The Anointing at Bethany

The evening air hung heavy with the scent of spring blossoms as Jesus and his disciples made their way through the narrow streets of Bethany. The small village, nestled on the eastern slope of the Mount of Olives, had become a refuge of sorts for them, a place where they could find respite from the growing tensions in Jerusalem. The sun was setting, painting the limestone buildings in hues of gold and amber, as they approached the house of Simon the Leper.

Simon, though long healed of his affliction, still carried the name as a reminder of the miracle that had transformed his life. His home had become a gathering place for Jesus and his followers, a safe haven where they could share meals and conversation away from the prying eyes of the Pharisees and their spies.

As they entered the courtyard, the disciples were weary from their journey. The past few days had been filled with teaching and confrontations in Jerusalem, and the weight of unspoken tension hung in the air. They all sensed that something momentous was approaching, though none dared speak of it openly.

“Welcome, Master,” Simon greeted them, bowing slightly. His face, once ravaged by disease, now beamed with health and joy. “Please, come in and rest. The meal is prepared.”

Jesus embraced his host warmly. “Peace be with you, Simon. Your hospitality is a blessing to us all.”

The disciples filed into the house, taking their places around the low table in the main room. Servants brought basins of water to wash their feet, and the aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air. Peter, James, and John positioned themselves close to Jesus, as was their custom, while Judas Iscariot sat slightly apart, his dark eyes watching everything with unusual intensity.

As the meal began, conversation flowed freely among the group. Andrew was discussing the day’s events with Philip, while Thomas engaged in a thoughtful debate with Matthew about the prophecies they had heard Jesus explain in the temple. The atmosphere was relaxed, almost festive, despite the undercurrent of anticipation that seemed to follow them everywhere these days.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the room as a woman entered. She moved with purpose, her eyes fixed on Jesus, carrying an alabaster jar that caught the light from the oil lamps. Many recognized her as Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus, though some whispered other names. The jar she held was immediately recognizable to all – pure nard, an expensive perfume worth a year’s wages.

Without hesitation or explanation, she approached Jesus. The disciples watched, transfixed, as she broke the seal of the jar. The sweet, powerful aroma of the perfume immediately filled the room, overwhelming even the scent of the food. With trembling hands, she began to pour the precious oil over Jesus’s head.

Judas was the first to break the stunned silence. “Why this waste?” he demanded, his voice sharp with indignation. “This perfume could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor!” Several other disciples nodded in agreement, murmuring their disapproval.

The woman’s hands faltered for a moment, but she continued her task, now kneeling to anoint Jesus’s feet. Unbinding her hair – an act that caused several disciples to look away in embarrassment – she used it to wipe his feet, her tears falling silently on the floor.

Jesus raised his hand, silencing the growing murmurs of protest. His eyes, filled with compassion, met those of his disciples. “Leave her alone,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Why are you troubling her? She has done a beautiful thing to me.”

Peter leaned forward, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Master, surely the money could have been better spent? Think of how many hungry mouths it could have fed.”

Jesus smiled sadly. “The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me. She has done what she could. She has anointed my body beforehand for burial.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. The disciples exchanged uncomfortable glances. Jesus had spoken of his death before, but never so directly, never so immediately. The reality of his words seemed to press down on them like a physical weight.

John, who sat closest to Jesus, spoke softly. “Lord, surely you don’t mean… Are you saying this is truly to prepare you for burial? But you are here with us now, full of life and strength.”

Jesus placed his hand on John’s shoulder. “Truly, I tell you, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.” His eyes swept the room, meeting each disciple’s gaze in turn. “Do you understand what this means?”

Thomas, ever the one to voice his doubts, spoke up. “No, Master, we don’t understand. You speak of death and burial, yet you are the Messiah. How can the Chosen One of God be meant for death?”

Jesus leaned back, his expression thoughtful. The flickering lamplight cast shadows across his face as he considered his response. “Remember what I have told you about the prophet Jonah? As he was three days in the belly of the great fish, so must the Son of Man be three days in the heart of the earth. This woman,” he gestured to Mary, who remained kneeling at his feet, “she understands what is to come, even if she cannot speak it.”

James, who had been silent until now, shifted uncomfortably. “But Master, we left everything to follow you. We believed you would restore the kingdom to Israel. How can this be part of God’s plan?”

“My kingdom is not what you imagine,” Jesus replied, his voice filled with patience and understanding. “You think of earthly power, of armies and thrones. But I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

The disciples exchanged confused glances. Bartholomew cleared his throat. “Master, speak plainly to us. What are you trying to tell us?”

Jesus looked around the room, taking in the faces of those who had followed him faithfully for three years. Some showed confusion, others fear, and a few – like John and Mary – seemed to grasp the weight of the moment, even if they couldn’t fully understand it.

“The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified,” he began. “You have seen the crowds in Jerusalem, how they welcomed us with palm branches and shouts of ‘Hosanna.’ But I tell you, the same voices that cry ‘Hosanna’ today may cry ‘Crucify’ tomorrow.”

A collective gasp went through the room. Simon, who had been standing quietly in the corner, stepped forward. “Surely not, Lord. The people love you. They’ve seen your miracles, heard your teachings. They would never turn against you.”

Jesus smiled sadly. “Simon, Simon. Do you remember when I healed you of your leprosy? The crowds celebrated then too. But human hearts are fickle, and the religious leaders are determined to destroy me. They see me as a threat to their power and position.”

Judas spoke again, his voice tight with barely contained emotion. “Then use your power! You who calmed the storm and raised Lazarus from the dead – surely you could stop them. One word from you could bring legions of angels to your defense.”

“Ah, Judas,” Jesus replied, his voice heavy with sorrow. “You still don’t understand. My power is not meant for such things. The cup that the Father has given me – shall I not drink it?”

The woman, Mary, finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “He must go to Jerusalem. He must fulfill what is written.”

All eyes turned to her, some with surprise, others with lingering disapproval. Jesus nodded. “She speaks truth. The prophets wrote of this day. ‘He was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities.’ Isaiah saw this moment centuries ago.”

Peter jumped to his feet, his face flushed with emotion. “No, Lord! This shall never happen to you. We won’t let it happen. We’ll protect you, fight for you if we must!”

Jesus’s response was swift and stern. “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” His voice softened as Peter sank back down, chastened. “My friend, my rock, I know your heart is good. But this is why I came.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. The perfume still hung thick in the air, a constant reminder of the extraordinary act they had witnessed and its profound significance. The oil glistened in Jesus’s hair and on his feet, catching the lamplight like tears.

Andrew, always practical, finally spoke. “Master, what would you have us do? How should we prepare for… for whatever is coming?”

Jesus looked at him with affection. “Watch and pray. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. The hours ahead will test you all in ways you cannot imagine.”

“Will you leave us then?” Matthew asked, his voice trembling slightly. “After everything we’ve seen and learned together?”

“I will not leave you as orphans,” Jesus assured them. “I will come to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live.”

Philip leaned forward earnestly. “Lord, show us the Father, and it is enough for us.”

Jesus’s response was gentle but carried a note of sadness. “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still don’t know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’?”

The disciples fell silent, pondering his words. The room grew darker as the evening wore on, the shadows deepening in the corners. Yet the atmosphere had changed from one of confusion and protest to something more solemn, more sacred. The reality of what Jesus was telling them began to sink in, even if they couldn’t fully grasp its meaning.

“Listen carefully,” Jesus continued, his voice taking on an urgent quality. “One of you will betray me.”

The words fell like stones into still water, sending ripples of shock through the group. The disciples looked at one another, confusion and suspicion warring on their faces. Even Judas managed to look appropriately horrified, though his hand tightened on his money bag.

“Surely not I, Lord?” they began to ask, one after another, their voices overlapping in their eagerness to deny such a possibility.

Jesus raised his hand for silence. “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. The Son of Man goes as it is written about him, but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that man if he had not been born.”

The disciples fell into an uneasy silence, each man examining his own heart. The woman, Mary, had finished her task and sat quietly near Jesus’s feet, her hair still damp with perfume, her eyes fixed on his face as if memorizing every detail.

“I tell you these things now,” Jesus continued, “so that when they happen, you will remember that I told you about them beforehand. Remember also what this woman has done. She has prepared me for burial, yes, but more than that – she has shown you what true devotion looks like. It is not about calculating the cost or weighing the practical considerations. It is about giving everything in love.”

John, who had been quietly observing everything, spoke up. “Master, you speak of betrayal and death, yet you seem at peace. How can this be?”

Jesus smiled, and for a moment, the weight of what was to come seemed to lift from his shoulders. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.”

The evening continued, and as they shared bread and wine, Jesus taught them many things. He spoke of vines and branches, of shepherds and sheep, of mansions in his Father’s house. He told them of the Helper who would come, the Spirit of truth who would guide them into all truth. Through it all, the fragrance of the perfume lingered, a sweet reminder of sacrifice and love.

As the night grew late, Jesus led them in prayer. His words echoed through the room with power and tenderness: “Father, the hour has come. Glorify your Son that the Son may glorify you… I have manifested your name to the people whom you gave me out of the world… I am praying for them. I am not praying for the world but for those whom you have given me, for they are yours.”

The disciples listened, moved beyond words by the intimacy of this moment. Even those who had been skeptical of Mary’s extravagant gesture began to understand that they were witnessing something profound, something that would be remembered and retold for generations to come.

As they prepared to leave Simon’s house, Jesus turned to Mary, who had remained silent through most of the evening. “Your faith has served as a witness to all who are here. What you have done will not be forgotten.”

She bowed her head in acknowledgment, unable to speak through her tears. The other disciples, chastened by Jesus’s earlier rebuke and moved by the events of the evening, looked at her with new respect.

Outside, the night air had grown cool, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of olive blossoms from the nearby groves. As they walked toward the Mount of Olives, where they would spend the night, the disciples were unusually quiet, each lost in his own thoughts.

Peter walked close to Jesus, still troubled by the evening’s revelations. “Lord,” he said quietly, “though all others fall away, I will never leave you. I would die with you if necessary.”

Jesus looked at him with deep affection and sadness. “Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned again, strengthen your brothers.”

The others pretended not to hear this exchange, but they too felt the weight of Jesus’s words. They had witnessed something extraordinary in Simon’s house – not just the anointing, but the beginning of the end of their time with Jesus. Though they couldn’t fully understand it yet, they sensed that everything was about to change.