That he would visit my house, the home of a leper, surprised even my friend Lazarus. But by the time the Rabbi reclined by the table of my home, so crowded was the street outside that men threatened to enter my home by force. Such was the effect the Rabbi had upon people: whether through adoration or offense, he drew a crowd.
I knew him only as the Teacher who had healed me of this dreadful disease. Once an outcast and shunned by all, now neighbors crowded by the door as they sought a glimpse of the one rumored to be the Messiah. So, too, did certain religious leaders from Jerusalem. Word had spread quickly at the news that Lazarus, dead and cloaked with the stench of decay, had walked out of his tomb.
The meal proved lavish, for rumors spread the Rabbi would soon declare himself king of Israel. Already, temple priests, teachers of the law, Scribes, and Pharisees sought evidence of any sign that he might claim the throne of David. Their interest in this “one from Nazareth” came not from adoration, but from offense. His miracles, his healings, but most of all his teachings, threatened their position and standing.
While he reclined at the table, Mary, Lazarus’ younger sister, dropped to her knees and poured oil, first on his feet, then his head. The refreshing fragrance quickly filled the room.
Mary’s actions, bold and visible to all, testified to her love. I could not help but wonder about her motives.
Kneeling in submission before this man as Ruth once knelt before Boaz… spending a year’s wages on oil, … touching the Rabbi in such an intimate and public manner. Though not spoken aloud, the murmuring must have reached his ears.
“How dare she make her intentions known publically. Who does she think she is?”
“Surely he will not take her, one of such meager means, for his wife.”
“Lazarus put her up to it. He desires a prominent position in this man’s kingdom.”
Perhaps Mary carried a secret love in her heart. And maybe, had he lived, she might have pursued marriage. But I have my doubts.
Only now, upon reflection, do I see how Mary gave her heart and soul to him that night, but not in romantic love.
I alone witnessed the shared look between them—how his eyes registered the depth of her sacrifice and loyalty. The tenderness of his gaze, the way the back of his fingers brushed tears away from her cheeks.
She knew what the Rabbi knew—that he would never live to see Passover.
That evening, I carried a tray of lamb and placed it before him on the table. But the one who would become our sacrificial lamb seemed not to notice. His gaze remained fixed on Mary.
Days later, at his crucifixion, Mary refused to attend. Other women, yes, but not Mary. His face, beaten beyond recognition, Â would have broken her heart. When the other women rushed to his tomb on the first day of the week, Mary remained in solitude. Her anointing before his death hinted at the truth and testified to his words. Though he had spoken many times of his impending death, only Mary, it seems, believed.
She understood what the rest of us did not grasp until later—the Rabbi had to die so we could live.
Yes, the Rabbi healed me of a vile affliction that left me unclean, my home unclean, my very soul unclean. I’m so very thankful. For that, I love the man in a transactional way.
Mary’s love goes much deeper. Hers is born of faith and the belief that his words are true, as are his claims of power and authority over death. She knew before the rest of us that the grave could not hold the Son of God. That is why she anointed his body. There would be no need for a second anointing.
Even now, the fragrance of the perfume lavished upon him lingers in my home. And because it does, Mary will sometimes visit, kneeling in the place at my table where she did that evening. In silence, with eyes closed, she will rock back and forth, silently praying while tears stream down her face.
I confess, some nights when my home is dark, I too kneel and weep, praying once more he will touch me. Not because I am unclean. I know I have received forgiveness and am eternally cleansed. But oh, how I long once more to feel his hand upon me.
Mary has that in her heart, and it will never be taken from her.
(Matthew 26:6-13), (Mark 14:3-9) (John 12:1-8)
I never think much of this man. But thanks for a new insight.