Six days before the Passover, Jesus once again arrived at the home of Lazarus, Mary and Martha in Bethany.

For a man recently dead, Lazarus looked as healthy as the day he was born. That evening we took dinner in the home of a neighbor and friend, known in these parts as Simon the Leper. The dinner had been given in Jesus' honor. As usual, Martha scurried about orchestrating the servants as they attended to us, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. Mary sat at the feet of Jesus. With a cloth she gently toweled his feet, bare of sandals from having been washed.

"Simon the Leper" had once been a name repugnant to the man, but now he wore it like a mantle of honor. Simon's healing was one of those many events not told about Jesus. Not that it was being deliberately hidden, just never recorded. Tonight it was not forgotten. The conversation around the table focused on the raising of Lazarus and the healing of Simon.

Simon stood, raised his goblet in toast and said, "Forty and two years had I spent in the caves of the colony." He paused and the next time he spoke, his voice choked. "Forty and two years until the flesh rotted from my body!" He held up his empty hand. "Do you see these fingers?" He wiggled the four fingers of the empty hand. "Before the Lord Jesus came along, these fingers were gone. They had dropped off to bloody stumps. And now, as you can see, they are very much present and alive." All applauded and there were shouts of praise. Simon turned and gazed at Jesus, held out his raised goblet and said, "Thank you, my Lord! I owe you my life! Wholeheartedly, I thank you, my family thanks you, my friends thank you." And then he raised his voice, "To Jesus of Nazareth, from whom leprosy and death flee as if scalded! To Jesus of Nazareth, Son of God, Messiah, Lord of Lords and Friend!" There were shouts of consent and joy. Goblets around the room were raised, clinked, and we all drank in praise of him.

All drank, except for one. I noticed Judas raise his glass in toast, touch the cup to his lips but he did not drink. He returned the vessel to the table and observed the rest of us with black contempt. This went unnoticed, I think, by all except me. Later, I was to discover I was wrong about this. One other in the room knew. Before the evening was over, Judas would reveal his colors.

Judas notwithstanding, the feeling in Simon's house was joyous and convivial. Unknown to anyone, Mary had brought with her an alabaster vessel. Typically, such vessels were reserved for expensive perfumes or ointments. This one was no exception. It contained almost a lavish amount of pure nard. The oil of nard comes from the root of a plant grown only in the distant East and among the foothills of the Himalayas in India. It was rare and costly.

Mary did a surprising thing. With a gentle smile on her lips, she opened the vessel, and poured its precious contents on Jesus' feet and wiped them with her hair. I knew she was up to something! She had been sitting there massaging his feet, caressing them with her hair since he had first reclined at table. The house filled with stunning, heavenly fragrance.

Then Judas made his move, "Why wasn't this perfume sold and the money given to the poor?" he objected. "The contents of that vessel alone could have fetched enough money to feed a man's family for a year." He then began to upbraid Mary and speak to her harshly. He did not do this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief. Had the perfume been sold and had some or all of the money found its way to us, as keeper of the money bag, he would secretly help himself. Jesus knew about Judas. It is, therefore, a mystery as to why he allowed him to be treasurer. Had the perfume been sold, Judas would have found some way to profit personally from the sale. How did this man become an apostle?

"Leave her alone," Jesus replied. "Why is this bothering you? She has done a beautiful and sweet thing to me. It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial and she has chosen to use it now. What is that to you, Judas? You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me."

This was now the second time Jesus had come to the defense of Mary. And then there was that odd exchange between them when he raised Lazarus. In all of my years of knowing him, Jesus never once gave any indication that he held any romantic interests at all. It seemed his calling transcended that part of human experience. Sometimes I wondered if he had any sexuality at all. Jesus of Nazareth, for all of his humanity, was an unusual man, but how human was he? To my knowledge, he never did anything to cast a shadow over his moral integrity. Yet there seemed to unmistakably be something between him and Mary, sister to Martha and Lazarus, that did not exist between himself and other women. That substance in alabaster which Mary used to anoint the feet of Jesus was the same substance of which Solomon spoke in his song of intimacy. I cannot say that his relationship with Mary was like that. I can only say that it was special and unique, reserved, it seemed, only for her.

Jesus stared hard at Judas, challenging him. Judas knew that the poor were perennial and ubiquitous. He cared nothing for them. No one could do anything about the poor. As Jesus himself had said, they would always be here. That is why the money should be his, should it not?

But Jesus did not make this remark because he did not care for the poor, but to honor the worship and adoration in Mary's heart. Nor was he unaware that Judas cared not for the poor. He chose not to allow Judas' real motivation to diminish the significance of Mary's deed.

Then he said something that immediately galvanized our minds, "I tell you the truth," he began. Whenever Jesus said that, you knew something extraordinary was to follow.

He looked lovingly at Mary and continued, "Wherever the message of God's love and forgiveness is told throughout the world in ages to come, what Mary has done this night will also be told, in memory of her."

There it is. Jesus knew even at this moment that the world would never be the same after his life. He knew that the impact of his visit to earth would never burn out. Long after he was gone, people would remember significant events simply because it was connected to him. To this hour, when I think of Mary, I think of this moment. I think of the sweet aroma that filled the house of Simon the Leper. I think of this dear sister, this sweet woman of loving faith.