“A Beautiful Thing”

I invite you to take your Bible and turn with me to the Gospel of Mark and to chapter 14. Mark chapter 14:

“It was now two days before the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread. And the chief priests and the scribes were seeking how to arrest him by stealth and kill him, for they said, ‘Not during the feast, lest there be an uproar from the people.’

“And while he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he was reclining at table, a woman came with an alabaster flask of ointment of pure nard, very costly, and she broke the flask and poured it over his head. There were some who said to themselves indignantly, ‘Why was the ointment wasted like that? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor.’ And they scolded her. But Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. Why do you trouble her? She[’s] done a beautiful thing to me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good for them. But you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for burial. And truly, I say to you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.’”

Amen.

Now, we’re going to give attention to this attractive picture which is here for us, recorded by Mark, set in the context of the unattractive plot, which is the surrounding story. The beauty and loyalty of this woman is set against the animosity of the religious leaders. And Mark has been telling his readers for some time that these religious authorities were about the business of seeking “some sly way”—as the NIV puts it—“some sly way to arrest Jesus.”[1] They “were seeking,” quite straightforwardly, “a way to destroy him.”[2] Jesus was no longer, John tells us, able to walk openly and freely among the Jewish people, because there was essentially a price on his head. They had given word that if anybody knew of his whereabouts, they should come and report it.[3] Little did they realize that the one who would respond to their invitation would be one of the core group, even Judas himself.

And Mark is actually inviting his readers to see, if you like, the unfolding of that which is described in the Second Psalm, where we read of the leaders plotting in vain against the Lord’s anointed and seeking to do in a secretive way what God is now about to overturn as he sets his holy King on the holy hill of Zion.[4]

And what I’d like to do is simply take three phrases out of this passage in order to help us navigate our way. In light of our time, I won’t be as fulsome as perhaps I would otherwise have been—but, nevertheless, enough, I think, at least to get us started. I’ll make one or two homiletical comments as I’m going along, because I recognize that many of us are here as preachers.

In fact, let me make a homiletical comment immediately, and that is: When you come to verse 3 of this passage, you need to make a decision about whether you’re going to spend two or three minutes talking about Simon the leper. I suggest you don’t, and so I’m not going to spend two or three minutes telling you why I don’t think you should. You can just go and figure that out for yourselves.

Here are the three phrases: “A woman came” (that’s in verse 3, which gives to us an opportunity to consider her action), “They scolded her” (and you will find that down there, somewhere in the passage, which gives us an opportunity to consider their reaction), and then Jesus commended her—which you’ll find later on down in the text as well. I can’t do everything for you. Find these things for yourself. That’s why you have a Bible. You’re not going to find me putting my cheat sheet up on the wall for you. Do some work yourselves.

“A Woman Came”

First of all, “A woman came.” “A woman came”—just the very striking way in which the text unfolds that: “A woman came.”

We’ve just come out of the Olivet Discourse, the great apocalyptic passage. And preceding that, notably, is the story of another woman—the story of another woman’s generosity. That’s how Mark chapter 12 ends. Jesus has been teaching his disciples the values of the kingdom. They’ve not been getting it very well. And as he sits opposite the treasury, Mark tells us, he notices this particular individual. You know her. And she had put this very, very small amount of money into one of these trumpets, barely making a noise. And yet Jesus introduces her to his disciples, and he says, “You know, this lady has actually put in more than all the rest.”[5] He actually introduces her by the comment, “Truly, I say to you…”[6] or, in the King James Version, “Verily I say [to] you…”[7] In other words, “Fellows, I want you to get ahold of this. She has done this—put in more than all the rest.” And, of course, they don’t get that at all, because Jesus is talking about it being measured by sacrifice and not by amount. He’s talking about it being measured by proportion. Because two cents out of two cents is a factor of one. A thousand out of ten thousand is a factor of a tenth. And there she stands or walks away as an illustration of what it means to be devoted to the Lord Jesus Christ.

The disciples now having diverted the challenge of that, I think… I may be reading into it, but it is interesting, isn’t it? What happens at the end of a sermon? The people come up and say, “I noticed that you were wearing a striped tie this morning, Pastor. It’s quite remarkable.” And you say, “Did you have any consideration of the message at all, or do you just want to talk about dress codes or whatever it is?” Spurgeon talks about that, and I’m so glad that he does, ’cause I thought it only happened to me. But if it happened to him, I feel so much better about it. You preach your heart out, and then they ask you some trivial nonsense.

Well, Jesus gives them an amazing illustration, and they immediately start to talk about the architecture. Chapter 13 opens straight up: “Do you see this woman? She’s put in more than all the rest.” One of them says, “You know, these buildings are really fantastic. I, uh… I can’t…” He says, “Well, let me tell you about the buildings.”[8] Then we have the apocalyptic discourse. Then the plot darkens; the plot thickens. The scribes are more and more on their way. The shadow is coming over the soul of Judas himself. And into the midst of all of this darkness, this beautiful light shines in the house of this man and in the appearing of this lady.

Now, you will notice that Mark tells us about the container and about the content and about the cost. In other words, he’s making it clear for his readers that this material is not something that the lady would have picked up at Nordstrom on the way for an evening at dinner. It’s not something that she would have carried routinely in her purse. No, it was the cost of her action that was the occasion of the disapproval. This perfume or this ointment cost “a year’s wages.”[9] Now, that’s all we really need to know.

Those of you who… And this is another homiletical comment. When you come to the phrase “of pure nard,” I suggest to you that it is of little value to you to spend a long time letting everybody know how little you know about “pure nard,” right?—how little you know about Indian vegetation, how little you know about Himalayan plant life. Because your congregation knows that you can’t tell the difference between a daffodil and a tulip. So it is a major distraction for you simply to launch off on “pure nard”. And you may be sure that they are sitting there saying, “He is a pure nerd trying to talk about ‘pure nard.’” All right? So, on that basis, let me move on.

John tells us that the pungency of this material was such that the fragrance filled the entire house. But the monetary value of it was really not the cost. If we understand this correctly, this kind of material would be in the home of a lady like this probably for one of two reasons: either that it would be used as a dowry on the occasion of her wedding or that it would be used in the manner in which she is about to use it but, instead of being used on a third party, actually used upon herself—in other words, retained in order that in the prospect of her own burial, she may be the beneficiary of the largesse of that which is contained in this alabaster flask or alabaster jar.

If you think about it in those terms, then you realize that the action of the lady was a pouring out of her future, if you like. She was pouring out her future on the head of the Lord Jesus Christ. She was, in a very real sense, surrendering her own plans, her own ambitions, her own aspirations—in one sense, her security. That which represented a year’s wages would have potential value if things were to go wrong. But instead, she chooses to pour this out on the head of the Lord Jesus Christ.

She breaks the flask, we’re told: “She broke the flask and poured it over his head.” Was this a gesture of complete abandonment? Once broken, the flask having served its purpose, could be discarded? We’re not told that she coaxed the top off and eked out a little on Christ as a gesture, quickly putting the top back on and retaining all the rest of it for the purposes that she already had in mind. Whatever was in her mind, in the occasion, confronted by the opportunity, the flask is broken, the fragrance is spread, and Christ is deluged by this extravagant gesture on the part of this lady.

If it was a moment of extravagance, it was a moment of extravagance that clearly was grounded in a time of premeditation. Because, as we’ve already noted, this was not the kind of thing that she would simply be carrying with her. Therefore, somewhere in the quietness of her own life, somewhere in the privacy of her own heart, somewhere in the secrecy of her own home, she determined that on this occasion, she would do this for Christ. She proceeded to the moment in order to do as she had done.

Now, here again, homiletically, as an aside that I wouldn’t necessarily want to dwell on, but it is worth saying to oneself, I think: And how would Christ have received this? We understand the routine gesture of hospitality in an Eastern context in terms of foot washing and anointing and so on. But I wondered whether Jesus would not have experienced this and found himself saying inside of himself, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. Father, my cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.”[10] And the darkness of the night settles in, and the anticipation of his crucifixion is before him—and in the midst of that this expression of devotion on the part of a lady who is anonymous in Mark’s record.

We must leave her action there, aware of the fact that it is unique in its thoughtfulness, it is generous in its bestowal, and it is timely, as we’re about to see, in its provision.

So, “A woman came.”

“They Scolded Her”

Secondly, you will notice: “[And] there were some who said to themselves indignantly, ‘Why was [this] ointment [used in this way]?” And at the end of verse 5: “They scolded her.” “They scolded her.”

Reaction’s an interesting thing, isn’t it? Especially when somebody does something as striking as this. We ought to be surprised by this. The trouble with so many of us is that we know our Bibles too well, or we know these records too well. I wish sometimes I could read the Bible for the first time all over again. And my anticipation presumably would be that when the lady had finished this, if they were operating on a kind of early twentieth-century sort of response, then it would have said, “And they bowed humbly in the awareness of what had taken place.” If they were operating on the basis of a late twentieth-century, early twenty-first-century response, then it would have said, “And they all burst into applause! And they said, ‘Oh, what a wonderful thing to do! And how exciting this is!’”

What you’re not prepared for is what it says. A lady comes in and does this for Jesus, and they begin to grumble to one another, and they growl at her. They’re indignant about what has taken place. And as a result, they scold her. They snort at her. She now is the object of their disapproval. In many ways, she has not only sacrificed her future, but she has also sacrificed her present. She has sacrificed social acceptability in the moment. Because what she has done is not met with alacrity; it is met with disapproval—angry glances, shocked comments. They regarded her action as extravagant, as wasteful, as a misuse of resources. And they thought they could take the high ground and explain their reaction in terms of a concern for the poor: “This ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor.”

But their express concern for the poor is a thin disguise for the fact that they have cold hearts, and they have tight fists. The disciples are once again on the wrong side of the equation when it comes to the values of the kingdom of God. The disciples—although led by Judas in this, as we’re told in the parallel passage[11]—the disciples are themselves opposed to what has taken place. These are the ones who have heard Jesus say, “Unless you take up your cross and follow me, you will never be my disciple.”[12] These are the ones who have heard Jesus say, “Don’t first go and deal with your field. Don’t first go and bury your father. You come and follow me.”[13] They had heard that firsthand. They knew that that was part of what it meant to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. And so now, in the presence of a lady who makes this extravagant gesture, instead of their response being one of approval, they join Judas in expressing their concerns as being in another direction.

Judas couldn’t fathom anybody who would waste something so valuable on such a basis. Later on, he was going to go to the very religious leaders and ask them this question: “What will you give me …?”[14] “What will you give me …?” Judas is a classic illustration of a person who ostensibly walks with Christ, is close to Christ—and yet exactly opposed to Christ at his core, only interested in what he may get from it. And such an individual will always be opposed to the extravagant gestures of women and men who are prepared to do this.

J. C. Ryle in the nineteenth century comments,

The spirit of these narrow-minded fault-finders is unhappily only too common. Their followers and successors are to be found in every part of Christ’s visible church. There is never wanting a generation of people who decry what they call “extremes” in religion, and are incessantly recommending what they term “moderation” in the service of Christ. If a man devotes his time, money, and affection to the pursuit of worldly things, they do not blame him. If he gives himself up to the service of money, pleasure, or politics, they find no fault. But if [that] man devotes himself, and all he has, to Christ, they can scarcely find words to express their sense of … folly. “He is beside himself.” “He is out of his mind.” “He is an enthusiast.” … “He is a fanatic.”[15]

The broken flask, the fragrant scent testified against their calculated pragmatism. If this lady had arrived at this house and sought the approval of this group before she did what she did, she would never have done it. There would be no record of it in the Scriptures, because they would have talked her out of it. They would have talked her out of it using high-sounding language about why this was an unnecessary thing to do, why this was a wasteful thing to do, why this was an extreme thing to do.

Now, my dear friends and brothers and sisters, listen: The real challenge that is contained in this passage is the challenge to face ourselves in it. We all want to say we’re the lady, but I have a sneaking suspicion that many of us are part of the disciple band. We are the pragmatists. We are the one who’s saying, “You can’t invest all that for the kingdom of God! You can’t throw your life away for the gospel!”

Somebody told me just the other day that their daughter or son had been at a Christian college, and the chaplain of the college had been challenged by a father who said to the chaplain, “I don’t like you moving my child in the direction of world missions. I did not,” said he many years ago, “give eighty thousand dollars to this institution to have my child throw his or her life away.” That’s a Christian university! Not this one.

No, I tell you, we’d be right there, wouldn’t we, with George Sr.: “Not going to do it. Wouldn’t be prudent. Not at this juncture.” The lady was scolded on account of the fact that her gratitude to Jesus caused her to give up her dearest possession. That’s why they scolded her!

We all want to say we’re the lady, but I have a sneaking suspicion that many of us are part of the disciple band.

Now, her action might be overplayed, but it dare not be underestimated. C. T. Studd in his day… Missionary biography is so helpful in this regard, isn’t it? But C. T. Studd in his day was: Cambridge University, the high echelons of English society, exceptionally wealthy background. His father had become a Christian. He in turn became a Christian. His wife was a Christian. And God so moved in his heart that he determined he must turn his back on all of this and go bury himself in Africa for the cause of the gospel. And people said the same things about C. T. Studd in his day: “This fellow’s crazy! What does he think he’s doing?”

C. T. Studd actually had been going somewhere, and he heard two lines repeated. And the lines were “Only one life; ’twill soon be past. Only what’s done for Jesus will last.” He actually heard somebody say that. And he went home to think about it. And he wrote a fairly extensive poem, which you can find on the internet, and it ends with those two lines all the way through.

Turning his back on all that represented stability, security, and notoriety to him, he was about to head out. He had taught his wife that she must understand how important the Lord Jesus was to her, that her security was in the Lord Jesus and not in her husband Charlie. And so, in the process of schooling her in that direction, he gave her a little poem that she was supposed to say each morning when she was having her quiet time. And this is what he taught her to say: “Dear Lord Jesus, you are to me dearer than Charlie ever could be.”[16] It’s quite good—not great poetry, but the sentiment is helpful. One day he would be gone; Jesus the King would remain. He wanted her to be secure in him. He was leading her in that way.

The trouble was, he didn’t do it in its entirety. She found out that when he gave away his fortune, he held back a hundred thousand pounds for her. In today’s currency, that is millions. So in other words, he kept a portfolio just for his wife. She found out. She chided him: “What about the poem? What about of the fact that God can look after me the way he looks after you?” So she said, “Charlie, give my hundred thousand away as well.” He said, “Where?” or “To whom?” She said, “To William Booth”—the founder of the Salvation Army. And they gave their money away there.

Now, what was the context? It’s the same value system. This is Studd: “If Jesus Christ be God and died for me, then no sacrifice that I could ever make for him could ever be too great.”[17]

Our contemporary culture has no problem with philanthropy. Gates and Buffett are heroes for dibbling around and dabbling around in their billions. Who’s to gainsay that? I’m very glad that the money would be used for something profitable, I trust. The Cleveland Clinic is full of people’s names who are now testifying to the world how amazingly generous they are, and nobody has any real concern about that. Millions and millions and billions have been spent in this political exercise, and people are heroes and have large plates of food and give large plates of money, and everybody says, “This is terrific stuff!” But just don’t go crazy on this Jesus thing. Just don’t go crazy on the exclusive claims of Jesus of Nazareth. Just don’t go crazy on believing in the sufficiency and authority of the Word that is proclaimed. Because actually, that is not as palatable.

[Newton] says, “To convert one sinner from the error of his way, is an event of greater importance, than the deliverance of a whole kingdom from temporal evil”[18]—putting, again, these questions in perspective.

Jesus’ Commendation

Well, our time is almost gone, so we’ll go to our third heading, right? “A woman came.” She was devoted. And they reacted: “They scolded her.” So she’s devoted, she’s scolded, and finally, she is commended.

Verse 8: Jesus says… Well, verse 7: “You[’ll] always have the poor with you.” He says, “This is an ongoing obligation. This is something that is your opportunity for all time. But in actual fact, you won’t have me forever.” As we say in the United Kingdom, Jesus would have said to them, “You know, what this lady has done is a one-off. There’s not going to be another opportunity for this kind of thing to happen.”

They scolded her, and Jesus reprimanded them: “Leave her alone. Why do you trouble her? She[’s] done a beautiful thing [for] me.” And then he’s actually quoting the law. He’s actually quoting [Deuteronomy 15]: “There will never cease to be [the] poor in the land.”[19] Don’t let’s go wrong on this. Understand perfectly what Jesus is saying: The ongoing opportunity and obligation for dealing with the poor is just that. But this experience, this moment in time, is unique. And what this lady has done is so striking. She’s “done a beautiful thing”—kalos, not just agathos; not just intrinsically good but beautifully good. “She has done what she could.”

What has she done? Well, he says, “Let me tell you what she’s actually done: She’s anointed my body beforehand for burial.” Now, the commentators largely say that this lady has done this unwittingly. I personally am not convinced. I don’t think we have to say that. They say that she has done this in the way that Caiaphas said something greater than what he knew he was actually saying.[20] This explanation by Jesus gives a greater theological context to what is going on. It’s possible that the lady knew exactly what she was doing. There is something about female intuition. There is something about the gift of God in opening the eyes that are dimmed to reality. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if these fatheaded disciples didn’t need a little lesson from an anonymous lady about what was actually going on here. After all, God opened the eyes of the thief on the cross to say, “We’re up here getting what we deserve, but this man has done nothing wrong.”[21] How in the world did that happen? Well, in the same way that something like this would happen.

The lady came. The demands of the law were for an anointing before burial. The way in which Jesus was about to be arrested and beaten and finally crucified gave no opportunity for those demands of the law to be met. And here this lady, wittingly or unwittingly, is doing that which was a necessary prerequisite for the death of the Lord Jesus himself. How immense! How amazing! How mysterious are the ways of God intersecting from eternity with the issues of a moment in time! It is a wonderful, wonderful thing. “Truly, I say to you…” “Truly, I say to you, … what she has done…” “What she has done…”

Now, the disciples—I just want to say a final thing about the disciples. Because they really are a bad bunch, aren’t they? That’s why I want to suggest that—don’t jump too quickly. Don’t go out of here and say, “I’m the lady.” You’re not. Let’s be honest: You’re one of the disciples. They were upside down right through the resurrection, right on to the Emmaus Road, and desperately in need in the fulfillment of the promise of the giving of the Holy Spirit, who would lead them into all the truth, right?[22]

The pathway to lasting honor is to honor Christ.

I mean, just take a smattering of it: “Lord Jesus, we were out this afternoon, and we saw a man casting out demons in your name. And we told him to stop.” Jesus says, “Don’t tell him to stop.”[23] One of the disciples says, “See! I told you not to tell him to stop! That was stupid. I knew!”

“Could you move the children back, please? Jesus is doing evangelism and healings. We can get them… No, no just… Pardon? Oh, yeah, as I was saying: Bring them a little closer! Bring… Bring… Yes. Yeah. No, no. Right up! On his knees! On his knees! That’s it. That’s…”[24]

“Just back from the Samaritan villages, Jesus. Not good. Wasn’t a good response. Would you like us to call down fire from heaven and burn them?”[25] Jesus says, “No, not this afternoon. No, I don’t think… I don’t think so.”

And here we are again. The lady comes in, takes her future, sacrifices it on the head of Jesus, anoints him for his burial, and these fellows just don’t get it! Such extravagant wastefulness for the kingdom of God! “And we are the core group! We’re the boys who know!” How little did they know! The self-contained, sensible scolding of these onlookers fades into obscurity, while the lasting value of the action—the extravagant action—of a humble woman is to be known wherever the gospel is preached.

Long after human eloquence and human brilliance are forgotten, when the deeds and the tales of emperors and kings and presidents are buried in the dust, Jesus says, this beautiful, significant, and timely act will be remembered. Because the pathway to lasting honor is to honor Christ.

“Leave her alone. … She has done what she could.” What she did was unique in its thoughtfulness, costly in its bestowal, timely in its provision, challenging in its impact, and lasting in its memory. Only the power of the cross established in our stubborn, selfish hearts might bring us to this similar place of wholehearted devotion to Jesus.

So grant, then, Father, that what we know not you will teach us, what we have not you will give us, what we are not you will make us. For we pray in Christ’s name. Amen.

[1] Mark 14:1 (NIV 1984).

[2] Mark 11:18 (ESV).

[3] See John 11:54, 57.

[4] See Psalm 2:1–6.

[5] Mark 12:43 (paraphrased).

[6] Mark 12:43 (ESV).

[7] Mark 12:43 (KJV).

[8] Mark 13:1–2 (paraphrased).

[9] Mark 14:5 (NIV).

[10] Psalm 23:5–6 (paraphrased).

[11] See John 12:4–5.

[12] Luke 14:27 (paraphrased). See also Matthew 16:24; Mark 8:34; Luke 9:23.

[13] Matthew 8:21–22; Luke 9:59–60 (paraphrased). See also Luke 14:18.

[14] Matthew 26:15 (ESV).

[15] J. C. Ryle, Expository Thoughts on the Gospels: St. Mark (New York: Robert Carter & Brothers, 1858), 298–99.

[16] C. T. Studd, quoted in Norman P. Grubb, C. T. Studd: Athlete and Pioneer (1933; repr., Harrisburg, PA: Evangelical Press, 1943), 91. Paraphrased.

[17] Studd, quoted in Grubb, 145. Paraphrased.

[18] “Messiah Suffering and Wounded for Us,” in The Works of John Newton (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1985), 4:228.

[19] Deuteronomy 15:11 (ESV).

[20] See John 11:49–52.

[21] Luke 23:41 (paraphrased).

[22] See John 16:13.

[23] Mark 9:38–40; Luke 9:49–50 (paraphrased).

[24] See Matthew 19:13–15; Mark 10:13–16; Luke 18:15–17.

[25] Luke 9:54 (paraphrased).