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Monday of Holy Week

Lent

First Reading Isaiah 42:1-7

Behold, my servant, whom I uphold, My chosen, in whom my soul delights: I have put my Spirit on him. He will bring justice to the nations. He will not shout, Nor raise his voice, Nor cause it to be heard in the street. He won't break a bruised reed. He won't quench a dimly burning wick. He will faithfully bring justice. He will not fail nor be discouraged, Until he has set justice in the earth, And the islands wait for his law. God the Lord, He who created the heavens and stretched them out, He who spread out the earth and that which comes out of it, He who gives breath to its people and spirit to those who walk in it, says: "I, the Lord, have called you in righteousness. I will hold your hand. I will keep you, And make you a covenant for the people, As a light for the nations, To open the blind eyes, To bring the prisoners out of the dungeon, And those who sit in darkness out of the prison.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 27:1, 2, 3, 13-14

The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life. Of whom shall I be afraid? When evildoers came at me to eat up my flesh, Even my adversaries and my foes, they stumbled and fell. Though an army should encamp against me, My heart shall not fear. Though war should rise against me, Even then I will be confident. I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord. Be strong, and let your heart take courage. Yes, wait for the Lord.

Gospel John 12:1-11

Then, six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, who had been dead, whom he raised from the dead. So they made him a supper there. Martha served, but Lazarus was one of those who sat at the table with him. Therefore Mary took a pound of ointment of pure nard, very precious, and anointed Jesus' feet and wiped his feet with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the ointment. Then Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, one of his disciples, who would betray him, said, "Why wasn't this ointment sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor?" Now he said this, not because he cared for the poor, but because he was a thief, and having the money box, used to steal what was put into it. But Jesus said, "Leave her alone. She has kept this for the day of my burial. For you always have the poor with you, but you don't always have me." A large crowd therefore of the Jews learned that he was there; and they came, not for Jesus' sake only, but that they might see Lazarus also, whom he had raised from the dead. But the chief priests conspired to put Lazarus to death also, Because on account of him many of the Jews went away and believed in Jesus.

Reflection

As Holy Week begins, we find ourselves in Bethany, where the air is thick with the scent of precious nard and the tension of approaching death. Mary's extravagant gesture—pouring out a year's wages worth of perfume on Jesus' feet—speaks to something deeper than mere devotion. Here we encounter the economy of love, which operates by entirely different rules than the marketplace.

Notice how Judas frames his objection in terms of practical charity, yet his heart harbors theft and betrayal. The contrast is jarring: Mary's authentic love expressed through costly sacrifice, versus Judas's false concern masking selfish motives. This tension plays out in our own lives whenever we're tempted to judge others' expressions of faith or love as "wasteful" or "excessive."

The servant song from Isaiah paints a portrait of quiet strength—one who won't break bruised reeds or snuff out flickering wicks. This gentle power stands in stark contrast to the world's understanding of authority. Jesus embodies this servant leadership, receiving Mary's tender care while knowing full well that the religious authorities are plotting not only his death, but Lazarus's as well.

There's something profound about timing here. Mary seems to understand what even the disciples miss—that this moment of intimacy and beauty may be the last. She doesn't wait for a more convenient time or worry about appearances. Her love compels immediate action.

The psalm reminds us that even when armies encamp against us, we can wait with confidence for the Lord's goodness. This isn't passive resignation but active trust, the kind that enables extravagant love even in the face of approaching darkness.

How might we recognize when the Spirit is calling us to acts of "wasteful" love? What bruised reeds or dimly burning wicks in our communities need gentle tending rather than harsh judgment?