Commentary - John 12:1-11

Bird's-eye view

This scene in Bethany is a profound and fragrant overture to the final week of our Lord's earthly ministry. It is a tableau of contrasts, setting the stage for the Passion. We have life and death, worship and treachery, love and hatred, all gathered together in one room. Lazarus, a walking, talking monument to Christ's power over the grave, is reclining at the table. His very presence is a sermon. Martha, ever the servant, is serving. And Mary, in an act of stunning, extravagant love, anoints the feet of Jesus with perfume worth a year's wages, preparing Him for the burial His disciples still refuse to comprehend. This act of beautiful worship immediately provokes the ugly, pinched spirit of Judas Iscariot, whose hypocrisy is unmasked by the apostle John. Jesus defends Mary, anchoring her devotion to His impending death. The entire scene radiates outward, drawing the crowds and hardening the murderous resolve of the chief priests, who now want to kill not only Jesus but also the evidence of His life-giving power, Lazarus. This is the gospel in miniature: resurrection life prompts true worship, which in turn exposes the darkness and invites persecution.

The aroma of the nard fills the house, a physical manifestation of the glory of Mary's devotion. But this fragrance also anticipates the stench of death that will soon surround the Lord, and the ultimate sweet savor of His sacrifice that will fill the whole world. This is a moment of quiet intimacy and worshipful preparation before the final, public battle in Jerusalem. It teaches us that true devotion is often extravagant, rarely practical by the world's standards, and always focused on the person of Christ and the reality of His coming death and resurrection.

Outline

Context In John

This event occurs in John 12, which serves as a crucial turning point in the Gospel. Chapter 11 has just concluded with the staggering miracle of the raising of Lazarus. This act is the seventh and greatest of Jesus's "signs," and it is the one that solidifies the Sanhedrin's decision to kill Him (John 11:53). So, Jesus comes to Bethany not as a celebrated teacher, but as a man marked for death. This supper takes place "six days before the Passover," the very week of His crucifixion. The anointing at Bethany, therefore, is the final private act of devotion shown to Jesus before the public events of the Passion week unfold, beginning with the Triumphal Entry in the very next section. It is the calm before the storm. John places this story here to contrast the pure-hearted worship of Mary with the faithless greed of Judas and the cynical hatred of the religious authorities, setting up the central conflict that will drive the narrative to the cross.

Key Issues

The Aroma of True Worship

The central action of this passage is an act of worship, and it is a worship that engages all the senses. You can see the humility of Mary, you can hear the grumbling of Judas, and you can smell the perfume. John makes a point of telling us that "the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume." This is not an incidental detail. True, heartfelt, sacrificial worship has an aroma. It is a sweet savor to God, and it permeates everything around it. It changes the atmosphere.

Mary's worship was costly, it was humble, and it was prophetic. It was not calculated or utilitarian; it was an uninhibited overflow of love and gratitude for the one who had raised her brother from the dead. This stands in stark contrast to the religion of the Pharisees, which was all about being seen, and the "piety" of Judas, which was a cover for greed. Mary's act was not for show. It was a profligate, glorious, beautiful waste. And in the economy of the kingdom, such wastefulness for the sake of Christ is the very definition of good stewardship. It is an investment in the eternal, and its fragrance lingers long after the scent of the nard has faded.

Verse by Verse Commentary

1 Jesus, therefore, six days before the Passover, came to Bethany where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead.

The timing is precise. We are on the precipice of the most important week in human history. Jesus is not hiding or retreating; He is purposefully moving toward Jerusalem and the cross. And where does He go first? He goes to Bethany, a place of friendship, and a place defined by resurrection. John reminds us immediately that this is "where Lazarus was." The living, breathing Lazarus is the backdrop for everything that follows. He is Exhibit A of the Lord's authority over death, the very authority that has sealed His own death warrant. Jesus is dining with a man He pulled from a tomb, even as His enemies are plotting to put Him in one.

2 So they made Him a supper there, and Martha was serving; and Lazarus was one of those reclining at the table with Him.

The response to resurrection is hospitality. They make Him a supper. We see the characteristic postures of this family. Martha serves, expressing her love through practical action. This is the same Martha who was once anxious and troubled, but here her service appears to be unencumbered by distraction. And Lazarus is reclining, in a position of honor, fellowshipping with the Lord of life. His presence at the table is a miracle in itself. He is not just alive; he is in communion with his Savior. This is a picture of the great Messianic banquet, a foretaste of the feast to come where all those who have been raised with Christ will sit at table with Him.

3 Mary then took a litra of perfume of very costly pure nard, and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped His feet with her hair; and the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

Then comes Mary. While Martha serves and Lazarus reclines, Mary worships. Her action is breathtaking in its extravagance. A litra is a Roman pound, about twelve ounces. This was a massive amount of "very costly pure nard," an aromatic oil imported from India. This was likely her dowry, her life savings, all poured out in one moment. And the gesture itself is one of profound humility. She anoints His feet, the lowest part of his body, and then performs the unthinkable act of wiping them with her hair. For a woman to let down her hair in public was a shocking breach of decorum. This was an act of complete, unashamed, self-abasing love. And the effect is that the fragrance fills the entire house. Her private act of devotion has a public, unavoidable consequence. This is what real worship does.

4-5 But Judas Iscariot, one of His disciples, who was going to betray Him, said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor?”

The sweet aroma of worship immediately provokes the stench of hypocrisy. Judas Iscariot speaks up. John makes sure we know exactly who he is: "one of His disciples," and "who was going to betray Him." The betrayal was already in his heart. His objection sounds so pious, so socially conscious. Three hundred denarii was a year's wages for a common laborer. Think of how many poor people that could have fed! This is the eternal argument of the utilitarian. It is the voice of sanctimonious pragmatism that always questions extravagant love for God. It cloaks its greed and lovelessness in the language of concern for the poor.

6 Now he said this, not because he was concerned about the poor, but because he was a thief, and as he had the money box, he used to take from what was put into it.

John, writing with inspired hindsight, gives us the divine commentary on Judas's heart. He pulls back the curtain. Judas's objection had nothing to do with the poor and everything to do with his own pocket. He was the treasurer for the disciples, and he had sticky fingers. He was an embezzler. He saw Mary's offering not as a gift to Jesus, but as a lost opportunity for him to skim off the top. His feigned concern for the poor was a mask for his own thievery. This is a permanent warning against those whose first response to genuine worship is to do a cost-benefit analysis.

7 Therefore Jesus said, “Let her alone, so that she may keep it for the day of My burial.

Jesus rises to Mary's defense. "Let her alone." He shields her from the cynical criticism. And then He gives her action its true meaning. Whether Mary fully understood it or not, Jesus declares that her anointing was a prophetic act. She was preparing His body for burial. The disciples were arguing about who would be greatest in the kingdom; Mary was anointing the King for His death. She, in her loving devotion, grasped a truth that the twelve, in their ambitious pride, had completely missed. Jesus accepts her gift and consecrates it, tying it directly to the central purpose of His coming: His sacrificial death.

8 For you always have the poor with you, but you do not always have Me.”

This is not a dismissal of our obligation to the poor. Jesus elsewhere is adamant about caring for the "least of these." The point is one of priority and timing. There will always be opportunities to serve the poor, and Christians are commanded to do so. But the opportunity to anoint the physical body of the Son of God before His crucifixion was a singular, unrepeatable moment in all of history. Mary seized it. Jesus is teaching that He is of ultimate and supreme value. Devotion to His person is not in competition with other duties; it is the foundation of all other duties. To place anything, even a good thing like charity, above the worship of the present Christ is to have your priorities inverted.

9 Then the large crowd from the Jews learned that He was there. And they came, not because of Jesus only, but that they might also see Lazarus, whom He raised from the dead.

The scene shifts. The news of Jesus's presence spreads, and a crowd gathers. But their motives are mixed. They are drawn by a desire for the sensational. They came not just to see Jesus, but to see Lazarus, the man who was a living ghost. He was a spectacle, a curiosity. This is not the same as the faith-filled worship of Mary. It is the fickle interest of the crowd, drawn to signs and wonders but not necessarily to the one who performs them.

10-11 But the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death also; because on account of him many of the Jews were going away and were believing in Jesus.

Here we see the ultimate bankruptcy of unbelief. The chief priests, confronted with irrefutable evidence of Jesus's power over death, do not repent. Instead, their hatred deepens. Their solution is not just to kill the life-giver, but to kill the life he gave. They want to destroy the evidence. Lazarus was a walking, talking testimony to the glory of Christ, and because of him, many were believing. The religious establishment could not tolerate this. Their power was threatened. So their response to resurrection life is a conspiracy of death. This is the heart of fallen man: if you cannot kill the truth, kill the man who bears witness to it. It reveals the utter spiritual insanity that sin produces.

Application

This passage forces us to examine the nature of our own worship. Is it calculated, respectable, and safe, like the would-be piety of Judas? Or is it extravagant, humble, and sacrificial, like the worship of Mary? The gospel is not a call to a sensible, budget-conscious religion. It is a call to pour out our lives, our best, our most costly possessions, at the feet of the one who gave everything for us. Our worship should have an aroma. It should be so saturated with love for Christ that it changes the atmosphere of our homes, our churches, and our communities.

We must also be wary of the Judas-spirit within us, that cynical voice that sneers at heartfelt devotion and calls it waste. It is the voice that cloaks its own stinginess and love of the world in the language of practicality and concern for "more important" things. But there is nothing more important than Christ. He is not one priority among many; He is the Lord of all.

Finally, we see that a life touched by the resurrection power of Jesus will inevitably provoke a reaction from the world. Like Lazarus, our new life in Christ is a testimony. It is evidence that Jesus is Lord. And a world that hates Jesus will also hate the evidence of His power. We should not be surprised when our faith invites hostility. The chief priests are still with us, and they are still plotting to silence the testimony of resurrection. But their plots are futile. They can no more kill the life that Christ gives than they could keep Him in the tomb.