Extravagant Worship / Mark 14:1-11

Well, hello church. It is great to be with you again. My name is Mike, and if I haven’t met you, it is a pleasure to be up here. I’ve been up here a couple of times this summer, and it’s great to finish out our series. As you know, we are in the book of Mark, and we’ve been boogying through it pretty quickly. We’ve been picking up big chunks of the book of Mark. For those of you who have been praying and wishing that we would slow down, tonight is your night. Shay covered a whole chapter last week in chapter 13. The week prior to that, we did about a chapter and a half. Tonight, we are going to look at just eleven verses. That’s it. One story, no big elaborate outline. One story of one woman in an interaction with Jesus.

Turn with me, if you will, to Mark chapter 14. We’re going to take a look at a beautiful parenthesis in the narrative. This story occurs right in the middle of the Passion Week of Jesus Christ—in the midst of pain, difficulty, tests, trials, Shay’s message on the end times, persecution, and religious leaders pointing fingers. Today is going to be different. We are going to see a picture of worship: a woman ascribing ultimate worth to Jesus Christ. This story is of such importance that it is recorded in three of the four Gospels. Mark, Matthew, and John all tell different aspects of this same story. It is a sobering picture of a woman who is laser-focused on Christ, where everything else in her life fades to the peripheral.

When Nothing Else Matters

Have you had moments in your life where you realize that in the moment you’re in, nothing else matters? Everything else pales in comparison.

I had one of those moments in a very negative way about nine years ago. I was at a soccer game with our family. My oldest child, Madison, who was five at the time, was playing bunch-ball. I think they call it soccer, but it’s really bunch-ball, right? It just looks like a pack of kids following the ball around. She was five years old, playing sandlot soccer, and we were there with another family watching their kids too. Between our three and their two, we had five little girls all under the age of five.

My middle child, Cali, looked up at me and said, “Daddy, I have to go to the bathroom.” Now, if you know Cali, “I have to go to the bathroom” doesn’t mean right now; it means ten seconds ago. So I went into a full panic. I looked at my wife, Michelle, and asked, “Where do we go to the bathroom? We’re at Liberty Elementary, what do we do?” She looked at me and said, “I have a newborn.” Ella was literally weeks old at that point. Michelle said, “You’re taking her.” I said, “Okay.”

So I grabbed Cali and started running. Madison decided she was going to come with me, so we were all hoofing it across the field past the baseball stadium, trying to find the restrooms. We got about halfway to the bathroom, and Madison said, “I think I’m going to go back to Mommy.” I said, “Sweetheart, you’re five. I can’t walk you back right now. Do you see Mommy?” I turned her around and pointed. “Do you see Mommy right over there?” She locked eyes on her and said, “Yes.” I said, “Great. Go to her. I’ve got to run!”

I took Cali, sprinted to the bathroom, got the business done, came out, and started walking back across the field. As I looked over at Michelle, I saw Ella, and I saw the other two kids, but I didn’t see Madison. That sinking feeling of panic began to rise in my chest as I realized I had just lost my first child. This was the first of many lost-child stories I could tell you, by the way, but this was my first.

My heart started racing. I walked up to Michelle and asked, “Hey, where’s Madison?” She looked at me and said, “What do you mean, where’s Madison? Madison went with you to the bathroom!” I said, “Well, no, she got halfway and turned back…”

Panic. My blood pressure spiked. I looked around and all I saw was a sea of people—soccer games everywhere, parents, coaches, kids. I was literally shaking, wondering where my little girl was. In that exact moment, nothing else in my life mattered. Had you come up to me and said, “Mike, I know where your kid is, but it’s going to cost you your car,” I would have handed you the keys. If you said, “You have to give up a finger,” I would have said, “Which one do you want? I’ve got nine more.” Your house, your savings, your retirement—nothing else in that moment mattered to me except finding my child.

Long story short, she was hiding underneath the bleachers. I don’t know why that was her choice, but we found her, and all was well. She’s now a mildly wounded high schooler who made it through, and all of our children have since been lost and found again. Don’t take any parenting tips from me, by the way!

That feeling of singular focus is what this passage is all about. We are going to see a woman interact with Christ in a moment where literally nothing else in the world mattered to her.

The Dark Backdrop

Mark sets the scene for us in verses 1 and 2, giving us a chronological anchor of what was happening.

It was now two days before the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread. The chief priests and the scribes were seeking how to arrest Jesus by stealth and kill him, for they said, “Not during the feast, lest there be an uproar from the people.”

Mark 14:1-2 (NASB)

Now the Passover and Unleavened Bread were two days away; and the chief priests and the scribes were seeking how to seize Him by stealth and kill [Him]; for they were saying, ‘Not during the festival, otherwise there might be a riot of the people.’

Chronologically, we are around Wednesday of Passion Week. The Passover feast was two days away, beginning on Friday, the fourteenth of Nisan. This was an annual festival Israel had celebrated for nearly 1,500 years—a sacred remembrance of God’s deliverance of Israel out of Egyptian slavery. Every year, families would gather, slay a lamb, and share a feast.

During Passover, the population of Jerusalem exploded. The Jewish historian Josephus recorded that at a Passover festival about thirty years later, upwards of two to three million people were packed into Jerusalem. The city was overflowing with pilgrims celebrating God’s redemption.

At this point in the narrative, the Sanhedrin—the chief priests and the scribes—had made up their minds. They had decided they were going to execute Jesus. In the weeks prior, their hatred had been stoked by the cleansing of the temple and the triumphal entry. But the event that truly tipped the scales happened just over a week earlier: Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead. When news reached the religious leaders, they called an emergency meeting and resolved to put Jesus to death.

Here was their conundrum: with millions of people in Jerusalem, tensions were high, and riots were common. If they arrested Jesus publicly, the crowds who admired Him would revolt. So their plan was to wait until after the festival was over to quietly seize Him.

An Intimate Dinner in Bethany

At this point, Mark steps out of strict chronological order. He takes an event that happened a few days earlier in Bethany and inserts it right here. Mark isn’t simply writing a timeline; he is painting a theological portrait. He sets this story of pure devotion right against the dark conspiracy of the religious leaders.

Look at verse 3, where Mark brings us into a dinner party at the home of Simon the Leper.

While he was in Bethany, reclining at table in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came with an alabaster flask of ointment of pure nard, very costly, and she broke the flask and poured it over his head.

Mark 14:3 (NASB)

While He was in Bethany at the home of Simon the leper, and reclining [at the table], there came a woman with an alabaster vial of very costly perfume of pure nard; [and] she broke the vial and poured it over His head.

Bethany was a small village just east of Jerusalem, over the Kidron Valley and across the Mount of Olives. Simon the Leper was hosting Jesus. “The Leper” is quite a nickname to carry around. Under Old Testament law, active leprosy meant total quarantine from community. Simon couldn’t have had active leprosy and been hosting a dinner party. In all likelihood, Simon was a man whom Jesus had healed from leprosy, and he was hosting this feast out of profound gratitude.

In that culture, a formal meal like this started in the late afternoon and extended deep into the evening. They reclined around a low, U-shaped table that sat just six to twelve inches off the floor. You would lie on your side, leaning on your left elbow with a cushion, eating with your right hand, while your feet extended behind you away from the table. (So get Michelangelo’s painting of the Last Supper out of your head; they weren’t sitting in modern chairs facing the front for a photo op!)

Think about who was in that room. Simon, the healed leper, was hosting. Lazarus, the man recently raised from the dead, was sitting right there at the table. The twelve disciples were present. It was a room filled with people who had been radically touched by Jesus.

For Jesus, with the cross looming just days away, this was an oasis. He didn’t have to be “on.” He didn’t have to debate hostile Pharisees or dodge traps. He could relax among friends, laugh, share a long meal, and enjoy genuine community.

We have a group of friends like that in our own lives. We’ve known each other for eight years. We get together in the afternoon, the kids swim and play volleyball, we talk and laugh obnoxiously, and before you know it, you look at the clock and realize it’s 10:30 on a school night. It’s a safe, life-giving space. That was the environment in Simon’s home that night.

Mary’s Extravagant Offering

Then, the focus shifts to a woman. John’s Gospel tells us this was Mary, the sister of Lazarus and Martha. In that first-century culture, women were not typically invited to recline at the table alongside men during a formal banquet; they were expected to serve in the background. Yet Jesus continually elevated and valued women. In this room full of people who should have had a high “get-it factor,” Mary was the only one who truly understood what was coming.

While others were laughing and talking, Mary stepped forward. She never spoke a single recorded word, yet her actions spoke with unmistakable clarity. She carried an alabaster flask of pure nard.

Alabaster was a beautiful, translucent, marble-like stone imported from Egypt. The flask itself was an intricately hand-carved, long-necked vessel that was valuable in its own right. Inside was pure nard—spikenard—an aromatic oil extracted from a rare plant grown high in the Himalayan mountains of northern India. It was the most expensive perfume in the ancient world.

If we’re talking about coffee, this isn’t Folgers; this is Jamaican Blue Mountain at $60 a pound. If we’re talking cars, this isn’t a Honda Civic; this is a handcrafted Rolls-Royce. If we’re talking wine, this isn’t Two-Buck Chuck; it’s a rare, vintage French Bordeaux. This was a statement perfume.

John notes that she had a full litra—about twelve ounces—of this pure, undiluted nard. Verse 5 tells us it was worth more than 300 denarii. A single denarius was the standard daily wage for a common laborer. When you subtract the Sabbath days and holy festivals, 300 denarii represented an entire year’s salary. In our modern context, with the median income around $40,000, imagine holding a $40,000 bottle of perfume in your hands.

Mary didn’t just uncork the flask to pour out a measured, polite drop. She snapped the neck of the alabaster flask, breaking it completely. In doing so, she rendered the vessel unusable and poured out every single drop. Mark and Matthew record that she poured it over His head. John adds that she poured it onto His feet and wiped His feet with her hair.

Anointing someone’s head was an occasional sign of high honor and blessing. But anointing someone’s feet was unheard of. In the ancient world, feet were filthy from walking dusty roads in sandals. Standard hospitality meant offering a guest a basin of water to wash their own feet, or having the lowest servant do it. For a woman to unbind her hair in public—an act considered scandalous in that culture—and use her own hair to wipe the dusty, oil-covered feet of Jesus demonstrated complete humility. Mary cast aside her dignity, her financial security, and the opinions of everyone in the room to pour out her absolute best upon Jesus.

The Voice of Indignation

Imagine the scene: the room falls silent, the pungent, sweet aroma of nard fills every corner of the house, and Mary is weeping at Jesus’ feet. How did the room respond?

There were some who said to themselves indignantly, “Why was the ointment wasted like that? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor.” And they scolded her.

Mark 14:4-5 (NASB)

But some were indignantly [remarking] to one another, ’Why has this perfume been wasted? ‘For this perfume might have been sold for over three hundred denarii, and [the money] given to the poor.’ And they were scolding her.

Notice the strong words: indignantly, wasted, scolded. The disciples audibly rebuked and shamed her at the table. Matthew tells us all the disciples grumbled, and John points out that Judas Iscariot was the ringleader of the criticism.

Judas masked his greed with pious-sounding words: “We could have sold this and helped the poor!” But John reveals Judas’ true character—he was a thief who managed the disciples’ money bag and regularly embezzled from it. He didn’t care about the poor; he cared about the cut he could have stolen.

The word they used was “wasted.” To them, pouring out something so valuable purely out of love for Jesus seemed like a tragic loss. How those harsh words must have stung Mary as she knelt on the floor.

“She Has Done a Beautiful Thing”

Jesus immediately stepped in to defend her.

But Jesus said, “Leave her alone. Why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good to them. But you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for burial. And truly, I say to you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.”

Mark 14:6-9 (NASB)

But Jesus said, ’Let her alone; why do you bother her? She has done a good deed to Me. ’For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you wish you can do good to them; but you do not always have Me. ’She has done what she could; she has anointed My body beforehand for the burial. ‘Truly I say to you, wherever the gospel is preached in the whole world, what this woman has done will also be spoken of in memory of her.’

Jesus established divine priorities. Serving the poor is essential, and Jesus commanded His followers to care for them continually. But this was a unique, unrepeatable moment. The Son of God was days away from being crucified.

In the ancient world, when someone died, spices and ointments were applied to the body to mask the smell of decay before wrapping them in burial linens. Jesus declared that Mary had anointed His body beforehand for burial. Mary didn’t wait until Jesus was dead to show her love. She brought her flowers while He was still alive to receive them. She seized the moment, and Jesus honored her forever: “Wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.”

The Tragic Contrast of Judas

Immediately after Mary’s breathtaking act of worship, Mark presents the sharpest contrast imaginable.

Then Judas Iscariot, who was one of the twelve, went to the chief priests in order to betray him to them. And when they heard it, they were glad and promised to give him money. And he sought an opportunity to betray him.

Mark 14:10-11 (NASB)

Then Judas Iscariot, who was one of the twelve, went off to the chief priests in order to betray Him to them. They were glad when they heard [this], and promised to give him money. And he [began] seeking how to betray Him at an opportune time.

Judas, one of the Twelve who had walked with Jesus for three years, went directly to the religious leaders. Matthew records that they agreed to pay him thirty pieces of silver.

To any Jewish reader, “thirty pieces of silver” rang an immediate bell. In the Law of Moses, Exodus 21 laid out restitution laws for property damage and accidents.

If the ox gores a slave, male or female, the owner shall give to their master thirty shekels of silver, and the ox shall be stoned.

Exodus 21:32 (NASB)

’If the ox gores a male or female slave, the owner shall give his [or her] master thirty shekels of silver, and the ox shall be stoned.

Thirty pieces of silver was the legal price of a common slave. In modern terms, that was roughly $500. Judas was willing to sell out the Son of God for $500—about the cost of a small television, a nice suit, or a pair of designer shoes.

Look at the contrast Mark places before us:

Mary had a bottle of perfume worth $40,000, and she willingly poured it out at Jesus’ feet, considering Him worthy of everything she had.

Judas walked with Jesus for three years, looked at Him, and thought, What can I get out of Him? I’ll take $500.

Examining Our Affections

This passage isn’t merely a moral lesson telling us to empty our bank accounts. The outward action is fruit; the deeper reality is the root. What Mary did was the natural overflow of a heart that understood the supreme worth of Jesus Christ. What Judas did was the tragic overflow of a self-centered heart that only valued what Jesus could do for his own agenda.

When you look into this mirror, which character do you see?

Most of us would say, “I wouldn’t be Judas. I wouldn’t betray Jesus for $500.” But if we are honest, many of us aren’t living like Mary either. Our natural tendency is often somewhere in the middle—indifferent, distracted, caught up in our own routines, holding back our best for ourselves, and giving Jesus our leftovers.

True worship is extravagant because Jesus is of infinite worth. When you truly see who He is and what He gave for you on the cross, no sacrifice made for Him can ever be called a waste.

Let’s pray.

Father, teach us at a heart level what it means to love You at our core. Lord, we confess how easily we get caught up in our own lives, our own wants, and our own comfort. So many temporary things steal our attention and our affections away from the One who matters most.

Holy Spirit, fix our eyes upon Jesus. May everything else fade into the background. May He be our clear focus, our greatest treasure, and the One who receives our absolute best. In Jesus’ precious name we pray, Amen.