“Created to be Disruptive”

Fifth Sunday in Lent

April 6, 2025

Hand stopping falling dominoes

 Isaiah 43:16-21

Luke 12:1-8

Children’s Message:

Set up dominoes or pieces of wood to topple when pushing one over.

Have you ever done this? Created a domino train that falls in sequence when you push one down? It takes a long time to set up, and only a few seconds to see it topple. What if I didn’t set it up just right? What if I left too big a space or took one domino out? Yeah, they would stop falling.

Today we heard about Jesus going to his friends’ house for a banquet. His friends were celebrating Jesus because when Lazarus—one of the friends—had died, Jesus brought him back to life! That’s a pretty big deal. What would you do for someone who brought a family member back to life? A party just doesn’t feel big enough, does it?

Well, Mary—Lazarus’ younger sister—felt the same way. So, she went to the market and bought the most expensive thing she could find. It was a very fancy oil from very far away. She bought the whole bottle. And while Jesus was eating with Lazarus and the disciples, she went to his feet and poured the WHOLE bottle on them. And then, gasp, she took her hair down and used it to wipe the oil on his feet.

That sounds silly to us, but it was a really big deal. In the middle of everything going on, she stopped everyone with her act of love and worship. It was like pulling a domino out of the series and stopping everything so that everyone would pay attention to Jesus and show him their love.

Let’s pray: Dear God, you give us life and show us how to live. Help us show you the kind of love that stops everything in its tracks. Amen.

Message:

It’s more than just the wastefulness of the oil. That’s bad enough. But it’s the shameful act Mary engages in—in mixed company, no less! She loosens her hair. She caresses Jesus’ feet. She doesn’t just wash them, as a servant would their master. She uses her hair and caresses them. It’s an act reserved for the marriage bedroom. The hair, the action, the oil—it’s too much. It’s not how things are done among upstanding Jewish people. It’s far too sensual, too intimate, too extravagant. And the meal grinds to a halt.

Mary has disrupted this celebratory banquet with her act. Everyone stares in disbelief. What will Jesus do? Should someone say something? What does it mean? Judas knows what it means. This wasteful act could have been directed elsewhere. To him. Given the responsibility of the purse for the disciples, he had been slowly lining his own pockets. But he has to keep up appearances.

Likely, Lazarus’ family had been one of Jesus’ largest benefactors. Judas was watching their money slide down Jesus’ feet and fill the room with the scent of the ointment. “It could have been used for the poor,” he says. Of course, we all know that isn’t what he had in mind. “Why do we send aid to other countries when we have poor people right here in our own?” they ask. Except, they don’t care about the poor people here any more than they care about them somewhere else.

What they really mean is that any money not lining their pockets is a waste. Caring for the poor and marginalized is a waste. Fighting against policies that don’t seem to impact us is a waste. Worrying about what some guy is doing in Washington that doesn’t have anything to do with me is a waste. Why should we get so worked up if it isn’t hitting our house?

Except it is. The reality of death and loss, the impact of what is being stripped away, is hitting everyone. There are just some lucky or privileged enough to not yet feel it. Lazarus had died. Martha and Mary had wept. Jesus wept. The disciples wept. Not because of the potential loss of a benefactor but because their friend was gone. Once dead, always dead.

But Jesus disrupted the pattern of death. He went to that tomb and called out to his beloved friend: “Lazarus, come out!” Lazarus emerged, bound by the death linens, which Jesus ordered to be removed. The man who had died was alive. You don’t walk away from that without being transformed. So, when they heard Jesus would be dining with them, they prepared a banquet of celebration, of honor, of worship.

And then, they did what they do best. Lazarus reclined—resting in the gracious hands of God and hosting the lavish affair. Martha prepared the food and served—her own act of dedication, service, and worship. And Mary—the one who has always chosen to sit at Jesus’ feet to learn and adore—purchased a jar of rare and expensive ointment. And when the time came, she gave all of herself to Jesus. She poured the oil over his feet, loosened her hair, and wept as she caressed him with it. So overwhelmed with gratitude and love, she left her concern over convention behind and disrupted everything for the one who defied death—for the one who WOULD defy death.

It not only disrupted the meal; it disrupted everyone’s sense of propriety, sensibility, and economy. But it made perfect sense to Jesus. In fact, Judas’ disruption of this act of worship is where Jesus draws the line.

We’ve seen disruption in these last few days and months. We’ve seen disruption to the care and service of our transgender siblings; we’ve seen disruption to the needs of pregnant women; we’ve seen disruption to innocent immigrants’ lives; we’ve seen disruption to important and necessary cancer research; we’ve seen disruption to our long-time alliance with other countries; we’ve seen disruption to financial contracts made with various service agencies like Lutheran Family Services; we’ve seen disruption to the tenuous reliance we once had on Medicare, Medicaid, and Social Security. This is not good disruption. It is Judas making a claim to the money that is not his. It is Judas crying out that the money could have been used for the poor—with absolutely no intention of doing so.

But we’ve also seen good disruption. We’ve witnessed 25 hours of Cory Booker’s call to action as he disrupted the Senate’s work. We’ve witnessed hundreds of thousands of people protesting in cities nationwide. Target has experienced good disruption as they lost $12.4 Billion in revenue after caving and removing DEI from their personnel policies.

There is a way to be disruptive—to cause good trouble—that challenges the greed and power of this world. It begins with an act of extravagant worship at the feet of Jesus. And it ends with an empty tomb. And in between, it looks like faithful people inciting grace and love in all corners of the world. It looks like a road in the desert and rivers in the wasteland. It looks like paths through mighty waters and streams in the wilderness. It looks like costly ointment poured out and resting in the arms of God and serving out of abundance and standing for the vulnerable.

It looks like God’s love lived out. For we are created to be disruptive.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE