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Lazarus's Household
John opens by placing Jesus in Bethany "six days before Passover," at the home of Lazarus—the man Jesus raised from the dead in John 11. This home (shared by Lazarus and his sisters Mary and Martha) shows up repeatedly in Scripture, so we need to zoom out and do a brief historical walkthrough of what this household represents.
The first Gospel snapshot comes from Luke 10, early in Jesus's ministry, as Jesus and his disciples travel toward Jerusalem and arrive at a village where Martha welcomes him into her home. Mary is sitting at the Lord's feet listening to his teaching, which was culturally radical. Rabbis and great teachers did have "disciples" (learners) who traveled with them, but the norm was men teaching men; women were not typically included in those inner learning circles. Mary's posture at Jesus's feet is framed as humility and intentional identification: she is publicly signaling that she wants Jesus as her teacher and wants to be known as one of his followers, despite Jesus being controversial and many people drifting in and out depending on whether they liked his words.
Martha, Mary, and Lazarus appear to be three siblings living together, with the home named as "Martha's," implying she's likely the oldest and their parents are no longer present. It's unusual that none of them are married and living elsewhere, but whatever the reason, this home becomes a consistent place Jesus stops when he passes through Bethany—an open door for Jesus and his followers.
Mary and Martha gave Jesus their home—meaning Jesus can use their space however he wants when he's in town. [Personal example.] If your space is given to Jesus, it stops being primarily "yours," and that surrender carries real costs.
Hospitality is more than a building. By opening their home, Mary and Martha were opening their lives to whoever Jesus brought near. Jesus formed friendships among people who normally wouldn't mix. Are you willing to let God bring very different people into your lives—people you wouldn't naturally choose, but who share a desire to know God? Is your space—and your relational world—available for Jesus's purposes?
Luke 10 also shows the tension this kind of openness can create. Martha, overwhelmed by preparing a big dinner, confronts Jesus and complains that Mary is "just sitting" while she does the work, asking Jesus to tell Mary to help. Martha is godly but relatable—someone who, under stress, gets in God's face with complaints and tries to correct what she thinks God is missing. Jesus responds tenderly, repeating her name and saying she's worried and upset about many details, but only one thing is truly necessary—and Mary has chosen it, and it won't be taken from her. Mary prioritized time with Jesus first, trusting that service and responsibilities would follow from that center.
This ordering is hard when life feels urgent and crowded with details. Even though Jesus isn't physically present for people to sit before him, the same kind of listening relationship happens through opening Scripture and letting Jesus speak. That practice actually equips a person to handle all the pressing concerns with less anxiety and distraction because everything gets put back in its proper place.
In John 11, Lazarus becomes seriously ill, and Mary and Martha send word to Jesus, appealing to the friendship: "your dear friend is very sick." Jesus responds that the sickness will not ultimately end in death but is for God's glory so the Son of God will be glorified. Even though Jesus loves Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, he intentionally stays where he is for two more days. Jesus knows Lazarus has already died, and the delay is not indifference—it's purposeful, because Jesus intends to accomplish something greater through this painful situation.
Jesus delayed because Martha and Mary trusted him enough for him to draw them into a deeper lesson. When Jesus finally returns with his disciples, Martha immediately goes out to meet him while Mary stays in the house. Martha confronts Jesus with grief and frustration—"If only you had been here, my brother would not have died"—yet still expresses confidence that God will grant whatever Jesus asks. Martha has a familiar pattern: she brings her honest complaint right to Jesus' face, but she's also trying to trust him.
Jesus responds with one of his major "I am" statements: "I am the resurrection and the life," explaining that whoever believes in him will live even after dying, and asking Martha directly if she believes. Martha acknowledges and submits to this claim.
When Mary comes to Jesus, she falls at his feet and echoes the same painful sentence: "If only you had been here…." This is Mary's repeated posture—Mary was at Jesus' feet in Luke 10, and she's there again now—yet unlike Martha, she isn't arguing or instructing Jesus. She's simply pouring out her heart.
Mary had given Jesus her heart and her home, and now she gives him her hurts. This is often the hardest surrender—bringing deep pain honestly to God—because people can cling to hurt, nurse resentment (especially when another person caused it), and resist comfort or change. Mary models the opposite: she entrusts her grief to Jesus. Jesus did call Lazarus out of the grave and the process of what these women experienced is crucial for what comes next.
Passover Background
John 12's timing matters because it's "six days before Passover." The Passover comes from Exodus: Israel was in slavery, the angel of death passed through Egypt, judgment fell on firstborn sons unless a substitute sacrifice was offered. Each household was to kill an innocent lamb and mark the doorposts with blood, showing that death had already occurred there, so judgment would "pass over." Everyone deserves judgment, but God provides a substitute.
John the Baptist called Jesus the true Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Jesus is heading to Jerusalem knowing he will die during Passover, willingly offering his life as the innocent substitute for humanity's sin. Coming into a relationship with Jesus begins by accepting that sacrifice and acknowledging the need for it. With that in mind, Jesus arrives in Bethany fully aware that his death is imminent.
Mary's Anointing
A dinner is prepared to honor Jesus; Martha serves, and Lazarus is present at the table. The meal takes place at Simon's house (a man who had previously had leprosy), suggesting a larger gathering than Martha and Mary's home could host. Since Jesus is famous after three years of ministry—and Lazarus is essentially a living spectacle—you can imagine the whole town wanting to attend, if only to sit near "the guy who was dead."
The family likely had modest means: their home apparently wasn't large enough for the event, and earlier in Luke 10 Martha personally handled meal prep rather than servants doing it. Martha's serving role may have been a way to earn income. Culturally, men and women ate separately at dinners like this—men reclining at the table, women bringing food in.
Mary enters with a 12-ounce jar of expensive perfume made from nard and anoints Jesus' feet, wiping them with her hair, filling the house with fragrance. This wasn't a casual container; Mark says she broke the jar—meaning it was sealed, required breaking to open, and once broken the act was irreversible. She wasn't sampling a little; she was emptying it.
The historical background makes the moment even more scandalous. Nard was rare and imported (from India), and the value is later pegged at about 300 days' wages—essentially a year's income, which is a modern equivalent of something like $50,000–$70,000. It could have been her dowry or a family heirloom passed down through generations, especially significant given the family's modest means.
Then there's the personal exposure: women typically let down their hair only for their husbands, so wiping Jesus' feet with her hair would read as intimate and socially inappropriate. In that single act—breaking the jar, pouring it out, letting down her hair—Mary is portrayed as pouring out her future, security, and reputation. This is the next step in the pattern: Mary gave Jesus her heart, her home, her hurts, and now she gives him her hopes—her future placed fully in God's hands.
The Backlash
Judas Iscariot objects, arguing the perfume should have been sold and the money given to the poor since it was worth a year's wages. The text clarifies his motive: he didn't care about the poor—he was a thief who skimmed from the money bag, and a windfall like that would have been easy to steal from without being noticed. Other people join his criticism, indignantly calling it a waste and rebuking Mary harshly.
The social atmosphere might have been like this: stunned silence as Mary's act unfolds, then the overwhelming wave of scent filling the room, Mary visibly marked by perfume in her hair, everyone realizing this dinner has gone off-script.
After Judas breaks the silence, the room piles on: "Yeah—why did you waste this?" Waste, as defined by Watchman Nee in "The Normal Christian Life," is giving more than is necessary—too much for too little—especially when the receiver is judged not to be worth it. That's the heart of Judas's evaluation: Jesus isn't worth this kind of devotion, so anything poured out on him is "waste."
If it was "waste" to Judas, what was Jesus worth to Mary? And since Scripture records this scene, it presses every reader: what is Jesus worth to you? You can see your true evaluation of Jesus by tracing what worries you, distracts you, and dominates your mental bandwidth—especially the things you tell yourself you must have before you can slow down and give time to Jesus. What do you believe you have to have to be happy? Mary's act effectively says, "Even if this costs my future—maybe even marriage—I don't need that to be happy, because belonging to Jesus is enough."
Future-hoping is a substitute for real security: as kids we think we'll be happy when we get a toy, stay up later, or gain freedom, and we later see how flimsy that was—but adults do the same thing with bigger milestones. Happiness becomes perpetually postponed: after high school, after choosing a major, after graduating college, after getting a relationship, after marriage, after kids, after a house, after the kids leave, after retirement. The irony is that making those things your happiness-plan can't touch the deeper needs underneath.
[Personal example.]
If you enter a stage of life believing it will finally make you happy, you won't even be able to enjoy what God gives—you'll squeeze it for what it can't provide. God may give certain desires later as blessings, but they are not meant to be the source of joy or security; those come from the Lord alone. People make different faithful choices—degrees or no degrees, certain jobs or turning those same jobs down, relationships embraced or declined—because the offering is personal between an individual and God.
This was an interaction between Mary and Jesus, and she knew she had something she could give him. Not everyone will be asked to make the same sacrifice, and that's the point—only God knows what he's calling you to place on the altar, and only you and God know what you're clinging to. The practical next step is to ask: "Lord, what can I give to you? What sacrifice can I make to you alone?"
It's not about the size of the sacrifice. Jesus watched offerings at the temple: rich people giving large, impressive amounts, but a poor widow giving two tiny coins—yet Jesus praises her because she gave all she had. The metric isn't how your offering compares to others; it's what it costs you and what it represents, and God recognizes a meaningful sacrifice even if it looks unimpressive externally.
To Judas—who never even called Jesus "Lord"—anything poured out on Jesus would be waste; even water would be waste. In the world's estimation, giving yourself to the Lord's service looks like a squandered life. If God calls you to costly obedience and you do it, many people will say you're wasting your life—that you "could have been somebody" if you'd chased the impressive path. The world will applaud what it values, but God's evaluation is different.
The pressure can also come from inside the Christian community: it wasn't just Judas and the dinner guests; even the disciples became indignant and joined the critique, asking "why this waste?" They may have felt embarrassed that Mary went so far beyond them. But if you know it's what the Lord wants, you do it anyway—even if you're rebuked harshly.
Jesus Defends Mary
In Mark's account Jesus steps in—"Leave her alone. Why are you bothering her?"—and calls what she did "a beautiful thing." He reminds them that the poor will always be present and can be helped anytime, but Jesus will not always be with them. He then gives the meaning they missed: "She did what she could… she poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial."
Jesus knew exactly what was coming—he'd repeatedly told people about the cross and his death. And Mary knew too—not necessarily every detail, but because she had been the one sitting humbly at his feet, actually listening when he spoke about dying.
The disciples showed confusion ("you're always speaking in riddles… maybe we can figure it out") and Mary had clarity: she understood Jesus was going to die and go to the cross. Jesus affirms that Mary "was listening"—she didn't twist his words into something easier, didn't filter them through preconceived expectations, but simply received what he said as it was.
Jesus then declares that wherever the gospel is preached, Mary's act will be told in memory of her. Nearly 2,000 years later, people are still talking about what she did. In Mark and Matthew the woman isn't named, and John is the Gospel that identifies her as Mary. Some think the earlier writers withheld her name to protect her—especially since John mentions not only hostility toward Jesus but also that leaders decided Lazarus needed to die too, because his living presence kept validating Jesus. Maybe Mary herself didn't want attention; maybe she didn't see her sacrifice as extreme, but simply as giving Jesus what he deserved. Either way, Jesus wanted the story to travel, and the Gospel writers recorded it faithfully for readers then and now.
No Regret
Did Mary regret pouring out something so irreversible—her future, security, reputation? The answer is no: not that night, seeing Jesus' expression of love and appreciation, and seeing him defend her publicly. After Jesus is crucified, he's placed in a tomb, and because Passover was beginning Friday night, people had to go home. When they return early Sunday to anoint the body, they can't—because Jesus has risen. In that sense, Mary is the only one who actually got to anoint Jesus, because she did it ahead of time.
Mary wasn't sitting around wishing for the perfume back years later. She had a full life. Scripture doesn't say whether she married, but once her story spread, plenty of Christian men might have been motivated to "stop by Bethany." But married or not, Mary continued as a follower of Jesus, with joy, fulfillment, and deep relationships—ultimately culminating in heaven.
Open Hands
The things people grip tightly—believing they must have them to be happy—often won't come with them into eternity anyway. But if they open their hands and give those things to the Lord, they store up blessings in heaven. Jesus says: "Whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it." What can you loosen your grip on and offer to Jesus?
If you won't freely give it in some radical way, will you at least let God take it? It might be a trembling, reluctant opening of the hands—"Okay, Lord, you can have it." Whatever is offered to him returns "a hundredfold in this life" and even more in the next.
Will you give your heart to Jesus—accepting his death as payment for your sins, entering relationship, passing from judgment into life? Will you give your home to Jesus—opening your space, your stuff, and your life to him and "all his friends," allowing him to use you as he sees fit? Will you give your hurts to Jesus—being honest about what you're going through and letting him guide you through it? And will you give your hopes to Jesus—trusting that his plans are good, and that surrendering your future is a pleasing sacrifice that will bring real blessing?