It is striking to me how much of an atmosphere is created and held when you are in the presence or even participating in the dying process of a person.  Maybe it is not that the sacredness of the environment is so much created but perhaps ‘caught’ would be a better term.  It is as if the Presence in passage spontaneously permeates everything and everyone in an inexplicable manner.  It is unforgettable, even as much as it cannot be described.  And it is not solely experienced at the very moment of death necessarily.  It can occur at any point where a felt sensation of care and holding arises. Love and care is gathered in persons – this is hospice.

In this hospice, there is an aliveness that has a quality of vibrancy that seems to exceed or explode anything experienced before.  It’s an aliveness that is shared most times without words and it is moved around the gathered circle like a gentle albeit sharp and confident whirlwind that reveals itself through unsayable sensation.  The German mystic, Jacob Boehme, gives the word tinctur to express this outflowing of the hidden power of the Divine making itself visible through qualities of sensation.[i]   Boehme goes on to say that, for example, when fragrant plants are used for medication, it is not the sharp smell of the plant that effects the cure but rather that from which such smell or balm has arises, the tinctur.

Six days before Passover Jesus came to Bethany,
where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead.
They gave a dinner for him there, and Martha served,
while Lazarus was one of those reclining at table with him.
Mary took a liter of costly perfumed oil
made from genuine aromatic nard
and anointed the feet of Jesus and dried them with her hair;
the house was filled with the fragrance of the oil.

Today’s Gospel (Jn 12:1-11) puts me in mind of this hospice experience or event, which I have attempted to describe above.  Here, we have Jesus gathering at his closest friends’ home just a week before he would be killed.   I use the words “would be killed,” because I believe that if we listen deeply to what the scriptures are saying, we can see that Jesus had been dying for quite a while – really, his whole life.  Regardless of whether or not he knew he was going to be killed, much less how he would be killed, he knew he was dying, willingly.  Every word, every healing, every loving action, was a dying to self and a giving of life.  This is his path, and it seemed that there were very few around him that realized this.  This is as much true for us today. Yet these three, Lazarus, Martha, and Mary, seemed to get it.

Dinner is served by Martha.  Lazarus, the one who was brought back to life by Jesus, reclines at the table with Jesus.   And Mary…what does Mary do?  She breaks open a container of expensive perfumed oil and anoints Jesus feet, followed by her drying his feet with her hair.  What extravagance!!  What deep love, nourishment and care this home is providing.

I can hear the words of Isaiah (Is 42:1-7) resounding through the airwaves in this deep place of home and care…

Here is my servant whom I uphold,
my chosen one with whom I am pleased,
Upon whom I have put my Spirit;.

These words are not just designations for Jesus –they are shared among everyone gathered in the hospice space.

The house was filled with the fragrance of the oil   –  what great Hospice!

Where is this wonderful healing fragrance coming from?  Could it be Boehme’s tinctur that we talked about above, i.e., the outflowing of the hidden power of the Divine making itself visible – welling up from within the home?  The smell of God released through the Divine feminine gesture, unbounded in its extravagance and attunement?    Wherever it is coming from, it is real and it is present and Jesus recognizes the holy hospice gathered and shared.

In the Gospel story, when Judas objects to the expensive oil being used, Jesus replies, with reference to Mary’s anointing:

“Leave her alone. Let her keep this for the day of my burial.”

Are there limits of care and if so, what are they?  This is a question that confronts us in our world situation now?  Medical staff are selflessly giving their lives over to the care of those sick and dying from the coronavirus.  We are in a wide space in need of hospice in so many shapes and forms.  We must grapple, on the one hand, with social distancing, and on the other hand, with being available and really present in whatever way we can with loved ones who are dying.  But, who else is dying?

How can we create, participate, and maintain hospice not only for those who are sick and dying from the coronavirus, but for those, perhaps all of us, who are struggling with the many deaths we are facing as a result of the pandemic?  Will we look deep enough at some of these deaths in our own lives to re-evaluate the value we might ascribe to them?  What is the big picture effect of our ways of life on everyone else and everything – socially, economically, personally, globally?  What is worth bringing back to what we have considered normal?  These are hospice matters.

The story of the hospice dinner at the home of Lazarus, Martha and Mary, is an invitation to allow the Divine way to become the human way.  Attunement, communion and care are always available to spontaneously break forth in vibrant aliveness that transforms death itself by inoculating it with divine life. We have only to attune and participate, just as Jesus did – trusting that the Life that draws us toward itself arises from within and is directed to descend and gather, so that all may arise…

I have grasped you by the hand;
I formed you, and set you
as a covenant of the people,
a light for the nations,
To open the eyes of the blind,
to bring out prisoners from confinement,
and from the dungeon, those who live in darkness.

[i] Jacob Boehme, THE WAY OF CHRIST (Paulist Press: 1978), 219-220