Love That Lingers

Pr. Jaz Bowen-Waring

April 6, 2025

One of my favorite poets once shared a post on Instagram for Valentine’s Day—a tribute to a friend. It read: “Friendship is the most sacred form of love. Home is less a physical location, more a good conversation with a friend. Take me there: the opposite of small talk. Romantic love is fickle and prone to spontaneous combustion. Friendship, it sticks. Keeps my feet on this earth. My head held high. Reminds me why I’m here.” I’ve been blessed with many friends who have carried me through the peaks and valleys of life—and I’ve had the honor of doing the same for them. Through school drama, graduations, heartbreaks, marriages, births, and even death, friendship has been a transforming force. I wonder who those people are for you? Today’s Gospel reading from the Book of John lifts up a special relationship in Jesus’ life that often gets overshadowed. Some folks focus on the cost of the perfume, or Judas’ response, or the awkwardness of someone pouring nard on feet and wiping it with their hair. But what strikes me this time is the deep, abiding friendship between Mary of Bethany and Jesus—a relationship that models a mutual, grounded kind of love. A love that carried both of them through the unimaginable. As Mary wiped the perfume from his feet with her hair, I wonder if Jesus remembered the meals they shared with Martha and Lazarus. I wonder if he thought back to when Mary confronted him—grief-stricken and angry—because he had arrived too late to save her brother. People may have looked on and felt awkward, even scandalized by this intimate act. But Jesus received her love, openly. And then—moved by that act of love—Jesus turned around and did something similar. He knelt before his disciples, washing their feet, and commanded them to love others as he had loved them. Judas was there. He witnessed Mary’s gesture. He felt Jesus’ hands on his own feet. And yet… he rejected Christ’s love. Judas’ betrayal wasn’t just about handing Jesus over to Roman soldiers. He betrayed Jesus by refusing to receive his love. It’s often easier to give love than to receive it. Many of us are more comfortable offering compassion than accepting it. So I ask you: How willing are you to receive love? Judas knew Jesus. He could say the “right” things. But for him, love was just a theory —a belief in his head, never embodied in his actions. The love of God was not incarnate in his life. This story reminds us of the temporary nature of the incarnation. Jesus told his disciples, “You will not always have me.” Yes, there will always be people in need—and that doesn't let us off the hook. But Jesus’ time on earth was limited. And that made it all the more powerful. The urgency of Jesus’ three-year ministry came from knowing his time was short. And so is ours. Mary Oliver once wrote: “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Are you willing to love, even if it doesn’t unfold the way you hoped? Even if it's only for a brief moment? Mary’s love was poured out extravagantly—onto Jesus’ feet, into the air, and into the memory of that moment. The fragrance filled the home she shared with her brother Lazarus. I wonder if, in the days leading up to and after Jesus' death, the scent still lingered in the rugs, in the cracks of the table, in her hair. I wonder if that same scent clung to Jesus' clothes as he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. If he caught a trace of it while washing his disciples’ feet. If it followed him into the garden as he prayed. If it stayed with him even as he hung from the cross. The feet Mary anointed with love were the same feet that were later nailed to the wood. Christ’s ultimate act of love—his death—was not a waste. It was a defiant outpouring of solidarity with the oppressed, the broken, and the rejected. To many, it looked like failure. But Love is never wasted. Love is the most abundant resource in the universe. It never runs dry. Even when you think you’ve run out—when heartbreak makes it feel like there’s nothing left to give—there is more love within you than you can imagine. Even when you feel alone, misunderstood, or forgotten—God’s love is still being poured out, abundantly and extravagantly. Even though our lives are brief, fragile, and finite, God’s love is not wasted on us. So what about you? Are you willing to pour out your love, even if it might be rejected? Are you willing to love, even knowing life is fleeting and uncertain? I pray that you experience a friendship like Mary and Jesus shared. May you pour your love out on others without fear of it running out. May you be open to receive love—even when you feel unworthy of it. May that love carry you through the unimaginable, like the lingering scent of perfume. Amen.