Angi Aymond

Matthew 26, Mark 14, John:12

It was six days before Passover, and the crowds were filling the streets of Jerusalem.

Jesus and His disciples arrived in Bethany, just outside the city. It was safer for Him there, for just a bit longer.

Bethany was the village where Mary and Martha lived. Where Lazarus, the one called from his own grave just a short time earlier, lived again.  

A dinner was given at the home of Simon the Leper. (With Simon too familiar a name, his  moniker provided clarity. So glad my past isn’t my nickname!)

To be sure, Jesus had healed this Simon, for he would not have been hosting a dinner party otherwise.

Gathered at Simon’s home were Jesus, his twelve disciples, and the Bethany siblings. As the men reclined around the table, Martha scurried, serving her Guest of Honor. The others, too.

Though not in her home, Martha was her usual busy self. Oh, she was prone to grumble, but no one mentioned her grumbling tonight.

The conversation turned to Mary.

Here’s where I stopped to pause for just a moment.

Because the writers of the gospels jumped right to the point, I needed to let my mind imagine. I wanted to fill in some details, not to change the story’s purpose, but to let the scene come to life. To feel it as deeply as I could. So, I invite you to imagine with me.

As the conversation lingered, Martha cleared the table, but Mary remained at the feet of Jesus. Always at His feet.

Mary reached inside her tunic to find the alabaster jar she had tucked away. A jar filled with exquisite perfume, it could have been her dowry, her everything.

Mary smashed the jar against the table, breaking it open — she wasn’t saving some for later.

Letting down her hair, (gasp!) she poured this perfume on the feet of Jesus and brushed them with her hair. (gasp!) The air was thick with its fragrance.

Judas Iscariot could not contain his indignation. He scolded Mary for such a waste! A few others joined his misinformed rebuke.

But it was too late. Though Mary’s heart pounded and her face flushed, it was done. Spilled. Poured out.

Did Mary know? Did she know what the apostles could not let themselves believe? That Jesus was going to suffer and die? I believe she did.

She’d sat at His feet and heard Him teach. She had listened with both her heart and mind. And Mary had experienced the life-giving love of Jesus. And in return, nothing was too much for Him. Nothing was too extravagant for her Savior.

Jesus spoke to the harsh opinions the others offered, for He was always her defender. He said she had poured her treasure upon Him, preparing for His burial. He added, “She did what she could.” And “people will talk about her wherever the gospel was preached.”

And, well, friends, here we are.

Extravagant worship was Mary’s legacy. Her love wasn’t wasted.

An extravagant love for Jesus is never wasted.

In reading the gospels side by side, I noticed a few things I had not seen before. This anointing did not happen at the home of Mary and Martha. In John’s gospel, it’s easy to make that assumption and wonder if there were two separate anointings that week, but I do not believe there were. (Yes, I could be wrong.)

What is the point of this shallow rabbit hole where I have taken us all?

My observation is this: Mary wasn’t sitting at the feet of Jesus when she suddenly became moved by what He was saying; she didn’t slip out to her bedroom to get her alabaster jar. Mary came to the home of Simon the Leper with her precious bottle of perfume, having already decided to give Jesus her everything.

If this perfume had indeed been her dowry, she was giving up much more than exquisite perfume. She sacrificing a year’s wages, but also the prospect of marriage. Without her dowry, no man would have come calling for her hands in marriage. And while that lands differently with us today, it was a big deal then.

Yes. Mary gave Jesus everything; what she held in her hands, as well as her future dreams and provision.

I wonder. Would I have been as brazen as Mary? Would I have given Jesus all I had and hoped to have?

Or would I have poured just a smidgen? Just a drop? Withholding what I might need for later, stewarding well what I had been given.

Would I have done nothing? Believing what I had to give was too little? Too insignificant?

Or would I have pulled back, afraid to show my love, too concerned about what others might think? Avoiding a scene, a scandal.

What about even now?

Do I worship extravagantly? Do I lay all that I have at His feet? My pride? My dreams? My talent and treasure?

Do I do what I can or make excuses, claiming what I can give is of too little value?

What about you, my friend?

What’s in your alabaster jar? Are you willing to break it and pour it all at the feet of Jesus?

Heavenly Father, just as Mary sat at the feet of Jesus, I too long to be in Your presence. To rest in Your arms.

As we reflect upon the last days of our Savior, give us eyes to see not only those who were there but hearts to see ourselves as well. And with honesty Lord, may we confess what needs confessing and move toward You with our alabaster jars. Ready to pour out for You what we have. So that our lives would be a pleasing sacrifice to You. Amen.