Pure Nard

A poem for this Sunday's reading from the Gospel: John 12: 1-8.

A final time at Bethany

in old, familiar company

Jesus, were your thoughts pierced through

with knowing what you had to do?

And did you clutch within your heart

a world about to break apart - 

or steady, with a conscious will,

a brimming cup so soon to spill?

Lazarus sat next to you

so grateful, and yet puzzled too

the dark thoughts of his tomb not quite

extinguished by the rising light

while diligent Martha, unreserved

and practical as always, served

her living brother, sitting by

the healer who had let him die

and round the table, sharing food,

those dear disciples loved and known

a band as close as flesh and blood

in whom the kingdom seeds were sown

yet no companion understood

the fullness of the fears you faced

until that generous sister

with a love learned from the master

poured out a salve so precious

that it seemed just like a waste.