[At Bethany] they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. [John’s Gospel 12.2-3]

She is silent.

In each version of this story told, in every gospel, she says not a word.

In spite of all the stones hurled at her, of anger, injustice, labelling and accusation, even when she is embraced by the mercy of Jesus, not a word passes her lips.

Yet in her silence, her actions sing.

Despite being nameless in three of the four gospel stories, and labelled “sinful” when Luke tells the story, few are better known, and even fewer stories are retold so often and held with such care. Perfume, tears, embrace and anointing are the hallmarks of her love.

Mark and Matthew recall Jesus’ words, that “wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.”

So many of these women whose presence, whose ministry, is so frequently offered in silence and conducted in anonymity, proclaim in their response and their actions the reign of God.

A woman takes two small copper coins, worth virtually nothing, and almost everything, leaving those who watch in no doubt as to both her faithfulness, and the demands of the temple on those who can least afford them. Another woman, silenced by illness and social isolation, urges her way through the crowd to find not only healing at her touching of Jesus, but the embrace of his affirmation.

These women, and others, by their faithfulness and courage, urge us to a more complete discipleship. Mary, clearly identified as one of Jesus’ disciples, by her attention to his word as she sits at Jesus’ feet, and by her affirmation of faith, offered only a heartbeat after her brother’s death, offers now a sacrament of anointing.

No word is needed. Such extravagance, such generosity. Measured not by dollars and cents and bookkeepers, but by the perfume which fills the house.

This prophetic word which Mary tells soundlessly, by expending so much of herself in one moment. This wondrously wasteful, intimate act, acknowledging that suffering and death stand at the door, waiting for Jesus.

This song she sings, knowing that she will not have Jesus with her for much longer, urging us to understand.

What is it for us to be so generous, when we have been so consciously taught to be careful, even frugal? What will it mean for us to be wasteful in such a way as Mary, to be as courageous as she is, and those other unnamed women who find their way to Jesus and to justice, to hope and healing?

What will it mean, indeed, for us to not only find our own way to Jesus, but to open the way for the nameless others who have been told, consistently, there is no path, no healing and no place?

Mary sings it for us, always.