggle ahead with every ounce of her perfume and every corner of her heart.

Mary, who sends Jesus on his heart-breaking, difficult, arduous journey with the memory of that intimate, loving moment forever locked in his heart and mind, evoked by the sweet smell of lingering spikenard.

No matter how long that journey takes or how many clothes the guards strip away, the smell of that oil on Jesus’ skin will remain with him to the moment of his death. The feet that trudge through dirt and stone, carrying that wooden cross with every step, send wafts of perfume through the air, reminding him of her care. Even when he’s hoisted onto the cross, the memory of Mary, of her faithfulness, her gentleness, and her love, will stay with him, just as though she were right there beside him, comforting him in his grief. Her presence is forever preserved in the lingering scent of spikenard.

For Jesus, the scent of that perfume as he faces his death is his greatest salve. It may be the scent of death, but for Jesus, it is also the scent of love, honour, commitment, and comfort.

For Judas however, the smothering smell of spikenard provokes in him an extreme aversion. Even a panic perhaps. With every breath of that heavy, airless perfume, he is reminded of the deed he has performed. For he already knows, he will be responsible for Jesus’ demise. Smelling that spikenard must have been like the scent of funerary flowers to a murderous and guilty heart. Like peering into a mirror, that sweet perfume reminded him of his deed, exposed for all to see.

For Judas, the scent of spikenard is the scent, not just of death but murder. For Judas, the scent of spikenard is the sickening sweet scent of betrayal.

The kiss of death.

No wonder he acts out angrily, accusing Mary of wasting what was meant for the poor. Even the author of the scriptures reminds us just how false that statement was, as Judas was known to have pilfered money from the ministry chest, money he could easily replace with the silver with which he had bought Jesus’ death.

Smells evoke memories, feelings, thoughts within us. For Judas, that smell would haunt him from that day forward, as every whiff he took, he would breathe in the stale, oppressive air of his own betrayal, betrayal, betrayal.

I know no more stifling emotion than guilt. It would be guilt that would finally drive a haunted and tortured Judas to his own grave in the Potter’s field.

The oil of spikenard prepares us for the reality, urgency, immanency, and poignancy of Jesus’ death by evoking in us the reverent, heart-wrenching feelings of a funerary service. In a sense, at this time of our Lenten journey, we too are preparing ourselves for an emotional and enduring grief. May the sweetness of your love for Jesus prepare you for the time that is to come.

This Holy Communion, I invite you all therefore to smell the sweet scent of spikenard, even as you consume the body and blood of our Lord Jesus. As you partake of Jesus’ sacrificial gift of life, remember the love and commitment that he must have felt as he not only died a wrenching and painful death but did it for our sake, pleading with God with his dying breath to forgive us for what we were about to do.
May the scent of this day remain with you. And may the sweetness of Jesus’ sacrifice forever remain upon you like perfume, so that you always remember from where and from whom you received your life.