On the women who gave everything they had, and the God who received it
There's this moment that keeps pulling at me—two women, two gardens of sorts, one alabaster flask. Actually, two flasks. Two moments in Jesus's life where someone looked at him and decided he was worth everything they had.
Both times, it was a woman. Both times, she broke something beautiful and poured it out. And both times, people around the table got uncomfortable.
The First Breaking: When Shame Meets Love
Early in his ministry, Jesus is eating at a Pharisee's house. Simon—he's confident, curious, probably a little proud of having the controversial rabbi at his table. But he doesn't wash Jesus's feet. Doesn't offer the customary kiss of greeting. This is early on in his ministry and he was more than likely near Galilee, possibly Nain
Just... observes.
And then she walks in.
A woman from the city. Everyone knows what she does for money.
She probably never chose this life, she probably was alone and at this point she is used to the scoffs whenever she walks past.
See most people in her position only got there due to abandonment , widowhood, slavery or because their innocence was taken forcefully or willingly. They were no longer acceptable for marriage. The sheer economic desperation, to survive pushed them into that kind of life.
She was an outcast in every sense, yet never truly chose to be.
But she hears there is this one guy. One guy that more than likely wont judge her or call her an outcast. She hears he's different.
She hears he is at this Pharisees house. Now at this point she could have given up, the thought alone to go to what is approximately an enemies home as the Pharisees righteous judgement was infamous would have been overwhelming, crippling almost. Yet her desire to change her life, was so desperate, it was filling the inner core of her very existence, that fear of being judged again or being called crazy or bullied, hurt, kicked out and mistreated didnt come close to the feeling of desperation to be known and accepted.
She's not invited—she crashes the party, armed with an alabaster flask of ointment that probably cost her a year's wages.
A years salary that she had probably been saving for the longest time.
Maybe more. Scripture says she "brought" it, but I keep wondering about the gathering—how she scraped together everything she had, all her savings, all her dignity, to buy this one thing. She may have even bought this ointment for her profession to attract clients, and this was her way of surrendering every part of her including her profession.
She is giving him everything she has, because he is the first person who has ever seen her—really seen her—and not turned away.
She stands behind him. Weeping. Her tears fall on his feet, and she wipes them with her hair—her hair, which was supposed to be covered, reserved, respectable. She kisses his feet. She breaks the flask and pours. All her pain and sorrow that filled out, poured out at that very moment, poured out and left at Jesus feet for him to trample on and make them no more.
The room goes silent except for her weeping as the smell wafts in the room.
Simon is internally freaking out. If this man were a prophet, he'd know what kind of woman is touching him.
But Jesus does know. That's the whole point. He knows exactly who she is, what she's done, what she's been through and who she thinks she is and what everyone thinks she is, what the flask cost her. And he receives it. He receives her.
"Her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much."
Not because the oil earned forgiveness. But because the oil said what her words couldn't: you are worth everything to me.
Jesus uses an illustration of debts being forgiven to explain to Simon, what she did. But She walked away probably embarrassed but filled with Joy and Peace and may have become one of the women that followed him. We don't know, but we can safely say she did not walk away unchanged.
She is introduced not by:
- name
- family
- town
But by:
“a woman… who was a sinner”
And she leaves the story as:
“a woman… whose sins are forgiven”
The alabaster woman trusted Jesus with her present and her identity
Luke 7:36-50 - Jesus Anointed by a Sinful Woman
36 When one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, he went to the Pharisee’s house and reclined at the table. 37 A woman in that town who lived a sinful life learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, so she came there with an alabaster jar of perfume. 38 As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.
39 When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner.”
40 Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”
“Tell me, teacher,” he said.
41 “Two people owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii,[a] and the other fifty. 42 Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he forgave the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?”
43 Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.”
“You have judged correctly,” Jesus said.
44 Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. 45 You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. 46 You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. 47 Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.”
48 Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”
49 The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?”
50 Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”
The Second Breaking: When Love Anticipates Loss
Fast forward. Different house—Bethany this time. Different woman—Mary, the one who sat at Jesus's feet while her sister cooked. But the same posture of heart.
She comes with another alabaster flask. Pure nard, Mark says. Very costly. She breaks it—actually breaks the container, not just opens it—and pours it over his head. The fragrance fills the house. John's gospel says she poured it on his feet too, wiped them with her hair, just like that first woman.
The disciples lose it. Judas especially—"why this waste?" he asks, calculating the year's wages in his head, thinking of all the poor people they could have helped. (John adds the detail that Judas didn't actually care about the poor; he was skimming from the money bag. But the others seem genuinely confused by the extravagance.)
Jesus defends her. Again. "Leave her alone. She has done a beautiful thing to me."
Here's what gets me: Mary anoints him before the cross. Before the tomb. Before the resurrection. She's preparing his body for burial while he's still alive, still eating with them, still teaching. She sees what's coming. Or maybe she just sees him—really sees him—and understands that love this deep requires a response this costly.
"Wherever the gospel is preached," Jesus says, "what she has done will be told in memory of her."
And it has been. Both women, actually. Though we only know Mary's name.
***
12 Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. 2 Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. 3 Then Mary took about a pint[a] 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.
4 But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, 5 “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.[b]” 6 He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.
7 “Leave her alone,” Jesus replied. “It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. 8 You will always have the poor among you,[c] but you will not always have me.”
What the Flask Holds
Alabaster is soft stone. You have to carve it carefully, hollow it out, shape it to hold something precious. It wasn't cheap. And once you broke it—really broke it, like Mary did—you couldn't put it back together. The pouring was final.
I keep thinking about what I pour out, and what I hold back. What I break open, and what I keep sealed up because I'm afraid of the waste, the mess, the judgment of people who don't understand.
These women didn't calculate the cost-per-ounce of their devotion. They didn't worry about looking foolish, or excessive, or inappropriate. They saw Jesus—really saw him—and the only response that made sense was everything they had.
The first woman came with her shame and her gratitude, mixed together like the oil and her tears. Mary came with her grief and her love, poured out before she even knew for sure what was coming. Both were received. Both were defended by Jesus himself. Both were remembered.
John says the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. I think about that sometimes—the way love like that lingers in a room, in a life, in a story. You can't un-smell it. You can't ignore it. It changes the atmosphere.
The critics in both stories—the Pharisee, the disciples—were worried about stewardship. Efficiency. Propriety. They wanted love to look respectable, to follow the rules, to not make a scene.
But love that has been forgiven much, or love that sees what's coming and chooses to give anyway—that kind of love doesn't care about the scene. It cares about the person. It breaks the flask. It pours it all out. It accepts that some things, once given, can't be un-given, and that's the point.
What Would You Break?
This has made me reflect, how much do i give to my father. Like I will say it out loud and I will say it in my prayers "dear Lord I give you everything etc etc " but would i be strong enough to take a whole years wages to present to my Abba. My King of Kings. But these women did, they gave their everything.
It got me thinking about some things. Quite Seriously.
I don't know where you are as you read this. Maybe you're the woman from the city, carrying shame that feels heavier than a stone flask, wondering if your past disqualifies you from coming close. (It doesn't. It never has.)
Maybe you're Mary, watching someone you love walk toward something hard, and you're trying to figure out how to show them—really show them—what they mean to you before it's too late.
Or maybe you're at the table, uncomfortable with someone else's extravagant devotion, calculating the waste, missing the beauty because you're worried about the cost.
Wherever you are, the invitation is the same: come with what you have. Gather it if you need to—all of it, everything that matters. Break it open. Pour it out.
Place it at Jesus feet.
The fragrance will fill the house. And Jesus will receive it. He always does.
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