“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” (John 12:3).
The intimacy of this passage (John 12:1-8) forces me to catch my breath as I imagine the scene, the sounds, the smells, the feel of her hair on His feet, the room full of men talking while Martha served them. Surely a hush rippled through the room as Mary stepped in, intent on her Lord. Though the attention was on her, I imagine that she didn’t even know it, because she was so consumed with her Savior, her Jesus. She broke her jar, her precious offering of pure nard, an expensive perfume, and poured it on her Lord’s feet in an act of worship, adoration, anointing Him as the King that He is.
The crash of the vessel as it broke and the simultaneous burst of fragrance was stunning, shocking even. Thick and warm, it ran over Jesus’ feet and as it pooled around Him on the floor, she fell to capture it and bathe His feet with her hair—thick, long, coarse, uncovered.
Silence echoed in the room. She gave all of it—not a lot of it—all that she had. But she didn’t just give it, she gave herself. She worshipped Christ as she gave. Her heart was bubbling over throbbing with love, with devotion, with recognition of the One Who gave her life. She cast off any customary restriction or barrier that her gender and position presented, and embraced fully the love of her Savior—a love that exploded within her. She chose not to see or fear the other men in the room, fully assured of Jesus’ acceptance of her and her offering. She considered only His approval and wasn’t chained by the potential disapproval of others. She knew she was loved and received by her Lord; she knew from the deepest parts of her being that He knew her and loved her and she held nothing back from Him. She knew that He required all of her and she freely gave all that she was and all that she had for His glory and Name.
Mary’s devotion challenges me. So often, I struggle against my own self-condemnation. Too often, all I see are my failings—my impatience with my children, my inability to meet my own standards of cleanliness and orderliness in my home, and the list goes on. I presume that when I fall at my Savior’s feet He will point out my imperfections rather than enfold me in His arms. I fear that He will criticize my failings rather than receive me with joy.
As I read this passage, the Lord whispers to my heart, “Why do you doubt me? I have given my all for you. Come to me with complete abandon, and watch Me make you alive in a way you’ve never been before. I will never turn away from you, my child.”
I realize that when I don’t come to Him in worship and adoration and complete abandon, I am giving into the lies I choose to believe rather than letting Christ speak into my weakness and call forth His strength. He longs to engulf me—and you—in His love and call me forth to greater depths with Him and give me victory over the areas of my life where I am weak. But I first must come—and bring all of myself to the One who gave His all for me.
~ By Amy Littlepage