Poem for Monday of Holy Week

Mary of Bethany realizes there is no point in saving burial perfumes

This is the smell of burial—

              the sweet aromatic telling you all hope is gone

              when you would give anything for just a little more time

But my brother is here now

              eating dinner with Jesus


So I will take the perfume I bought for Jesus’ burial

              and pour it on him now—

              the smell of resurrection

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