“The poor you have with you always, and whosoever ye will ye
may do them good; but me ye have not always.”

(Mark 14:7)

The anointing scene at Bethany is one of those puzzling Biblical incidents where pious, conventional patterns of thought and behavior are set aside to make room for a higher, grander level of motivation and conduct.

The scene is laid in the comfort and calm of a banquet hall in the little village of Bethany. The principals are: Jesus, His twelve disciples, a few trusted friends, including as John tells us, that beloved trio: Mary, Martha and Lazarus. The time — that fateful last week of Jesus’ life when the cross loomed so clearly before Him and He was striving in gentle kindness to break this news in all its mysterious tragedy and glorious saving power to His closest friends.

Then this incident occurred, strangely pregnant with significance for the banqueters gathered there and for all of us who down the years have trusted in Him and taken His word to guide us. While the dinner is being served and the guests are eating and conversing, Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus steals to Jesus’ side, breaks a bottle of costly ointment and begins to anoint His head.

A sudden silence steals over the happy company. Tis not a loud cry nor a noisy rap for order which calls the banqueters to hushed attention, but rather the smell of a pungent odor spreading through the room. In silent awe all eyes are turned to watch Mary’s pantomime of devotion.

And how do they take it? Why, the disciples of Jesus are indignant at the careless waste! “Why was not this valuable spikenard sold and the money given to the poor?” demands an angry Judas Iscariot. Yes, this is the rebuke Mary gets. If she had really wanted to do something for Him, why did she not think of those poor for whom He had lived and for whom so soon He was to die? Thus, in sharp criticism, instant rebuff, those who had been the closest students of Jesus, condemned poor Mary’s impulsive act with the very heart of His teachings on charity.

But then comes Jesus’ surprising defense. “Leave her alone,” says the Master. “Leave her alone. Hush your carping criticism. She has done a beautiful thing. This is really an anointing for my burial so near at hand. The poor you have with you always, and whenever you wish you can do them good, but you do not always have me with you.”

This dinner scene and its stunning meaning should be unforgettably impressed upon the retina of our memory as that other imperishable picture of the Last Supper which we carry ever in our hearts. For this gospel remnant, too, has power by the grace of Christ to lift us up out of the lower flats of pedestrian goodness and help us stand with Him on the very peaks of eternal goodness.

Two things we learn here from Christ, the Lord of life, and Mary who loved Him so.

First, there is this: it is the spontaneous self-forgetting, not-counting-the-cost act of love which most rejoices the Savior’s heart. Mary’s anointing was an unbelievable extravagance. The bottle of costly ointment had an estimated value of some $500.00, the equivalent of a laboring man’s total wages for many months of toil in poverty-stricken Palestine. No wonder the disciples startled cry: “What waste! Why did she not sell it and give it to the poor?”

But Mary has broken through all careful calculation of cost. “She did not pour out a few drops and say, ‘Well, I guess that ought to be enough for this occasion.’ . . . She was lifted clear out of an arithmetic into love, one of the greatest leaps a life can ever take.” (H. Luccock — Interpreters’ Bible). “Give all thou canst,” says Wordsworth, “high heaven rejects the lore of nicely calculated less or more.”

Arthur John Gossip tells of the lad who in battle saw his buddy go down under the withering enemy fire. His commanding officer forbade the soldier to attempt a rescue. “Don’t go, son,” the officer said. “They’ll get you, too. Besides, your buddy is likely done for already.” But the lad went anyway. He dashed out into the unprotected open. He made it, miraculously, through the hail of shells, to his fallen comrade’s side, picked up the wounded man and raced back to the safety of their line of trenches. But the commander could see the lad was shot to pieces and his friend in his arms hung lifeless. “Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t worth it?” snapped the officer. “See your friend is already dead and you yourself are mortally wounded. It wasn’t worth it.” “But sir,” said the lad with a radiant smile, “It was worth it. You see, he was still alive when I got to him, and he said to me, ‘Bill, I knew you’d come.’”

Heaven affirms, for we have the word of the Lord of Glory Himself, that there are values of reward accruing to the reckless, extravagant self-giving in love, that nothing else on this earth can equal. “Leave her alone,” says Christ, “She has done a beautiful thing.”

Then there is this we must learn from Bethany’s anointing scene: There is a principle of priority which must be carefully followed in all life’s stewardship and service. What is this principle of priority? Just this: “that which can be done only at a given moment, or not at all, shall have precedence over what can be done at any time.” (E.T. Thompson, p. 210 — Gospel of Mark, John Knox Press)

Of course, kindness to the poor is always a primary duty. But the Savior of the world was drawing near the cross. By love’s strange intuition and by observing the turn of events, Mary sensed or knew that this was for Jesus a crucial hour. His own nation was rejecting Him. Evil notions swirled already within the traitor’s breast. If ever a man needed assurances of love and understanding of purpose, now was the moment. Soon in the sweep of that cosmic cause in which He was caught up it would be too late. Whatever she did she must do quickly. Soon the cross would claim Him. But now, in this moment, it was her privilege to show her love, and with a feeling exquisite for its sensitivity to His need and prophetic of His fate, she acted out her love more eloquently than any words could have framed it. And Jesus gives his ecstatic approval. “The poor you have with you always; and whensoever ye will ye may do them good, but me, ye have not always.”

Who of us is there that is not at least dimly aware of this principle of priority? You don’t always have your parents with you. Life is geared that way. They come on before you, prepare the way for you in home and culture and education. The time will come when they are gone from your side. Whatever you do to show your love, your appreciation, your understanding must be done while they are here.

So is it also with your children. You do not have them always beside you in the malleable, formative years. The training, the education, the show of your affection, hopes and confidence when it will mean the most to them is for a limited time only. It is then or never.

So is it also with the church. In childhood and youth, the church is serving us. She is nurturing us in the faith, imparting the truths of God, fashioning character, bestowing for Christ our eternal salvation. Also in old age and in declining years we shall lean heavily upon our church for the consolation and comfort she alone can afford us in the twilight hours of our earthly pilgrimage. There are just a few years in the height of our productive powers that we can give to our church and to Christ’s kingdom. We, at Idlewild, are realizing in a most dramatic way, the awesome “once and for all nature” of this priority principle. For our Great Capital Funds Campaign for the Mission of Idlewild is now swiftly drawing to a close. There has been no such effort by this congregation for 30 years past. There will be no such campaign again in all likelihood for another 30 years. The program of Christian nurture and the facilities determining the quality of service this church will render during the rest of your lifetime and mine is now being determined. Here is our great opportunity to do something significant and lastingly worthwhile for the church we love. If we pass it up now, we have just missed our chance. Sure, we have the poor with us always, but this campaign will soon close, the stewardship and acts of devotion of Idlewild members will then be translated into resources little or large for the service of the King. Now is our hour of opportunity.

The anointing at Bethany enunciates this principle of priority: those things which can be done only at a given time, once and for all, must hold priority over those which can be done anytime. “The poor you have with you always,” says Jesus, “and whensoever you will you may do them good, but me, ye have not always with you.”

Do you remember what the old elder said to the young deacon when he overheard the deacon saying: “Our church is just costing us too much. The budget is high. There is appeal after appeal for good causes. The Building Fund Campaign is on. The church and its varied causes are all worthwhile, but the thing is just getting out of hand. Our church is costing us too much.”

Then the old elder said to the deacon: “Young man, let me tell you something. Years ago, my wife and I had a son born to us. Right away he began to cost us. Before we could bring him home we had to pay the hospital bill. Then there was the cost of what we owed the physician. Household expenses soon began to rise when there were no longer just the two of us. When he started to school, that cost us more. There were suits and shoes and sweaters and all a growing boy needs. When he began to go out with the girls, that cost us too. Finally, our son went away to college, and what he had cost us before seemed as nothing compared with those heavy expenditures for tuition, room and board. Then one day word came that our son was ill. My wife and I rushed to the college campus. But our son grew steadily worse. In spite of all that could be done, our son died. And do you know, that from that day to this, our son has never cost us another cent.”

If your church is not costing you something; if your discipleship to Christ and His church and His cause of righteousness and redemption and release for the prisoners of sin and the slaves of injustice and the great legions of the lost is not costing you anything in love and labor, then your church and your Lord are dead to you, or rather, you are dead to Him.