"Why was the ointment wasted like that?"... Then Judas Iscariot, one of the twelve, went to the chief priests to betray Him, and they gladly promised him money (a paraphrase of Mark 14:4–5, 10–11).

The parallel accounts are in John 12:1–11 and Matthew 26:6–13; a similar event in a different setting is recorded in Luke 7:36–38. In the parallels, the disciples criticize the woman for wasting an expensive jar of perfume on Jesus, arguing that it might have been sold and the money used to help the poor. We are told that Judas' motive was not genuine (John 12:6), though the other disciples may have been sincere. Jesus defends the woman and calls what she did a beautiful thing.

As I read this account, I remember my previous posts criticizing a pastor for receiving a much higher salary than his average parishioner, or criticizing a church for spending a great deal to modernize its facilities when the money could have been used to plant churches or help the needy. Yet I knew that pastor was not given to greed, and that church was not catering only to the wealthy.

Was it wrong for the pastor to live better than the average parishioner? Should a missionary have to live in the same poverty as the people he is reaching? That pastor faithfully studied the Scriptures and taught the congregation week after week. He did not flaunt wealth or chase extravagance.

Was it wrong for a church to spend a large sum on renovation? That church sees people from every background come to Christ, and its broadcast and internet ministries reach many thousands every week with the gospel and the clear teaching of Scripture.

Scripture does not attack the wealthy merely for being rich. What Scripture condemns is when they are not generous, when they pay unfair wages, when they reject God in their pride, when they forget the poor and needy, and when they show favoritism.

Some argue that Jesus was not commending lavish spending when He commended the woman — that He was recognizing a unique moment, since she was preparing Him for burial. But did Mary herself know that? Did she not simply want to honor the One she loved? Of all those present, her motive was likely the purest.

We all have a critical eye that we sometimes confuse for discernment. Sometimes it is enough to do good with what we have and to rejoice when others do good with what they have, even if it is not the greatest possible good we ourselves can imagine.

I count myself lavishly enriched by God, for He has given me every spiritual blessing in Christ (Ephesians 1:3). God has promised us all good things along with Christ (Romans 8:32). What do I care about luxuries — but if some of them are used to advance the gospel, praise God!

Therefore, I will not criticize the rich man who seeks the Lord as well as he can. I will not criticize the wealthy church that seeks to serve the Lord as well as it can. Let me simply do my part in seeking and serving God as well as I can with what God has given me.

AI-Expanded Reflection

Mark frames the anointing deliberately. It sits between the chief priests' plot (14:1–2) and Judas' visit to them (14:10–11) — extravagant devotion sandwiched between calculated betrayal. Jesus' defense of her is emphatic: "Leave her alone. Why do you trouble her?" (14:6). And He adds a promise unique in the Gospels: "wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world," what she did will be told in memory of her (14:9).

Jesus' words about the poor — "you always have the poor with you," and whenever you want, you can do good for them (14:7) — quote Deuteronomy 15:11, which continues, "You shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy." Far from excusing neglect of the poor, the allusion assumes ongoing generosity toward them. The comment's more generous reassessment of others' spending decisions reflects Paul's caution about judging another's servant: "Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another?" (Romans 14:4).

Why has this perfume been wasted? (Mark 14:4).

This woman, presumably Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus, came to Jesus with something of great value to her, "an alabaster vial of very costly perfume of pure nard." As some present surmised, it was worth over a year's wages. In one instant, Mary poured the entire vial on Jesus' head, filling the entire house with the fragrance of the perfume.

This was no normal occurrence. People did not go around giving up costly things. No, costly things were reserved to mark special occasions or to honor special people. In the case of Jesus, it was immeasurably both, the most special occasion for the most special Person.

The occasion was His death on the cross for the sins of all mankind. The occasion was for those there the most important event, not only in history but in all eternity. What Christ would accomplish in His death, burial and resurrection was something only He could do, namely, bringing about eternal salvation for everyone who believes.

And it would do injustice to identify Jesus merely as a special Person. He was not only the most special Person, He was the One through Whom all things came to be, for Whom all things were made, by Whom all things are held together, and in Whom all things He wills would endure forever.

The very thought and utterance of the words, "Why has this perfume been wasted", revealed the absolute ignorance of the people who attended Jesus at this home in Bethany.

Friends, as ignorant as these people were to suggest that Mary's vial of perfume was wasted on the Lord Jesus Christ, I don't know that we are much wiser. What I mean is that we don't seem to fathom the true worth of the One we worship and to Whom we have entrusted our eternal destiny. We live as though we wear our faith on our sleeves, following Jesus like we follow our favorite baseball or football team. What is more, He is not simply our cosmic insurance policy, but we treat Him like He is. And He is not simply our emotional salve when our circumstances become overwhelming or unbearable. He is the Lord of the universe. He is the Lord of us. And as gracious and compassionate as He certainly is, He, nevertheless, commands uncompromising obedience and trust.

Some of the greatest theological minds came together to create a catechism for new Christians. Their first lesson involved a question and answer. They asked, "What is the chief end of man?" Their biblical answer was, "To glorify God and to enjoy Him forever." I wonder, as Christians, if this is how we see our chief purpose in life: To glorify the Lord Jesus Christ and to enjoy Him forever -- not what He can do for me in my home, in my work, in my pursuits -- just Him. Asaph, David's chief director of praise, wrote these words:

Whom have I in heaven but You? And besides You, I desire nothing on earth. My flesh and my heart may fail, But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever (Psalm 73:25–26).

I wonder, today, is this our all-consuming passion? Are we delighting in our great God and Savior? Are we pursuing Him and His purposes as the chief end and daily interest of our lives? May we all be like Mary and demonstrate our understanding of His great worth!

AI-Expanded Reflection

Mark places the anointing between the plot to arrest Jesus and Judas’s approach to the chief priests (Mark 14:1–11). That arrangement gives the woman’s action a significance beyond the price of the perfume. While some seek an opportunity to hand Jesus over, she gives something precious to honor him. The contrast is not simply between generous and ungenerous personalities. It concerns the recognition of Jesus at the moment when his path leads toward rejection and death. Her act becomes a witness within a narrative otherwise filled with misunderstanding and betrayal.

Jesus himself interprets the action in relation to his burial (14:8). We should not assume that the woman understood every aspect of the coming passion as clearly as he did. An action can receive a significance from Jesus greater than its performer could articulate. This allows us to honor her devotion without inventing a complete account of her motives or knowledge. Mark leaves her unnamed, whereas John identifies Mary in his account of an anointing at Bethany. Reading the accounts together is reasonable, but it remains helpful to distinguish what Mark explicitly tells us from details supplied by harmonization.

The objection about the poor also deserves careful handling. Jesus does not announce that devotion to him makes concern for poverty obsolete. His reference to the continuing presence of the poor recalls a scriptural world in which that presence calls for openhanded care (Deuteronomy 15:7–11). His impending death makes this particular opportunity unrepeatable. The passage therefore cannot become a general defense of religious extravagance whenever someone raises questions about stewardship. An expensive project undertaken in Jesus’ name is not automatically equivalent to this woman’s act, which Jesus personally receives and interprets.

The original’s appeal to the Westminster catechism brings the discussion from expenditure to purpose. Glorifying and enjoying God means that God is more than a means to obtaining a preferred life. Psalm 73 reaches a similar confession through a struggle with the apparent prosperity of the wicked. The psalmist’s delight is not uncomplicated sentiment; it emerges as his distorted comparison is corrected in God’s presence. God becomes his portion even when flesh and heart fail. Devotion is thus measured not only in a dramatic gift but in the reordering of desire under conditions that do not flatter us.

For us, the question is not merely what costly thing we can relinquish. It is whether Christ’s worth governs the use of time, possessions, abilities, and attention. A conspicuous sacrifice can still serve the giver’s reputation, while an unnoticed act of obedience can express profound love. The woman’s example invites us to receive Jesus’ judgment of what is beautiful rather than relying entirely on the crowd’s calculation. At the same time, his word keeps our devotion connected to his actual mission: the Lord we honor is the one who gives himself for others, and our worship should increasingly bear the shape of that self-giving love.

But Peter said to Him, “Even though all may fall away, yet I will not.” And Jesus said to him, “Truly I say to you, that this very night, before a rooster crows twice, you yourself will deny Me three times.” But Peter kept saying insistently, “Even if I have to die with You, I will not deny You!” And they all were saying the same thing also (Mark 14:29–31).

The leader of the apostles declared his loyalty to Christ. Peter asserted that others may betray Jesus, but not him. He declared that not even death would shake his loyalty. Yet, it was short-lived, for on the very day that this loyalty was tested, it proved only paper thin. How rattling it must have been for Peter, after making such a bold declaration of loyalty, to have the weakness of his faith exposed by the Lord in front of all the disciples.

It was not so long ago that Peter declared, "You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God." (John 6:68–69). Yet, here he was already challenging Jesus' prophetic claim that Peter would deny Him. Perhaps it would have been more noble for him to fall on his face and declare, like the father of the deaf and mute boy, "Help me overcome my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24).

Peter's problem was personal pride. It is our problem as well. We all want to justify ourselves. We are unwilling to admit our frailty. In Peter's case, he chose to allow Jesus to take the journey to the cross alone. In Luke's Gospel we are told that, right after Peter's third denial and just after the rooster crowed, Jesus turned and looked directly at Peter (cf. Luke 22:61). How crushing this must have been for him.

Friends, how horribly sad this story would have been if Peter's testimony ended here. It would have stood alongside the testimony of Judas Iscariot as the two most ill-fated lives in all of history.

Instead, praise God, Peter's testimony stands in contrast to that of Judas. He repented and was restored (cf. John 21:15–22), and with a new-found humility. In view of this transformation, Peter would later write these words:

Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings. And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen (1 Peter 5:6–11).

Peter knew about humbling himself and being lifted up again. He understood what it means to fail and be restored.

Friends, let us take Peter's example to heart, but not to declare that we would have done better. While we fixate on Peter, the Bible tells us that all the disciples fled the scene when Jesus was arrested. And it would not be until the resurrection and then the baptism of the Holy Spirit that they would come out from hiding. No, my friends, we would have been just the same. We are not any better than Peter or the disciples.

Let us, therefore, humble ourselves and acknowledge our frailties. The Lord has given us a great work to do, even to do this work together. Let us confess our failures, forgive our shortcomings, and proceed together in this great work of advancing God's kingdom in the world.

AI-Expanded Reflection

Peter’s failure begins with a comparison: others may fall away, but he considers himself the exception. His affection for Jesus is real, yet his confidence outruns his self-knowledge. Mark places that assurance beside Jesus’ warning and then shows the disciples sleeping when they should be praying (Mark 14:27–42). The contrast exposes more than a shortage of determination. Peter trusts the strength of his present feelings without attending to the dependence that future obedience will require. A sincere promise can therefore become spiritually dangerous when it substitutes for watchfulness.

Jesus’ instruction to watch and pray supplies the alternative. A willing spirit does not cancel the weakness of the flesh; willing disciples must bring that weakness before God. This is different from deciding that resistance is useless because failure is inevitable. Prayer belongs to responsible action: leaving a compromising situation, asking for help, telling the truth early, and refusing opportunities to display superiority. Peter’s experience warns us especially against saying that a particular temptation could never become ours. Such statements often identify the very places where we have stopped listening to correction.

The father’s plea in Mark 9:24 offers a better account of living faith than Peter’s competitive pledge. Belief and the recognition of unbelief can inhabit the same appeal to Jesus. Admitting weakness does not necessarily diminish faith; it may direct faith away from the self and toward its proper object. Similarly, Peter’s confession in John 6:68–69 rests on Jesus’ words and identity. The enduring foundation is not the disciple’s ability to maintain an uninterrupted level of courage but the Lord to whom the disciple returns.

Restoration, however, does not make denial inconsequential. Luke records Peter’s bitter weeping, and John 21 portrays a searching encounter in which love for Jesus must become care for his sheep. Jesus neither reduces Peter to his worst act nor treats that act as trivial. This combination matters when Christians address serious failures: grace opens the possibility of repentance, while truth requires acknowledgment, repair where possible, and patient evidence of change. Peter’s particular commission cannot be turned into an automatic timetable for restoring any fallen person to leadership.

The exhortations of 1 Peter 5:6–11 deepen the original comment’s connection. Humility before God, the casting of anxieties upon him, vigilance against the adversary, solidarity with suffering believers, and hope in God’s restoring power belong together. Casting our cares is not an escape from vigilance; it frees vigilance from the illusion of self-sufficiency. The movement toward public witness also unfolds across the resurrection appearances, prayerful waiting, and the coming of the Spirit, rather than at one isolated instant. For us, the practical question becomes less “How can I prove that I am stronger than others?” and more “Where must I depend on Christ, receive correction, and serve the people he entrusts to my care today?”

Mark 14:51–52 records that a young man followed Him, wearing nothing but a linen cloth, and when they seized him he left the cloth behind and ran away naked.

This is not mentioned by the other Gospels. It seems small and useless — why include it? There must be something significant. I read through looking for evidence that others were included among the disciples here, but there is not much to support that. Nakedness carried real weight in that culture, so mentioning it must point to something, perhaps simply his desperation to get away. But it seems unnecessary to the story otherwise.

Commentaries have long suggested this was the writer himself. It reads like a personal token, similar to what is found in John's Gospel — small details others do not share, as if to say, I was there. A true account need not be tidy; if it were entirely tidy, that would make it less likely to be genuine. Something similar applies to the women being the first witnesses, in a setting where their testimony carried less weight. To say "I even ran away naked" makes a point: why ridicule yourself in the telling unless you are giving an open testimony?

AI-Expanded Reflection

The identification with John Mark is an ancient suggestion and remains plausible rather than established — the text does not name him, and other explanations have been offered. What the comment does with it, though, is the more interesting move, and it appeals to a principle historians actually use: details that embarrass the source are unlikely to be inventions.

The women at the tomb are the standard example, and the comment is right about the reasoning. In a setting where women's testimony was discounted, a fabricated resurrection account would not have made them the first and primary witnesses. All four Gospels do, which is difficult to explain if the accounts were being shaped for persuasive effect.

Mark's narrative is full of similar material: the disciples are consistently obtuse, Peter denies Jesus, the family thinks He is out of His mind, and the earliest ending leaves the women fleeing in fear and saying nothing. These are not the choices of someone constructing a flattering foundation story.

Jesus said to watch and pray so that they would not fall into temptation, because the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak (a reference to Mark 14:38).

Every believer struggles to know what can be done to overcome temptation and live a holy life. One of the things the Lord both teaches and demonstrates here is simply this: watch and pray. It is affirmed in the parallel in Matthew 26 and in Hebrews, which says that during the days of His life on earth Jesus offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears to the One who could save Him from death, and was heard because of His reverent submission (a reference to Hebrews 5:7).

Hebrews says Jesus was heard — His prayer was answered. You may ask in what sense, since He was crucified. Remember that He prayed the Father's will be done, and that was indeed answered.

"Watch" simply means stay awake, stay alert. We are told the disciples kept falling asleep because they were tired and their eyes were heavy (Mark 14:40). This is what Jesus meant by the flesh being weak. He was urging them to contend with natural physical needs in order to gain spiritual ground. I am reminded of driving long distances and doing whatever it took to stay alert.

AI-Expanded Reflection

The core instruction is well drawn. Watch and pray is what Jesus both says and does in Gethsemane, and the contrast between His praying and their sleeping is the scene's whole structure.

On the passage that has been set aside: Matthew 5:29–30 is understood across virtually the entire history of Christian interpretation as hyperbole — a deliberately extreme statement making the point that sin is worth serious cost to avoid. Jesus had just said that looking lustfully is already adultery in the heart, which no amputation would address, and the church has never read these verses as a literal instruction. Origen is remembered partly as a cautionary example of what happens when someone takes this kind of language literally. On a page meant for general reading, quoting those verses as warrant for physical severity toward oneself is not something to leave unqualified.

The related point is worth making plainly. What Gethsemane actually describes is not self-punishment but the difficulty of staying present in prayer while exhausted — and Jesus's response to the sleeping disciples is notably gentle. He wakes them, states the diagnosis (the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak), and returns to pray. He does not demand more of them than their bodies could give, and the passage on Elijah discussed earlier in this project shows God supplying sleep and food before anything else. Scripture's treatment of physical limitation is more merciful than an ascetic reading allows.

Passover was celebrated by Jews to commemorate God's deliverance from four centuries of enslavement in Egypt. It was integral to God's covenant with Israel — that He would be their God and their provider. More than a thousand years later, Jesus and His disciples would observe this same ceremony, as every other Jewish household did, recognizing God's promise and provision.

For Christians, the Last Supper marks the transition from the old covenant to the new covenant of grace through Christ. Christ pays for all humanity's sin once and for all, announcing that His body and blood would be the eternal payment.

While they were eating, Jesus took bread, gave thanks, broke it, and gave it to His disciples, telling them to take it, that it was His body. Then He took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, and they all drank from it — saying this was His blood of the covenant, poured out for many, and that He would not drink again from the fruit of the vine until He drank it new in the kingdom of God. When they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives (a paraphrase of Mark 14:22–26).

A few thoughts came to me reading this again. The Last Supper marks the end of Christ's earthly ministry with them. He has spent three years teaching, encouraging, and giving them a firsthand view of His miracles. From this point on the disciples would largely be on their own, apart from His post-resurrection appearances. What a blessing to have been firsthand witnesses to the greatest event in history.

AI-Expanded Reflection

The detail worth pausing on is the one this comment quotes without comment: Jesus says He will not drink again from the fruit of the vine until He drinks it new in the kingdom of God. In the middle of a meal that is about to become the church's central act of remembrance, He frames it as unfinished. The Passover looked backward to a deliverance already accomplished; this meal does both — backward to a death not yet suffered and forward to a meal not yet eaten.

Paul makes the same structure explicit when he writes that in eating and drinking, the church proclaims the Lord's death until He comes (1 Corinthians 11:26). The Supper is not only a memorial. It is an interval marked out at both ends.

Mark 14:36 captures the spirit of Jesus's entire ministry: not what I will, but what You will (a paraphrase). Jesus came to do the Father's will — which is also why He said of His own earthly family that whoever does God's will is His brother, sister, and mother (a paraphrase of Mark 3:35). So the character of a disciple of Jesus, and of everyone in God's family, should reflect this same singular desire to obey God in action, word, attitude, and affection.

We stay so busy with so many things, yet only one thing ultimately matters — are we doing God's will? Are we doing everything, spiritual and mundane alike, for His glory? Whether things go our way or not, does our attitude reflect a genuine conviction that God is in control? Proverbs teaches that a person may plan all he wants, but it's the LORD who ultimately determines his steps (Proverbs 16:9; cf. 16:1). And if everything God does is good (cf. James 1:17; Romans 8:28), shouldn't we always be praising and thanking Him in everything?

Yet why do we so often get frustrated and complain to God? Could it be we forget He's in control? Do we sometimes buy into Satan's lie that God isn't really that good? Or does our attitude betray a divided interest — partly in God, but mostly in getting our own way? Perhaps we need to join Asaph in the sanctuary of God to regain perspective, remembering that simply the nearness of God is our good (Psalm 73:28), not the benefits of a happy, prosperous life. Then our Job-like pain can turn to praise: having no one in heaven but God, desiring nothing else on earth, and finding that even when flesh and heart fail, God remains the strength of the heart and its portion forever (a paraphrase of Psalm 73:25–26).

And with Jesus, about to face the height of shame and suffering on the cross, we too can say: not what I will, but what You will.

AI-Expanded Reflection

Worth noting how quickly this exact prayer gets tested in the very next scene — moments after saying "not what I will, but what You will," Jesus finds His closest disciples asleep instead of praying with Him, and gently observes that the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak (a paraphrase of Mark 14:37–38). Submission to God's will, in other words, isn't a one-time declaration that settles the matter permanently — even Jesus prays this same surrender three separate times in the same short passage (Mark 14:39, 41), suggesting real submission is less a single decisive moment and more something that has to be repeated, deliberately, especially under continued pressure.