2025 Lenten Meditations from All Saints’ Parishioners
Reflecting on the Upcoming Sunday’s Gospel: Mary of Bethany Anointing Jesus
Meditations for the Week of March 31 - April 5
John 12:1-8 | Read the Gospel for Sunday, April 6 here.
March 31: Lenten Meditation on John 12:1-8
By Justin Strickland, The Cathedral of Saint Phillip
Justin began to find his way back to church at All Saints’.
I am sitting to write this meditation right after learning that Paul, a beloved friend and member of my foyers group at church, unexpectedly passed away. Paul and his wife Sara were scheduled to host our group in their home. Sadly, life has changed and now Paul is no longer with us. I pray for Paul and Sara and all those who were touched by Paul and will miss him.
In this scripture, Mary of Bethany along with Lazars and Martha have invited Jesus into their home to host a dinner for him. It sounds a bit like a foyers group dinner I’d like to be a part of. At this dinner, Mary takes a moment to bless Jesus by anointing his feet with what she has —a bottle of expensive perfume. I’m struck by how intimate and loving this act was. To show love is to take a risk and sometimes be judged for it. Judas immediately judges Mary for using the perfume on Jesus instead of selling it for cash (which Judas likely would have stolen) but Jesus rebukes Judas and reminds him that they will not always have Jesus with them.
I am blessed to have had the pleasure of hosting my friend Paul and sharing meals with him in my foyers group. Although inviting over 12 people and cooking for them was frightening, I will always remember the smile on Paul’s face during those meals. Take a risk to show love to others and share of what you have with them. Do not let the fear of judgement hold you back from making memories while you can. We were made to show love.
April 1: Lenten Meditation on John 12:1-8
By Jane Todd
Written in 2007 when she was a senior in high school.
I am a bit of a pack rat. I cling to material scraps of my past to keep my memories alive in my mind. This tendency to keep every insignificant item that can be associated with a memory has led to the accumulation of numerous piles and stashes throughout my room.
My friend Anne was helping me clean my room last week. Each time she asked if she could throw something away I resisted, wondering how I could ever bear to part with these symbols of my past. I wondered what could be more important than my memories.
The truth was obvious upon further thought. My parents, brothers, and friends are worth more than any memory. I would willingly lay all my memories and possessions at their feet to keep them with me, because what are memories worth with no one to remember them with? The past will also be the same, but my future with those I love is subject to change. The material possessions that fill my room will always be what they are, even if I no longer have them. The people I love, however, will not be the same forever, nor will they be with me forever.
As I continue to put aside the material and its representations of my past, I can fully live in all the many moments I have left to be with those I love and appreciate what cannot be forever.
April 2: Lenten Meditation on John 12:1-8
By Kathleen Whitten
“Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair, shining gleaming steaming. . .” as that anthem of the 1960s from the musical “Hair” sang it.
The Gospel passage from Luke spotlights incarnation in a head-to-toe(s) morality play, complete with hair that was probably long and beautiful, perfume that was certainly fragrant and precious, and two people who lived that moment in human bodies. Feet aren’t just feet, and hair isn’t just hair.
In Roman art, only gods and heroes are shown with bare feet, so Gentiles would have understood immediately that the story was telling them Jesus was God. And, of course, there’s the tradition of foot-washing as humility. Jesus’s calloused feet trudged mile after mile on the dusty business of saving a world that didn’t know it needed saving.
In this story, the foot-washing becomes an extravagant example of norm-busting hospitality and friendship. Mary not only welcomes Jesus into her home and washes his feet, she also uses her best perfume and her hair. Social norms of the day preached that loose hair equaled loose morals. But there’s no hint of Jesus’s disapproval. Instead, He rebukes Judas, the sanctimonious prude, by reminding him that His life would be short.
Jesus is also reminding us that our lives are impermanent, and that we can glimpse the Kingdom of God while we’re living in our own human bodies. Without a body, we humans cannot experience God, much less the Kingdom of God. Where can we experience the Kingdom? Right here: in the brilliant carmine of an oak tree bud, the sound of creek water over granite, the loving touch of a favorite person, the smell of your mama’s cornbread in a cast iron skillet, a clear breath taken in mindful gratitude.
April 3: Lenten Meditation on John 12:1-8
By Stephen B. Dobranski
I wish a different disciple had questioned Mary’s action, because with Judas we know he must be wrong. John, too, stacks the deck against Judas. We read that he will betray Jesus and that he does not really care about people who are poor. Also, he’s a thief.
But doesn’t even Judas have a fair point: shouldn’t Mary care about charity instead of using expensive perfume to anoint Jesus’s feet? Looking around All Saints’ on Sundays, I’ve wondered something similar. The stained-glass windows, the floral arrangements, the celebrants’ fine vestments, even my own church clothes—why not devote more money to help people who are poor?
The short answer is probably that it’s not an either-or, that we can celebrate the liturgy and cherish people who are close to us, and we can help other people who do not have enough.
But this passage from John has a different emphasis. It begins with death, as Jesus and Mary are at the home of Lazarus, whom Jesus brought back to life, and John alludes to Jesus’s own death by anticipating Judas’s treachery. Jesus, too, is thinking about dying when he says that Mary had intended to save the perfume for his funeral.
When Jesus then explains, “you do not always have me,” he suggests that all of us should live in the present and find joy now because none of us—even Lazarus, even Jesus—will have this life to enjoy forever. The description of Mary’s humble gesture invites us to reflect on the limited time that we have with each other and encourages us to treat each other kindly whenever we can.
That Mary spreads a pound of costly emollient just on Jesus’s feet sounds especially generous. She uses so much that the house “was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.” This final detail hints at the way that even small acts of affection and attention have larger consequences. Whether we are helping one person whom we love or trying to make a difference for a group of strangers, our selfless acts can spread outward and affect others, like a fragrance.
April 4: Lenten Meditation on John 12:1-8
By Nicholas Greeson
Mary kneels, breaks the jar, and pours out everything—love and devotion. The scent of perfume fills the house, lingering in the air. Judas scoffs at the waste, but Jesus sees the gift for what it is: an act of deep love.
As a parent, I think about what it means to love like that—to give without holding back. I think of my daughter, Birdie—her laughter, her endless questions, the way she trusts so completely. Loving her is the most natural thing in the world, but it also asks something of me. Parenthood is full of small, daily offerings—patience when she’s tired, comfort when she’s upset, reassurance when she has doubts.
Some moments are easy—holding her close, sharing in her wonder. Others are harder—the exhaustion, the worries, the quiet work of helping her grow into herself. Love is rarely neat or convenient, but Mary shows me that love isn’t about being practical. It’s about presence, about giving ourselves fully, even when no one else understands.
This Lent, I want to love with that kind of generosity. To offer my time, my attention, my care—trusting that no act of love, however small, is ever wasted.
April 5: Lenten Meditation on John 12:1-8
By Malcolm Guite, with permission
Come close with Mary, Martha , Lazarus
So close the candles stir with their soft breath
And kindle heart and soul to flame within us
Lit by these mysteries of life and death.
For beauty now begins the final movement
In quietness and intimate encounter
The alabaster jar of precious ointment
Is broken open for the world’s true lover,
The whole room richly fills to feast the senses
With all the yearning such a fragrance brings,
The heart is mourning but the spirit dances,
Here at the very centre of all things,
Here at the meeting place of love and loss
We all foresee, and see beyond the cross.
April 5: Lenten Meditation on John 12:1-8
By Brooke David Gifford
We exist in a world where reciprocity is the unspoken rule; a transfer of something is
contingent upon the receipt of another. We learn from an early age that you have to pay
to play. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. We expect life to be a balance of give
and take; an eye for an eye; quid pro quo.
As children in the Davis household, we expected every act of service to be recognized
and rewarded. “Why do I have to do that?” “What will I get in return?” “He doesn’t have
to, why do I?” I can still hear my mother’s persistent answer to these questions: “For the
good of the family.” As one can imagine, this response went unappreciated for years.
Where was the credit for all our hard work?! We deserved a pat on the back and maybe
a little spending money for our efforts.
But as Mary anoints Jesus’s feet, she isn’t considering payment or expecting her turn to
be next. She gives Jesus this unconditional gift, just as God’s love is a true gift given to
all of us.
When reading this week’s passage, I thought of how the phrase “for the good of the
family” evokes a different feeling than it once did. Doing something “for the good of the
family” now means doing for the sake of doing, loving for the sake of loving, helping for
the sake of helping. God encourages us to serve like Mary, living beyond the quid pro
quo.
The following week's meditations added every Friday.
