Alabaster Box

“Then Mary took a pound of ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped His feet with her hair; and the house was filled with the odor of the ointment” (John 12:3).

“When the Lord Jesus restored Jairus’ daughter to life, He quietly withdrew from the scene. When He raised up the son of the widow of Nain, He simply resumed His journey. However, whereas He was only a passing stranger to these, He was an intimate and beloved friend of the household at Bethany. We never read of a second visit to the home of Jairus, or hear of a further meeting with the widow of Nain. But Lazarus, Mary and Martha were devoted believers at a time when very few cared to be numbered among Jesus’ friends and while many were planning His death. Such love and loyalty were the strong cords of an unreserved devotion which bound them to His heart, with the warmest feelings of mutual affection operating with magnetic power to draw Him back into their midst time and again. Thus, His final return to Bethany after an absence of some weeks was the natural consequence of a cherished friendship and this kindly home gladly opened to receive Him, with a chosen few for a private banquet. It was a simple gathering to celebrate the restoration of Lazarus from the grave and those who had mourned for his death had met to rejoice in his restored life. Jesus was the Guest of honor, and Martha as hostess, would minister to His needs. Mary was there with her generous love and Judas with his selfish greed. The twelve who had come with their Master would behold in Lazarus a living trophy of His power over death and the grave. Thus the stage was set and scene prepared for an act of outright devotion such as this world has seldom known, and for the noblest offering that ever cheered the Man of Sorrows in His sojourn on earth. Within a week of His passion and in full view of His burial, Mary broke the alabaster cruse to anoint her Master in a supreme tribute of love and faith.

The first thing upon which our thoughts are centered in this verse is the fact of Mary’s gift, “ointment of spikenard, very costly.”…Those who have settled in Eastern lands or who have traveled through desert wastes know, as few others ever know, how the sweet balm of a fragrant ointment can renew the pilgrim and refresh the weary. Cool waters are not more welcome to a thirsty soul than is the rich perfume of some choice ointment to one who is weary; there is no sedative more powerful to relieve the exhaustion or fatigue engendered by dust and heat. However, there were not many who could afford the purchase of these costly ointments and they were a luxury which few could enjoy. The Lord Jesus was oft-times both thirsty and weary as He journeyed throughout the length and breadth of the sun-scorched land of Canaan. A running brook to quench His thirst or a peaceful shade in which to rest were His to enjoy in common with all His fellow-men. But seldom, if ever, did precious balm of costly ointments ever refresh or relieve the wearied spirit of Him who, though He was rich, yet for our sakes had been content to become poor.

However, Mary of Bethany was to introduce this pleasure into the earthly life of the Man of Sorrows, which she had kept as a treasured gift one day to be lavished on her Lord. The ointment was spikenard, whose scent was of the rarest odor and it was preserved in a sealed cruse of beautiful alabaster. How Mary came to be in possession of an ointment of such great value and rare perfume we are not told. It may have been the bequest of a loving parent, or it may have been the purchase of her private savings. We are told that it was no less than a pound in weight, and Judas declared that it could have been sold for three hundred pence. If the laborers in the vineyard were content to toil all day for a penny, the ointment was worth a sum almost equivalent to a workman’s wages of one whole year. It was therefore no trivial offering that Mary thought of; but she counted nothing too precious to bestow upon her Lord and she was content to part with her most valuable possession in the interests of the Savior. She may have had in mind the example of David who once refused to make an offering of that which cost him nothing (2 Sam. 24:24), and she planned to bring this alabaster cruse of very precious ointment for the simple reason that is was the choicest thing in her possession. Thus, it had long been laid by as a secret but sacred gift to be kept until the house was ripe for her to pour it forth in honor of the Master.

Mary’s pound of ointment was a symbol of the willing surrender of her own heart. She brought what was most precious in order to give of her best to the Lord Jesus. The costliness of her gift would render it doubly precious in His sight, but its real worth did not consist in monetary value and could not be measured in market terms. It was not its weight in pounds or its worth in gold, but its value in terms of love was what made it an honor so acceptable to Him. Mary was under no compulsion to bestow that treasured ointment upon her Lord, but she brought the alabaster cruse as the voluntary tribute of her heartfelt devotion. Thus, if any child of God really wants the Master to take pleasure in Him, he too must gladly lay at His feet the choicest gift that love can bring. Are we willing to offer Him the costly gift of our inmost heart in the unfeigned surrender of faith and love? This is the first great step on the highway of blessing and unless we take this step, the Christian life can hold nothing further for us.

While the guests reclined at ease around the supper table, Mary was deeply stirred by the train of thought, which the scene of her brother being restored to life called forth in her mind. There before her eyes sat her own brother Lazarus after being raised from the dead, a monument to the sovereign power of the Lord Jesus as the Resurrection and the Life…

Both her love and her faith, grateful for the past and thoughtful for the future, would unite to tell her that the time had come to bring forth her treasured gift. Thus, Mary drew near the figure of her Lord in order to fulfill her cherished plan: “then…Mary…anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped His feet with her hair.” She who had found solace in His sympathy in the hour of her grief now came to offer Him the comfort of her own heart-felt understanding on the eve of His trial. The alabaster cruse of precious ointment was in her hands as she passed quietly behind the seated company. She did not pause until she reached the place where He reclined in easy leisure, but then she discharged her mission with dramatic suddenness: “She broke the cruse and poured it over His head.” A comparison of each narrative will show that both His head and His feet were anointed with the fragrant balm…Then she knelt at the foot of the couch on which He lay and used the flowing tresses of her loosened hair to wipe His unsandaled feet. Soon that holy brow was to wear the crown of thorns; soon those sacred feet were to be pierced with nails. No gentle friend would be allowed to tend Him when He was pinned to the cross; no loving hand would be able to soothe Him when He was close to the end of life. But tender forethought had led Mary to prepare for the approach of that day and to provide for its bitter trial by this ministry of love. Her sweet gesture of lowly and lovely devotion was offered as a tribute of sympathy before His life had run its course, and it was worth far more to Him than all the care and kindness of those who brought their spices as a token of their love after He had bowed His head and given up the spirit.

Mary’s cruse of alabaster was a symbol of the grateful outpouring of her own heart. The ointment might never have been used if she had placed the fragile vessel in His hands, for we can hardly conceive that He would have cared to anoint Himself. There might have been a selfish tinge in her gift if the cruse had been kept whole, a secret hope that it would be returned to the giver. But no one could ever deny the real beauty of her love or the rich bounty of her gift when the fragile seal was broken with her own hands and the fragrant balm was lavished on His head and His feet. The Master could not fail to recognize that this act was the spontaneous expression of genuine sympathy and that it was inspired by the purest motives of a noble devotion. The broken fragments of that fragile vessel were the final proof of a love that was as rare as it was sweet. And, if the child of God really wants the Master to take pleasure in him, he too must be willing to yield the love that springs from brokenness of heart. Nothing can ever truly satisfy Him that does not involve a similar offering on the part of those who profess to yield their lives to Him. Are we willing to offer Him the outpoured love of our inmost soul in the unfeigned sacrifice of a broken spirit and a humble life?

Mary’s gift was a mirror of Mary’s heart, and it is charged with a special message, a searching challenge, for those who care to hear and heed….Jesus was ready to pour out His soul unto death and to die from a broken heart on Calvary. Thus, He has filled the whole world with the fragrant perfume of His redeeming love. It is for those who desire to follow Him to remember that it is in the breaking that the secret lies. How much there is to be broken is known to God alone; how much it will cost to be broken is concealed from our

eyes…Let us yield ourselves…that our lives will give forth the hallowed perfume of an outpoured love and every kindred grace…”

This gleaning was taken from a book Mary of Bethany; unfortunately, the author’s name has been lost to us.

Alabaster Boxes

Mathew 26:6-13

Do not keep the alabaster boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up until your friends are dead. Fill their lives with sweetness now, speak approving, cheering words while their ears can hear them and while their hearts can be thrilled and made happier by them. The kind things you mean to say when they are gone, say them before they go.

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