Mary’s scandalous love

Jesus is going to die. 

In less than a week, Jesus will hang, betrayed by his own. 

He is a man, desperate to say goodbye to those He loved so desperately in the world.
He is a God, desperate to teach humanity the keys of Heaven before He goes. 

He is misunderstood and will be seen as a failure when He dies a criminal’s death instead of raising armies to overturn governments. 

He is utterly and completely alone in His despair.  

And so Jesus goes to a place that has always been His refuge—the home of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. His dearest friends throughout His ministry—a sanctuary where He can breathe and be Himself and gather with those He loves. 

While there, eating the humble meal Martha has prepared, chatting with Lazarus, He notices a shift in Mary. 

Mary knows something the others do not. Mary, who knew that her place was at Jesus’ feet instead of in the kitchen with her sister where society expected her to be. Mary, who knew that Jesus could save her brother Lazarus when all hope was lost. Mary, who never hid her emotions or desires, even when they were scandalous. 

Mary knew Jesus was about to die. 

Overcome with this knowledge and the preemptive grief that flooded into her, Mary slipped into her room and took the jar of nard she had saved up years to purchase. Unable to contain her own sorrow, the tears streaming down her face, Mary enters into the main room and disrupts this seemingly ordinary meal among friends—disrupts her sister’s carefully thought-out meal, disrupts her brothers’ conversation with Jesus—and she falls at the feet of her teacher, her savior, her God. She struggles with the cork on the jar of burial oil, frustration in her grip as emotion wrenches through her. Finally, she uncorks the jar, and she pours its entirety onto Jesus’ dirty feet. 

The room falls silent in disbelief and then shock. Mary’s weeping is the only sound, and it burrows into their hearts. 

The fragrance of that expensive oil fills every crevice of the small room, potent and suffocating, yet somehow intriguing and lovely. The odor pulls at memories of death. Lazarus is reminded of his own death and resurrection, of his own body smelling of this very perfume underneath the stink of his 3-day decaying body. The scent toys with loss and love and family gathered. To the women, the smell evokes the memories of being together with sisters and mothers and daughters and aunties as they weep and massage the oil into the skin of a dead loved one. 

Mary’s head covering falls away as she bows her body over Jesus’ feet, and her dark, curly, hair tumbles loose. Not having a cloth nearby, she takes her own tumbling loose tendrils and begins wiping the grime from the feet of her God, her tears splashing against the oil and soaking up into her hair. 

Jesus looks down at her, and He finds her stunning. 
Her grief is real and aching. 
Her hair a tangled mess of grime and oil and water. 
The potency of the scent so close to Him seems to burn. 

And like the time Mary threw herself on Him when her brother died, this naked show of raw emotion does something to Jesus. 
For he too will wash the feet of his friends in a few days, inspired by this reckless, ostentatious act. 

It is captivating. She is captivating. 
No one dares to speak into the wonder and horror that is filling the room. 

Except one.
One who cannot and will not understand Mary. 
One who cannot and will not understand Jesus.

”Why was this fragrant oil not sold for 300 denarii and given to the poor?”

Oh Judas, Judas, you are worried and distracted by many things. But few things are needed—indeed only one. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken from her.

When Jesus speaks, it is not what we would expect Him to say based on his entire ministry. We think Him dismissive of the poor in this moment, but it is not that. His response is about Judas missing the point. 

It is about Judas disrupting something beautiful and tender and real. 

It is about Judas attempting to project shame onto Mary.

It is about Judas, scandalized by Mary’s opulence and love. 

It is about a man too prideful to allow a woman’s presence, a woman’s knowing, to contradict what he wants from Jesus.

It is about a zealot, angered by the truth that his warrior king was going to die, and it wasn’t going to turn out the way he wanted.

Jesus rebukes Judas’ focus on worldly matters, just like he rebuked Martha when she complained of her sister’s disruptive actions.

Sometimes, when it all seems insurmountable--

When there seems to be no end to poverty.

When it feels like our friends and family just don’t get it. 

When we believe our God to be dead or impotent or uncaring--

We are called to be Mary. 

We are called to feel and lament and weep. 
We are called to worship and drop to our knees at the feet of Jesus in love and trust, even when we do not understand.