It’s Holy Week. The most sacred week in the Christian calendar. The week we slow down and look again at the heart of our faith. Not just from a distance, not just as spectators—but up close. This week invites us not just to remember what Jesus did, but to respond. To let it shape us.
We’re going to pause and sit with Jesus in a moment that happens just before everything starts to unfold. Before the betrayal, before the trial, before the cross.
Jesus is in Bethany. It’s a small village just a couple of miles outside Jerusalem. And He’s having dinner with some close friends—Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. People He loves. People who love Him.
Now, just for a moment, imagine what this scene would’ve felt like. Jesus is reclining at the table—relaxed, fully present. Lazarus is next to Him. This is the same Lazarus who had been dead. Buried. Four days in the tomb. And Jesus had raised him back to life.
So this isn’t just dinner. This is a celebration. This is resurrection sitting at the table. Hope personified. The kingdom of God breaking into ordinary life.
Martha is doing what Martha always does—she’s serving. She’s expressing her love through care and food and hospitality. And then Mary walks in with a jar. A small alabaster jar, holding something extremely precious—pure nard, an oil that came from far away, imported from India. It was worth about a year’s wages.
And she doesn’t just open it carefully. She breaks it. She pours it all out at once on Jesus’ feet. Not His head, as would have been customary for someone being honoured, but His feet—the place of humility, service, surrender. And then she wipes His feet with her hair. Which, culturally, would have been scandalous. She lets down her dignity, literally.
And in that moment, the whole house is filled with the smell of it.
Fragrance always spreads. Love like this can’t be hidden.
Now, if you’re watching this moment happen, you’re either deeply moved… or really uncomfortable. Maybe both.
Because what Mary does here is extreme. It’s intimate. It’s costly. It doesn’t make sense in the eyes of the world. It’s not logical. It’s not efficient. And it’s definitely not safe.
But it is beautiful.
And it’s the kind of love Jesus deserves.
But not everyone sees it that way. Judas, one of Jesus’ disciples, speaks up. He says, “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.”
Now on the surface, this sounds spiritual. It sounds noble. Generous, even. But John tells us the truth—Judas didn’t care about the poor. He was stealing from the shared money bag. His concern wasn’t love. It was control.
This is a really important moment in the gospel story. Because it shows us two completely different ways of relating to Jesus.
Mary offers everything. Judas holds back.
Mary responds with worship. Judas responds with calculation.
Mary gives out of love. Judas lives with a hidden agenda.
It’s not just a story about perfume. It’s a story about hearts.
You see, it’s possible to be close to Jesus and still miss Him. Judas was in the room, but his heart was somewhere else.
And I wonder how many of us, at different times in our lives, have been like that too. We’ve been around Jesus. Around church. Around faith. Maybe even doing the right things. But our hearts are guarded. We’re still in control. We’re not fully surrendered.
Mary’s story invites us into something deeper. Something messier, but more real. She doesn’t care what people think. She doesn’t care about her reputation. She doesn’t care about the cost. She just knows that Jesus is worthy.
And if you’re new to faith, or maybe not even sure where you stand with Jesus, I want to say this—Mary’s story isn’t about perfection. It’s not about performance. It’s about a heart that’s been awakened to love.
Mary had watched Jesus raise her brother from the dead. She had seen what He could do. She had felt His compassion. She knew there was something different about Him. And she realised—this man is more than a teacher. He’s more than a prophet. He’s the Messiah. He’s life itself. And the only response that made sense was to pour herself out.
Sometimes, people ask, “Why would you give your life to Jesus? Why follow Him? Why trust Him with everything?” And the answer is the same: because we’ve seen who He is. Because we’ve tasted His grace. Because we know there’s no one else like Him.
This moment in Bethany, just six days before the cross, is a prophetic one. Mary is anointing Jesus for His burial—though she might not fully realise it yet. Jesus says, “Leave her alone. She’s done this for the day of my burial.”
This act of love is pointing forward. Jesus is going to die. Soon. And Mary is the only one who’s prepared Him.
And again, we see something so consistent with the kingdom of God. It’s not the religious leaders who understand. It’s not even the male disciples who are closest to Him. It’s Mary. The one who sits at His feet. The one who listens. The one who loves without a filter.
And this is how the kingdom works. Jesus sees the heart. He always has. He sees past appearances, past credentials, past status. He sees love.
But here’s the twist in the story. Right after this beautiful, intimate moment, John tells us that the religious leaders begin to plot not just to kill Jesus—but to kill Lazarus too.
Because too many people are starting to believe. Too many people are seeing the signs. And resurrection is dangerous to a system built on fear and control.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: when Jesus brings life, it threatens the systems that rely on death. When He brings freedom, it threatens the powers that profit from people being trapped.
And so, love and resistance are always side by side. Beauty and betrayal, worship and violence, faith and fear—all interwoven in this Holy Week story.
And what about us?
Where do we find ourselves?
Maybe you feel a little like Lazarus—brought back to life. You know you were dead in some way. Spiritually dry. Lost. Far from God. And Jesus came and called you out of the tomb. If that’s you—give thanks. Remember what He’s done. Share your story.
Maybe you’re more like Martha—serving in quiet faithfulness. Often overlooked, but consistent. Steady. Keep going. Your worship matters too.
Maybe you’re like Mary—ready to pour out what’s costly. Maybe you’ve been holding back, but something in your heart is saying, “No more hesitation.” You want to give Jesus everything. Not just your Sunday mornings, but your future, your dreams, your relationships, your heart.
Or maybe, if we’re really honest, some of us are like Judas. Close, but not surrendered. Saying the right things, maybe even doing the right things, but holding on to control. And if that’s where you are, hear this: Jesus isn’t pushing you away. He’s inviting you closer. He’s giving you a chance to see again, to turn around, to follow Him for real.
So as we close, here’s the invitation.
Jesus is in the room.
He’s not asking for performance. He’s not impressed by appearances. He’s looking for love.
And the question is—what’s in your hands? What’s the jar you’re holding? What’s the thing that feels too costly to give up? Too vulnerable to break open?
Whatever it is, if you lay it at His feet, it won’t be wasted.
Mary’s story has been told for 2000 years. And the fragrance of her worship is still spreading.
Yours can too.
Prayer
Jesus, I want to know you like Mary did. I don’t want to hold back anymore. I’m tired of keeping control. I want to pour out my life for you. Forgive me where I’ve resisted you. Help me see you for who you really are. You are worthy of everything. So I choose to give you my heart, my future, my life. Amen.
As we move through this Holy Week, let’s not rush ahead. Let’s stay close. Let’s keep asking: What does it mean to love Jesus like Mary did? What does it mean to give everything—even when it costs?
Because love like that will always fill the room.
John 12:1–11 (NIV UK)
Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead.
Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honour. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him.
Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.
But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected,Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.”
He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.
“Leave her alone,” Jesus replied. “It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial.
You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.”
Meanwhile a large crowd of Jews found out that Jesus was there and came, not only because of him but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead.
So the chief priests made plans to kill Lazarus as well,
for on account of him many of the Jews were going over to Jesus and believing in him.