Jesus therefore, six days before the passover, came to Bethany, where was the dead [man] Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from among [the] dead.
Six days before the Passover, John stops the clock and gives us a date — the last week of the Lord's life on earth has begun. He does not spend its opening hours in Jerusalem, where the leaders had turned against Him. He spends them in a village where a man He had called out of a grave was still alive.
This one time-stamp marks the start of a stretch of days that fills the rest of the Gospel.
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany. So everything recorded between John 12:1 and John 20:25 falls into a brief period of seven or eight days. This is surely the most wonderful week in the world's history. In the home at Bethany lived the three who were objects of His love and who loved Him in return. A suitable opportunity had now come for them to show it. Behind them lay the death of Lazarus and His calling him to life by the voice of the Son of God. Just ahead lay the death and resurrection of the Son of God Himself.
The mention of the Passover matters. That feast turned on a lamb. Commentators line up the days of Abib, the Passover month, with the Lord's own movements.
The lamb was taken on the tenth of Abib, the day (John 12:1, 12) when our Lord entered Jerusalem on the donkey's colt. It was killed on the fourteenth, the day He died.
He was not being swept along by events. The leaders had made their plans, yet the timing belonged to Him.
But the time was drawing near when the true Passover Lamb was to be killed. We must always remember that no man took His life from Him. He laid it down of Himself.
Of all the places He could have stayed, He chose this small village. The choice says something about both places.
He will not stay in rebellious and unbelieving Jerusalem. He goes to Bethany, where the power of resurrection had been shown. There, after His people have rejected Him, He can find an object and a refuge for His heart among men.
Bethany gathers up more of His story than any other village.
Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany. It was, may we not say, the one place on earth that was specially dear to the heart of Christ. It was "the town of Mary", a saint greatly approved of Christ. It was the scene of the display of His glory in raising Lazarus. It was "there they made Him a supper". And, as we learn from Luke, it was there "He lifted up His hands and blessed them" at His ascension.
John does not just name the village. He identifies it by what happened there: a man who had been dead was alive again.
Lazarus at the table was the living witness of the glory of God in resurrection. Simon's house was full of people who knew that death had been robbed of its victory in Bethany. Those who had mourned at the tomb were now rejoicing at the table.
This supper stands right beside the hostility of the leaders.
The feast at Bethany (12:1-3) is in precious contrast with the hostility of the leaders. Here, at least, our Lord is welcome. It is a picture of a Christian feast. In it we see the power of divine grace that has given life, the liberty of true service free from self-seeking, and the joy of true worship that pours its fragrance on the feet of the blessed Lord.
- Dated. "Six days before the Passover" opens the week that runs from John 12 to John 20. Those few days carry the death and resurrection of the Son of God.
- Deliberate. The Passover lamb was set apart days before its death. Jesus walked toward the feast on His own terms. No man took His life from Him; He laid it down Himself.
- Chosen. Jerusalem refused Him, so He went to Bethany. There He was welcome, and there He would later lift His hands and bless His own.
- Marked. The village is named by a miracle: Lazarus, once mourned at a tomb, now a living witness of resurrection glory.
- Contrasted. While the leaders raged, Bethany made Him a supper — life, service and worship answering His love in the shadow of the cross.
There therefore they made him a supper, and Martha served, but Lazarus was one of those at table with him.
Six days before the Passover, in the village where Lazarus had come out of the tomb, a small group set a table for Jesus. Each person gets one line: Martha serving, and Lazarus — once dead — now seated at the table as a guest. Commentators read this scene as a picture of what the Lord receives from those He has blessed.
Through His ministry Jesus was the one who gave. This meal reverses the direction.
It was not often that anyone made a feast for Christ in this world. At times men were glad enough to receive blessing from Him. How seldom they thought of offering anything to the Blesser! In the early days of His ministry, Levi had indeed "made Him a great feast in his house" (Luke 5:29). He invited a large company of sinners to sit down with Him. Now, at length, in the closing days of His path on earth, a feast is spread for Him at which He sits down among His saints.
It happened while the authorities were already moving against Him. (Where the ESV says "dinner", the older wording used in the quotes below is "supper".)
While the world's hatred of Christ was rising, there is a little company who gather to make "Him a supper". The leaders of this world may hold their councils to put Christ to death, and issue their commands for Christ to be delivered into their hands. But this little company are not moved by their evil plotting or their useless commands. In the face of all opposition, they make "Him a supper". Surely that supper was very acceptable to Him, and the love that prepared it very precious in His sight.
John does not say where the meal took place. The other Gospel writers do — and that detail explains why John mentions Lazarus at all.
Where did the supper take place? On this John is silent; but his fellow Evangelists have both put it on record. It took place in the house of Simon the leper... Once we know the supper was in his house, we see why John mentions Lazarus sitting at the table with the Lord that day. If the supper had been in Lazarus' house, such a notice would have been unnecessary.
The man at the table had recently been in a grave. His presence was itself evidence.
Lazarus at the table was the living witness of the glory of God in resurrection. Simon's house was full of people who knew that death had been robbed of its victory in Bethany. Those who had mourned at the tomb were now rejoicing at the table.
Martha had served the Lord before. She serves again here, but something has changed.
In this happy company at Bethany we can see service, communion and worship each represented, all combining to make "Him a supper". Martha still serves, but she is no longer burdened by her service. In earlier days her service had a larger place in her thoughts than Christ. Now Christ has a larger place than her service. She is serving to make "Him a supper".
The three people here do three different things, and none is out of step.
So it was at Bethany. Lazarus was at the table, Mary at the Master's feet, and Martha was about the house. Everything was in beautiful order, because Christ was the object of each one. Lazarus would have been out of place if he had set about preparing the supper. And if Martha had sat at the table, no supper would have been prepared. But both were in their right places. We may be sure that both would rejoice in the fragrance of Mary's ointment as she poured it on the feet of their ever-loving and beloved Lord.
Each response here traces back to what these people knew of Him.
Martha was hostess and served Him. Lazarus had his part with Him at the supper table. Mary expressed her heart's devotion to Him by spending her costly ointment on Him. So we see how the knowledge of Him and of His resurrection power led to service, to communion, and to worship. Everything was happily in order — and just because it was, hostile criticism spoke out against Mary's action.
- Raised. Lazarus at the table was the living witness of God's glory in resurrection. Those who had mourned at the tomb were now rejoicing at the meal.
- Received. People were glad to take blessing from Christ. They rarely thought of offering anything back to the Blesser. Here at last a feast is spread for Him.
- Released. Martha still serves, but she is no longer burdened. Christ now has a larger place in her thoughts than her service does.
- Right places. Each one is in a different place, and each is right, because Christ is the object of all three. Swap their roles and the beauty collapses.
- Result. Knowing Him and His resurrection power produced service, communion and worship. Criticism came just because everything was in order.
Mary therefore, having taken a pound of ointment of pure nard of great price, anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair, and the house was filled with the odour of the ointment.
Six days before the Passover, Jesus sits at supper in Bethany, with Martha serving and Lazarus at the table. Mary then pours a jar of costly perfume on His feet, and the question is what she saw that no one else saw.
Three people are at the table, each doing something different. Commentators read the group as a picture of every Christian gathering.
Here we have illustrated, in the most striking and forceful way, the three great features that ought to mark every Christian and every Christian assembly. There is calm, intelligent communion, as seen in Lazarus seated at the table. There is holy worship, as seen in Mary at the feet of her Lord. And there is loving service, as seen in Martha, busy about the house. Together they make up the Christian character, and every Christian gathering should show all three. We think it is a serious moral mistake to set one of these features against the others. Each, in its proper place, is lovely.
Mary had come to the feet of Jesus twice before this.
Mary had been at His feet before as a learner (Luke 10:39). She had lately wept at His feet as a mourner (John 11:32). Now she is at His feet as a worshipper. She anoints His feet with the very costly ointment and wipes His feet with her hair. Her act proclaims that, in her estimation, nothing she has is good enough for Christ. She spends the costly ointment on Him, and puts at His disposal what is the glory of a woman — her hair. She was not at that moment thinking of the poor or of blessing others; she was wholly taken up with Christ. This, indeed, is worship.
The amount matters, and so does where the perfume went.
A pound of ointment! Twelve ounces of pure nard, very costly! On whom before had so much been spent? But nothing was too costly for her to spend on Him. Mary's estimate of Christ stayed unchanged and unchangeable. She had once sat at His feet; now she anointed them. So John writes, while Matthew and Mark tell us she poured the ointment on His head. Only John says she wiped His feet with her hair. Her hair is a woman's natural ornament and covering, and such a use honoured it.
Mark adds one more detail: she broke the container itself.
No doubt she used her ointment without consulting anyone. She broke the alabaster box, or jar, that held it (Mark 14:3). No one else was ever to be anointed out of that box. It was broken. She meant that ointment for Him, and for Him alone. No word, as far as we read, escaped her lips as she anointed Him. Her act, however, spoke louder than words.
So where did such an act come from?
The action recorded here, and commended by the Holy Spirit, was the fruit of acquaintance with the heart of Christ. She made His heart and His desires her study, not her own. This is the great secret of true and approved devotedness. Many are giving Christ service, which is fine in itself, but which starts no further back than their own wishes and desires.
Commentators differ on how much Mary understood. One writer puts it this way:
I suppose her heart had gone beyond her knowledge — "Here is the One I love going to die." Mary entered into that and gave it a voice. The Lord knew what she meant. She was no prophet, but her heart had an instinctive sense of what was coming.
Her attention was on one Person, yet everyone in the room could smell what she had done.
All this prepares us for the statement that the house was filled with the fragrance of the ointment. This was a matter of fact. But underneath the fact lies a teaching. Nothing is so fragrant to the heart of God, or to the hearts of the saints in communion with Him, as an act of absorbing devotedness to Christ. Its fragrance spreads, like the first light of morning, until it reaches all who are in the house.
The same act meets two very different responses.
"And the house was filled with the fragrance of the ointment." God smells a sweet smell when we make much of His dear Son… Men, and even Christians like the disciples, call this waste — a waste of time. To them it is a whole hour or more spent in making much of God's Son, but doing nothing for man. Service, too, is right in its place, as in Martha. We will not neglect it if we are in communion with the Lord. Yet the highest thing of all is to make much of God's dear Son.
- Sat — Mary first sat at His feet as a learner; what she poured out there she had first taken in there.
- Saw — her act was "the fruit of acquaintance with the heart of Christ"; she studied His desires, not her own.
- Spent — twelve ounces of nard, the jar broken so no one else could ever use it, and her hair for a towel.
- Spread — her eyes were on one Person only, yet the fragrance reached everyone in the house.
- Shared — Lazarus in communion, Martha in service, Mary in worship. Never set the three against each other.
One of his disciples therefore, Judas [son] of Simon, Iscariote, who was about to deliver him up, says,
At the supper in Bethany, Mary pours her most costly ointment on Jesus and the scent fills the house. Then one of His own disciples breaks in with an objection, and John names him and adds the one fact that explains everything that follows.
Judas belonged to the twelve disciples from the start, yet this is the first time we hear him speak. One writer traces the line from this scene to the betrayal.
Here someone comes on the scene of whom little has been heard before: Judas Iscariot, that is, a man of Kerioth in Judea. He shared that name with his father, Simon, as John in fact tells us (John 6:71; 13:26). He was one of the twelve, and is always named last in the list, and the only one of them, as far as we know, who was a native of Judea. Until the supper at Bethany, nothing special is recorded of him, though the Lord had in the sixth chapter of John clearly referred to him as a devil. Even then the Lord knew his character and his terrible treachery in full. But circumstances had to bring out what was within. Here in the house of Simon the leper he opened his mouth for the first time we read of (John 12:4), and the rebuke he received from the Lord was what pushed him into his treachery.
Mary's ointment and Judas's objection meet in the same room, moments apart.
Sadly, in the middle of the fragrance of love the deceit of the traitor lies hidden. Jesus is the Light, and in His presence all show their true colours. The act that expressed the love of a devoted saint now exposes the lust of a heartless sinner. Mary is delighted to spend what is "very costly" on the One who is of infinite worth. Judas is coldly calculating the price of the ointment. Three hundred pence was a working man's wage for a year, a sum that would keep a poor household for a year. His one regret is that, under the profession of giving to the poor, he has not been able to add this sum to his own dishonest gains.
The objection sounded generous. It was a cover.
Heartless man! Hiding his covetousness under the cloak of caring for the poor. No one can have a true heart for the poor who does not love Christ. Judas — a man who professed faith, an apostle, and all that he was — loved money: sadly, a common enough love. He had no heart for Christ, although he may have preached and cast out demons in His blessed name.
Behind the arithmetic lies the real issue: what Christ is worth.
All good or evil turns, at bottom, on a true or false estimate of Him. We may be slow — and we are — to learn the lesson, though it matters more than any other... So Judas Iscariot speaks up — one of His disciples, and the man about to give Him up. He asks why the ointment was not sold for three hundred denarii and given to poor people. He never thought of Jesus! Yet Mary's act might naturally have awakened affection. What was He not to her?
Put the two numbers side by side.
Notice that Judas betrayed his Master for one tenth of the value of what Mary lavished on Him.
The objection did not stop with the man who made it.
John tells us that Judas found fault with Mary's act. Mark says there were "some," and Matthew that the Lord's "disciples" had indignation... John traces the root of this failure to the covetous heart of Judas. It seems his pretended piety and concern for the poor influenced all the disciples. What a contrast! The scent of Mary's ointment filled the house; the evil thought of Judas spread its harmful influence over the hearts of all the disciples!... What a solemn warning! An evil tendency that we feed may grow until it masters us completely. It leads us to commit the most appalling sins, as it did with this man. Covetousness, the love of money, led Judas on step by step, blinding his soul, until he completed his frightful sin by betraying his Lord for thirty pieces of silver.
- Light. Jesus is the Light. In His presence everyone shows their true colours: the same ointment revealed Mary's love and Judas's lust.
- Estimate. All good or evil comes down to a true or false estimate of Christ. Judas priced the perfume and never thought of the Person.
- Mask. Concern for the poor was a cloak over covetousness; no one has a true heart for the poor who does not love Christ.
- Spread. Judas's pious-sounding words carried the other disciples with him. The scent of the ointment filled the house; so did his evil thought.
- Warning. An evil tendency we feed grows until it masters us. The man who priced the perfume at a year's wages sold his Master for a tenth of that.
Why was this ointment not sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor?
Judas speaks up in the middle of a meal of love, and his words sound generous — a large sum, redirected to the poor. John records the question, then tells us what was really behind it — teaching the reader to weigh not just the words but the man who speaks them.
Judas knew what the ointment was worth, and he priced it while Mary was still pouring it out.
While Mary is delighted to spend what is "very costly" on the One who is of infinite worth, Judas is coolly calculating the price of the ointment. Three hundred pence was a year's wages for a working man. It was enough to meet the needs of a poor man's household for a year. His one regret is that, under the profession of giving to the poor, he has not been able to add this sum to his unlawful gains.
Set that figure beside the price he later took for his Master.
Notice this: Judas betrayed his Master for one-tenth the value of what Mary lavished on Him.
Judas prices the gift and names a charity. The One in front of him is missing from his own question.
He never thought of Jesus! Yet Mary's act might naturally have awakened affection. What was He not to her? Judas works out the lowest selling price of the nard. He falsely puts poor people forward, though he had no real care for them.
The poor are mentioned, but not loved. Love for the poor and love for Christ cannot be pulled apart.
Heartless man! Hiding his covetousness under the cloak of caring for the poor. No one can have a true heart for the poor who does not love Christ. Judas — a man who professed faith, an apostle, all that he seemed to be — loved money. Sadly, that love is far from rare. He had no heart for Christ, though he may have preached and driven out demons in His blessed name.
That pose has never gone out of fashion, and believers still fall for it.
He posed as a very practical man, fully aware of the value of solid, material help for the poor. Mary, in his view, was wasting something valuable, moved by silly sentiment. The world is exactly of that opinion today. The religion that suits its taste puts all the emphasis on material and earthly good for people. And today, as much as then, worldly-minded believers readily agree with the world and echo its opinions.
The word "waste" only makes sense once you have decided what something is worth. Judas measured the ointment; the real measurement was of him.
The most that some could say about Mary's act was that it was marked by waste. How little He was in their eyes, when they measured service to Him this way! The true measure of any service is the Person it is done for.
The same judgment runs through public opinion today. It praises one sort of giving and mocks the other.
How humbling this false judgment of the disciples ought to be to us! They would not have counted it waste if it had been done for the poor. They counted as waste what came from whole-hearted devotion to Christ. This was human nature! And so it still is. Whom does the world applaud? Those who spend their time on charitable and humanitarian projects, while it calls a man a fool for giving up anything for Christ. What the world calls "waste," because it was done for Christ, is precious to God.
John names one objector, but the complaint did not stop with him. A single greedy heart set the tone for the room.
John traces the root of this failure to the covetous heart of Judas. It seems his pretended piety and concern for the poor influenced all the disciples. What a contrast! The fragrance of Mary's ointment filled the house. The evil thought of Judas spread its harm through the hearts of all the disciples!
Jesus answers the objection Himself.
The Lord defends Mary: "Leave her alone, so that she may keep it for the day of my burial. For the poor you always have with you, but you do not always have me." Spending energy or resources in worship is no waste. Worship is the most worthy cause there ever was.
- Price. Judas valued the ointment at a working man's wages for a year — and later sold Christ Himself for a tenth of it.
- Person. His question counts everything and considers no one. Mary poured out her gift for Jesus, yet Jesus never enters it.
- Pretence. Care for the poor was the cloak, not the motive; no one truly has a heart for the poor who has no heart for Christ.
- Perspective. "Waste" depends on who receives the gift — the worth of the Person is the true measure of the service.
- Poison. One greedy voice infected the whole room. Mary's fragrance filled the house, and so did his complaint.
But he said this, not that he cared for the poor, but because he was a thief and had the bag, and carried what was put into [it].
A woman's costly gift has just filled the house with perfume. One voice at the table objects on behalf of the poor. John then tells us what was really behind that objection, and the answer raises the hardest question of the scene: how could a man sit so near to Christ and stay so far from Him?
The objection sounded generous. John's comment takes the mask off, and one writer sets Judas beside Mary, who hid nothing in her worship.
In Judas we have the very reverse of all this. He covers up, and the Spirit of God uncovers, and shows it to us. He did not care for the poor, he cared for the bag, he carried what was put in it. There is no trying to make a good appearance when we have Him before us.
Another writer breaks the objection into its parts: the price, the pretence, and the profit.
Judas makes a cold calculation of the lowest selling price of the nard. He puts poor people forward as a pretence, for he had no real care for them. He would have liked that sum added to his unlawful gains. Nothing is more withering, or more calmly true, than the comment of the Holy Spirit in verse 6.
The Greek words behind "moneybag" and "used to help himself" say more than the English shows. Older translations render them as "the bag" and "carried what was put in it."
The word glossokomon does not mean "bag," but a chest (Revised Version margin, "box"); and the verb ebastazen may be rendered "used to take away" (steal).
The theft was quiet enough to go unnoticed by the men who trusted him with the money.
Judas was unfaithful. On the outside he must have been able to make a fair show of honesty. If not, the other disciples would never have trusted him to continue as their treasurer. Still, he could not hide the fact from the Spirit of God. The Spirit puts it on record that he "carried" what was put in the bag. That is, he was a secret thief. The Apostle Paul says that servants should not steal. They should show all good faithfulness, so that they adorn the doctrine of God in all things (Titus 2:10).
Judas played the practical man against a woman wasting money on sentiment. The world still likes that pose.
Greed ruled Judas, and he had become a thief. He was not only a thief but a hypocrite. He masked his self-seeking by claiming to care for the poor. He posed as a very practical man, wide awake to the value of solid, material benefits for the poor. Mary, in his view, was wasting something valuable, moved by silly sentiment. The world holds exactly that opinion today. The religion that suits its taste puts all the emphasis on material and earthly benefits for people.
Another writer puts the test the other way round. Real care for the poor starts with love for Christ.
Heartless man! hiding his covetousness under the cloak of caring for the poor. No one can have a true heart for the poor who does not love Christ. Judas — a man who professed faith, an apostle, all that he was — loved money, a love that is sadly common. He had no heart for Christ, although he may have preached and cast out demons in His blessed name.
Sitting in the same room as Mary did not make him like her. It made the difference visible.
Sadly, in the middle of the fragrance of love the deceit of the traitor is lurking. Jesus is the Light, and in His presence all are shown in their true colours. What was the expression of the love of a devoted saint becomes the occasion for exposing the desire of a heartless sinner. Three hundred pence was a working man's yearly wage, enough to keep a poor household for a year.
One writer traces the steps that led from this room to the betrayal.
First came desire. Second came a way to satisfy it: his office as keeper of the bag. All this goes on alongside religion, in the very company of Christ, day after day. Third, he is led on to the final form of his crime, at a time and in circumstances of the greatest blessing to a true disciple. Fourth, his heart is hardened, so that he betrays Him even with a kiss.
The warning is turned on the reader.
What a solemn warning! An evil tendency that we feed may grow until it masters us completely. It can lead us to commit the most appalling sins, as it did with this man.
- Uncovered. Judas covered his motive. The Spirit of God uncovered it, in the calmest and most withering comment of the chapter.
- The bag. The word is a chest, and "carried" means he used to take away — he was the trusted treasurer and a secret thief at once.
- The mask. Care for the poor was the cloak; no one truly has a heart for the poor who has no heart for Christ.
- The light. Mary's love did not soften him. It exposed him. In Christ's presence everyone shows their true colours.
- The road. Desire, then an office that fed it, then a hardened heart, then a kiss. An evil we feed can end by mastering us.
Jesus therefore said, Suffer her to have kept this for the day of my preparation for burial;
At a supper in Bethany, six days before the Passover, Mary pours a pound of expensive ointment over Jesus, and the room turns hostile. His short reply silences the critics and tells everyone present what her act meant.
The critics called the ointment a waste. Jesus rejects their reading and gives His own, then covers Mary with three words. The writers quoted below follow older translations, which read "Let her alone" and "Against the day of my burying she has kept this."
But the blessed Master saw it differently, and put His own gracious meaning on it. What they called a "waste" He recognized as heartfelt worship... It was as though He gave her credit for expecting His burial and preparing for it. It was as though this had been her leading thought, while His kingdom and glory filled the minds of the disciples. But the way to that glory runs through death. She was right, and they were wrong; and so He gently shields her from their cruel criticism. He will not let her suffer under their slander.
One writer finds a rule for all worship in those three words.
In saying, "Let her alone," Jesus silenced the hostile criticism. We may well write those three words on our memories. True worship lies between the soul of the believer and the Lord, and no other may interfere.
The Lord's word is that Mary had held the ointment back. One writer weighs what else she could have done with it.
It was the most precious thing in the house, and she had prized it and kept it. She loved her brother. When death laid him low, she might have poured it on him and kept his body from decay for a while. But she did not. She had kept it for the supreme hour of her life, and that hour had come. She did not pour it on herself either. She lost sight of herself in the presence of the One who had wept with her in her sorrow.
Commentators differ on where the ointment came from. One note reads the Greek word behind "kept" as pointing back to the funeral of Lazarus:
John 12:7. — The word tērēsē seems to mean that Mary had reserved it from the ointment used for Lazarus's funeral.
The others at that table were thinking of a kingdom. Mary's ointment fits a grave.
The Lord expressed His appreciation of her act, as done in communion with His own mind. "Against the day of my burying she has kept this." As far as we are told, Mary alone had entered into the truth of the Lord's rejection and death. And it was her communion with Him in His rejection that qualified her to be a worshipper. She shared, in her measure, in God's delight in the One who was about to be crucified.
Did Mary understand everything her act declared?
Mary probably had little clear grasp of the death and resurrection of Christ. But her spiritual instincts, moved by affection, lead her to do the right act at the right moment. And the Lord, as someone has said, "gives a voice of intelligence to her act."
One writer goes further: the Lord arranged the timing itself.
Now, she had had it a long time. She might have spent it on the Lord Jesus earlier, and we are sure she was willing to. But the Lord arranged that she should keep it for that fitting moment, when it became the soothing expression of thoughtful love. How graciously ordered from on high!
What is worship worth, set beside human need?
Judas regarded this as waste. In his view, serving the needs of people would have been a better use of the money (the idea of philanthropy). But the Lord defends Mary... Spending energy or resources in worship is no waste. Worship is the most worthy cause ever. It is the highest form of service because it is directed to God.
- Kept — Mary held back her most precious possession. She spent it on neither herself nor her brother.
- Timed — She acted at the one hour that fitted, and the writers trace that timing to God's ordering, not just to her insight.
- Read — She may not have understood everything; the Lord gave her act its voice by tying it to His burial.
- Shielded — Against the charge of waste, He answers, "Leave her alone," and steps between her and every critic.
- Ranked — Worship is never waste. It is the highest service, because it is directed to God.
for ye have the poor always with you, but me ye have not always.
Mary has just poured costly perfume over Jesus, and Judas has objected that the money belonged to the poor. Jesus' reply sets the poor and Himself side by side.
Jesus is not opening a discussion about poverty. He is answering the man who priced the gift — a man with no real care for the poor.
Judas Iscariot, one of His disciples who was about to hand Him over, says, "Why was this ointment not sold for three hundred denarii and given to poor people?" He never thought of Jesus! … Judas calmly works out the lowest selling price of the perfume. He falsely puts poor people forward, though he had no real care for them. He would have liked that sum added to his unlawful gains.
The first half of the sentence is not a shrug. God had promised Israel blessing, but the promise carried a condition — and one writer shows when the poor will finally be gone.
God's blessing in this way, however, depended on Israel obeying the Lord with care and keeping all His commandments. So this was a conditional promise. Israel failed to keep the conditions, and poverty was not abolished, so the Lord Jesus told His disciples, "For the poor you always have with you" (John 12:8). This will change only after the Lord's judgment, when He establishes Israel in the future blessings of the thousand-year kingdom.
The Lord does not set giving to the poor against loving Him. He leaves that door open — which is what makes the criticism of Mary hollow.
Judas thought of himself; his fellow disciples were full of philanthropy. It could have gone to the poor. Yes, there are a good many people who think more of philanthropy than of Christ; but Mary thought more of Christ than of philanthropy. But is not philanthropy a good thing? No doubt it is, for the Lord says, "For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good to them. But you will not always have me."
The moment could not wait. He was going into death, and Mary alone sensed it.
She could have had many chances to sell the ointment for the poor, or to pour it on Christ before this. But, says the Lord, "She has kept this" for this supreme moment… The Lord is not forgetful of the poor. He says the poor are always with us. But with touching tenderness He adds, "You do not always have me." He knows that He is soon to leave, and Mary's spiritual instincts tell her that the shadow of death is closing round her Lord.
That moment will never come again. But one writer says the loss can still be ours. Some ways of loving Christ exist only while He is rejected.
When the glory has come, "His servants shall serve Him," perfectly then, as surely as we shall "see His face." Love will find new ways to express itself to its object in the glory. But suppose He came tonight to take us into it. If we have missed our chance here, He would never call us to go out to Him outside the camp, bearing His reproach. He would never ask again, "Do this in remembrance of me," leading our hearts to announce His death… All this and much more is over for ever, and the opportunity is past if we miss it now. "You do not always have me."
Judas's argument still lives. Good works can buy the world's approval and dodge the one thing that costs something.
Go along with the ordinary profession of His name. Use the security that infinite sovereign grace has given you from the judgment to come, and settle down at ease in the world that has rejected Him. Do good to people, as with the ointment sold for so much and given to the poor. These things will gain the Christian the favour and esteem of the world, and the reproach of Christ will be unknown. But His touching words remind us of the incalculable loss: "You do not always have me."
He is no longer here to be anointed. But one writer finds that the poor and Christ are not rivals after all.
This verse no doubt refers to the Lord Himself. But other passages show that His people are seen as Himself. Linked with them, it becomes a principle of great value to us about giving. In giving to the least of the saints, I am giving to Christ Himself, and He was the real poor man, still poor as displayed in His saints.
- Always — the poor remain because Israel did not keep God's condition for blessing. The change waits for a future kingdom.
- Not always — Christ's time here had a deadline. Mary alone read it, and she kept her ointment for the one moment it could be given.
- Now — the deadline reaches us too. Bearing His reproach and remembering His death are chances glory will not give.
- Beware — charity can be a costume. The man who priced the ointment wore it, and wanted the money himself.
- Both — He never set the poor against Himself. Give to the least of His own, and you give to Christ Himself.