Fr Lev Gillet
Holy Wednesday faces us with the contrast
between two figures, two states of the soul. It is devoted to the
remembrance of two actions: the action of the woman who, at Bethany,
came to pour a jar of precious ointment on Jesus’s head, and the actions
of the disciple who betrayed his Master. These two actions are not
without a certain link, for the same disciple had protested against the
apparent prodigality of the woman.
After great compline on Tuesday evening,
as on the two preceding days, the ‘Service of the Bridegroom is
celebrated. The chants make several allusions to the ‘ungrateful
disciple’ and the ‘adulterous woman’. However, the gospel at matins
(John 12, 17-50) does not touch on this episode at Bethany. It tells
how, during one of his last meetings with the crowd, Jesus asks of the
Father: ‘Glorify thy name’. (What a model of filial prayer this brief
phrase is for us – disinterested, adoring and loving!) A voice comes
from heaven and says ‘I have both glorified it and will glorify it
again’. Jesus’s Passion and the Resurrection will be this glorification.
Some sentences from this gospel announce the Passion directly: ‘I say
unto you, except a corn of wheat falls into the ground and die, it
abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit…Now is the
judgement of this world: now shall the prince of this world be cast out;
And I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me’.
At the presanctified liturgy on
Wednesday we continue reading from Ezekiel (2, 3-3 ,3): God commands the
prophet to go amongst men fearlessly and to tell them the divinely
spoken words he has heard. We also go on with the reading from Exodus
(2, 11-22): Moses, having killed the Egyptian who struck an Israelite,
flees into the country of Midian, and there he marries. The last of
these readings, again, is from the book of Job (2, 1-10): Satan asks
God’s permission to test Job in his flesh itself, but Job, even though
covered with sores and despite his wife’s provocation, still refuses to
curse God. The gospel (Matt. 26, 6-16) tells of the anointing at
Bethany. A woman bearing precious ointment in an alabaster box, pours it
on Jesus’s head. The disciples are indignant: ‘To what purpose this
waste? For this ointment might have been sold for much and given to the
poor’. Jesus answers with praise for the woman’s deed: ‘For ye have the
poor always with you, but me ye have not always. For in that she hath
poured the ointment on my body, she did it for my burial’. Judas
Iscariot, one of the twelve, then goes to find the priests: ‘What will
you ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you?’ The priests covenant
to give him thirty pieces of silver.
Jesus approved of the woman’s action,
first because it was homage, rendered to him in anticipation of his
death and burial, and then because it was an expression of great love
which could for the short time of life he still had left, legitimately
be shown him, whereas the poor would always be there. But can we find in
these words of Jesus’s a clear directive for our own actions? It seems
that we can. For one thing, Jesus blesses the woman’s prodigality
because of certain very special circumstances: the fact of Jesus’s
visible presence among men and of the near approach of his burial. But,
now that these circumstances no longer exist, the duty is different.
While we need not condemn offering riches and beauty to the service of
God, it is above all through those members of the mystical body who
suffer that we are able to honour its head. For it would be offensive to
God if sumptuous churches were built while the poor were allowed to die
of hunger.
The episode at Bethany, however, has a
significance that goes further than the offering of a jar of ointment.
It is not only through material goods that we can give generously to
Jesus, but also by consecrating to him our intangible wealth: for
example a life of prayer, an ascetic or contemplative life, or some
costly sacrifice which seems useless. The world will protest, as did the
disciples at Bethany: to what purpose this prodigality, this waste?
Would not a normal life, devoted to the service of men, be much more
use? And yet assessment of the ‘value of the loss’ remains the nerve of
all religion that is truly alive. If we have the duty to do what we can
in cases of real and obvious distress before concerning ourselves with
cultural luxury, we have the right, in what concerns only ourselves, to
pour invisible ointment on Jesus’s head – that is to say to
‘lose’ for his sake (but in reality to gain) the best of our life. Our
heart is the first jar of ointment that we must break before him, for
him.
The case of Judas is so terrible and
obscure that we do not dare to try and explain it or enter into it. But
let us keep in mind a sentence from the ‘Service of the Bridegroom’ for
Holy Wednesday: ‘The ungrateful disciple whom thou hadst filled with Thy
grace, has rejected it’. It is indeed possible to reject grace, even
when one has been filled with it. And how many Christians are there who,
during the course of their lives, have not said to their ruling passion
– the flesh, money or pride: ‘I am ready to sell Jesus to you. Tell me
what pleasures you will give me and I will deliver him to you’?
In many churches, the sacrament of
unction is conferred during the afternoon or evening of Holy Wednesday
to all believers who desire to receive spiritual or bodily relief.
Source: L’An de Grâce du Seigneur, translated from the French by Deborah Cowen.
Source-Pemptousia.com