Devotion
Summary
Dominic Jackson opens our series by asking a foundational question: What does God think is beautiful? Centered on Matthew 26:6-13 (with parallels in Mark 14), this sermon reflects on the woman who anoints Jesus with costly perfume and how her devotion looks like waste to some but is called beautiful by Jesus himself. The message invites us to examine how perspective shapes our worship, how easily we judge others' faith, and how Jesus helps us recognize beauty in people we might overlook or dismiss.
Questions for reflection
When you hear the word beautiful, what do you instinctively picture — and how might that differ from what God calls beautiful?
In the story of the woman anointing Jesus, what details feel most scandalous or emotionally intense to you? Why?
The onlookers saw her act as waste, while Jesus called it beautiful. Where do you see that same tension in your own instincts about faith, worship, generosity, or devotion?
The woman was treated as an outsider by reputation, yet Jesus honored her. Who are the people you most struggle to see as capable of dignity, deep faith, or faithful devotion?
Jesus connects this moment to his coming death and to the ongoing call to care for the poor. How might your worship of Jesus shape both your devotion and your mercy?
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We are starting a brand new series this morning. I’m excited about a series on beauty, and the plan is that each week we’re going to hold up and ask the question, What is beautiful? Almost like a diamond. We get to see these different facets each week—beauty in mystery, in worship, in community, sometimes in pain, sometimes in creation.
But the hope is that as we take a look at these different aspects of beauty, again holding it up, that illustration of a diamond, we discover that we aren’t just looking at different ways beauty expresses itself or simply things in the Bible that can be described as beautiful or lovely. Instead, we recognize that the diamond is us, and the hand holding it is God. And so this series is as much about identity as it is beauty. The hope is that we recognize: if creation is beautiful—whether that’s nature or art or people, all creation—how much more beautiful must our Creator be?
Before we get there, since we are talking about beauty, if I were to take a poll here—if I were to ask everybody this morning, What is beautiful? or How would you define the word beauty or beautiful?—chances are we would probably get a whole lot of different definitions.
When I worked at Target 23 years ago, many years ago, I actually worked in the health and beauty section. And I have to admit, working in Los Angeles County during Black Friday in the beauty section was anything but beautiful. Here’s a photo to remind you of what Black Fridays can often look like. That looks like a riot or a mob, and it was pretty crazy. You guys might remember Black Friday before most of us did online shopping. And I remember actually seeing a fistfight over, at the time, this new makeup line that Jessica Simpson had just released. Literally, punches were thrown over this last one—which was ironic, considering the makeup might’ve helped with the injuries sustained over the very item they were fighting about.
But still, health and beauty at a retail store around the holidays, at least for me, was anything but beautiful or healthy. Yet when I mention beauty, many people will think of beauty supplies or a section in a retail store. Others would probably think of nature or natural beauty—the cosmos. If you’ve ever been to the Grand Canyon, it’s indescribable. Or the Northern Lights. Or even locally: my family and I took a trip to Big Creek State Park. Have any of you guys been there before? We just took a random trip there and all of the leaves are starting to change colors around the water. The beaches are super clean—probably because you’re not supposed to go in them, but still, ignore that fact. And Megan and I both looked out at this. It looked like a postcard, and at the same time we both said, “Wow, this is beautiful.”
So some of us think of a beauty section, others might think of nature. However, I would guess that most of us probably hear this word beautiful as synonymous with attractive or pretty, handsome, good-looking. And of course, the standard—we talked about before, I think last week—pictures of beauty change in different locations, different cultures, different eras. So considering we all have different pictures, different understandings, different definitions, what may be a good place to start this series would be to ask the question: What does God think is beautiful?
Let’s pray, and then we’re going to hop into our text.
Lord, I’m thinking about Isaiah 53, which tells us that when you came to this earth, Jesus, you chose to come not only as a servant, an ordinary man in many ways, but also you’re described as a tender shoot, like a root out of dry ground. The text says that Christ, you had no form of majesty on earth, no beauty that we would even notice, the prophet writes. And yet you not only are the most majestic and beautiful person to ever walk this earth, you teach us what true beauty is. And so my prayer for this message, this time, our worship, and our lives is to see your beauty in all things. And only then can we see you. I pray this in your name. Amen.
So if you’re following along—if you’ve got a copy of the Scriptures and you’re turning to the Gospel according to Matthew where our text came, Karen read for us—we’re going to look at it in a second. But first, four warnings before we look at this passage.
First, there are four stories in the Gospel accounts of a woman breaking very expensive perfume at a table and anointing Jesus with it. Three of them are definitely the same event. One of them may be the same event or maybe a different interaction that went down very similarly. What is fascinating about all of them is that there are threads and similarities between them, but not all of them focus on the exact same details. Some are recorded as firsthand accounts from disciples who were actually in the room witnessing this. Others were relying on secondhand information. Additionally, there are cultural inferences as well. John and Matthew, both Jewish—probably Galilean Jews. John Mark was Jewish, but probably from a Hellenistic Jewish background. Dr. Luke, of course, who wrote the Gospel according to Luke, was a Gentile—an outsider in many ways.
The reason that I bring this up is that one of the accounts adds a couple of details that the others do not—namely, a conversation that happens outside of the main conversation, a conversation with other guests at the table. It also gives us insights into the woman’s background, and it refers to the host Simon not as a person who had been healed, but as a religious leader academically.
Just to get in front of this: the jury is out on whether all four are describing the same event or if Jesus interacted with two different women at two different times in a very, very similar way. And so in a spirit of scholarly integrity, I wanted to share with you the two perspectives specifically about Luke’s Gospel. Regardless, it has no spiritual-historical implications for me or for this message. But where the debate comes in is this: three of the stories are about a woman named Mary in Bethany. One of them might also be about a woman named Mary in Bethany—or another woman.
So for clarity and brevity, I’ll just refer to all four as Mary. And 75% of the time I’m definitely right—maybe 100% of the time. That’s up to you to decide. And if this makes you feel uneasy, maybe this will help.
Here’s a very true and very compelling story. The other day I drove to Target to pick up diapers—which is always how you like your stories to start. On the way there I got a flat tire. It wasn’t a big deal. I fixed the tire, pulled over, fixed it. Not a big deal. And then, still down the street, I got a text message from Target that a prescription was available to be picked up at Target, where my pharmacy is. So I went back, picked it up, and then went home. The end. I know—very riveting.
But here’s the point. The reason I shared this story is that in 2,000 years, when somebody finds my diary—since this is so incredibly compelling—people will argue about this. One camp will say the flat tire happened before Target. Another camp will say, “No, no, no, it’s so clear it happened after Target.” Then there will be another group who will say, “No, you’re both wrong. It happened before Dominic of Des Moines traveled to the pharmacy. He wasn’t going to Target.” And they’ll all fight, even though in this case they’re all right.
The point is: in your free time, read all four accounts. It’s a beautiful story, and draw your own conclusions. I don’t feel strongly either way personally. All I know is that all four tell a beautiful story about Jesus and a woman with expensive perfume, breaking cultural norms, and how Jesus’ perspective is so much different than everyone else at the table.
Secondly, since we do have multiple perspectives and get unique details in each one—for example, one of them gives us her name. Two of them give us a location. Three of them give us a conversation between the disciples. One of them gives us a conversation between the other dinner guests. Three tell us how expensive the perfume was—I’m going to hop around a little bit for us to get the fullest picture possible. Almost like an episode of Lost—if you ever watched that show, we get to see the same event from these different people. So I’m going to hop around a little bit.
Okay, all of my precursors done. Let’s look at Matthew 26:6.
“While Jesus was in Bethany in the home of Simon the leper, a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, which she poured on his head as he was reclining at the table.”
So we meet a woman. And John’s Gospel actually tells us her name. This is Mary of Bethany, the sister of Lazarus.
Imagine this scene for a moment. Simon and his guests are reclining—probably sitting on the floor, which was the cultural norm—around a table in a U shape. And they’re sitting there when this woman with a reputation, according to the other accounts—she’s simply referred to as “a sinner.” Pope Gregory and many other church fathers even went as far as to say she was more than likely a prostitute. This has not been confirmed, nor can we conclude that from the text. But either way, she was an outsider. She was a person to stay away from, especially in this context.
Yet still, this woman with a reputation draws near to the crowd, draws near to Jesus. She then takes a jar of perfume, which our footnote tells us was worth a worker’s year’s wage. A modern equivalence: if you make $12 an hour working full time—about $25,000 a year—someone with a jar worth that kind of money. Either way, it was incredibly expensive. Here is a woman who has already embarrassed herself. She’s approaching a man—who is not her husband—in public. She’s even touching this man, breaking so many cultural expectations. She approaches the table that was only meant for men. And it’s like she can’t help herself.
She takes this jar and anoints the head of Jesus in front of everybody. Other accounts add that she also anointed his feet. One of those acts was for his burial, the other his kingship—one seeing him as a victim, the other as royalty. She did both, and he was both.
Then Luke adds this detail: “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.”
Now, before we get to what happens next, are you imagining the scene for a moment? We read this and often think, “Oh, that’s sweet. That’s really nice. A beautiful story. A great Sunday school lesson.” But imagine you are actually a guest in this room.
Better yet, imagine that this is happening today. No, not Jesus, obviously. But just as an illustration: imagine I get invited to a house of some of the most important religious leaders of today, whoever those happen to be. I show up and I’m surrounded by all these famous celebrity pastors. The Pope is there and Rick Warren is there and T.D. Jakes and Joel Osteen and Mark Driscoll and John Piper—or whoever pops up on your internet search when you type in the word pastor. And imagine that I’m sitting there, invited to this fancy dinner. Because these are important and famous people, there is a crowd. In fact, this is being filmed live.
I’m sitting there thinking, “I don’t know who mixed me up with somebody else. Maybe they meant to send this to the megachurch called Gateway in Texas—no relation.” But still, I’m sitting there. I don’t know how I got this invitation.
Dinner is happening. There’s a conversation going on about who has the biggest church or who has the best leadership model or whatever. And I’m trying to figure out what fork to use for my salad when all of a sudden somebody comes crashing in—and it’s a woman with a reputation. Imagine a woman who has a history of maybe drug use or prostitution or both. She comes in and throws herself at me—not in a romantic way, but in an act of desperation and overwhelming compassion and emotion. She falls to the floor and is weeping at my feet.
And as a side note, people wore sandals during this time. One account adds that Jesus had not even had a chance to wash his feet yet before reclining at the table. So imagine I’m sitting there, and my feet are filthy. This woman is not only weeping at my dirty feet, but she loosens her hair. A woman’s hair was her glory. Paul and Proverbs explain it was a sign of beauty at this time. She takes her hair out and begins to wipe my feet with her tears and her hair. Between the dirt and the tears, she’s now getting essentially mud in her hair as this is all happening.
Are you imagining this? And then finally she takes out a jar of perfume and anoints me, blesses me.
Now, obviously I’m not Jesus. But many people at this table didn’t know that Jesus was Jesus—at least not the Christ. So he would’ve been seen as a religious leader, a teacher. The point is that for these onlookers, imagine how absolutely scandalous this would have been. I imagine at home you’re watching, and it would be like a train wreck where you can’t look away, filled with secondhand embarrassment. Then would come the speculation: “Wait, how does he know this woman? Why does she feel so comfortable doing this publicly? Does his wife know about this woman? Doesn’t she know the rules? Who does this woman think she is entering into this space of all spaces? What was she thinking?”
I imagine some of the other religious leaders at the table would try and distance themselves from me and from her. They would already be working on damage control and the tweets they were going to send out. Or they would use this as an opportunity for teaching on modesty or purity culture or gender roles or whatever.
But before that, what would everybody at the table—and online watching—be waiting for? They would want to know how I was going to react. How would I respond?
Which is exactly what I’m sure everybody did with Jesus. They shared their opinions, and then it was like, “Okay, so what does Jesus think about this? How is he going to handle this situation?”
We’re going to look at that, but first, their opinions.
Mark 14: “Some of those present were saying indignantly to one another, ‘Why this waste of perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money given to the poor.’ And they rebuked her harshly.”
We read in other accounts that it was actually Judas who kept the money purse for Jesus. However, notice that nobody else is correcting Judas at this time. Multiple people are thinking the exact same thing. This is the consensus: here is a sinful woman who did a stupid thing, a wasteful thing, a shameful thing. Also, notice the rebuke is aimed at the woman, not at Jesus.
But before anyone can continue and make an example out of her or reprimand her—before anyone can put the spotlight back on themselves—Jesus speaks up.
“Leave her alone,” Jesus said. “Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me.”
This word beautiful is used a few times in the New Testament. It describes an inner magnificence, a goodness that is revealed through an outer act. It’s synonymous with splendor or exquisiteness or charm—except that it is rarely personal. It’s an inner character or goodness that takes on outwardness—an outer act, action, or word.
Paul uses this same word and describes it as an outpouring. It’s almost like something spilling out. It is something inwardly happening that spills outwardly.
And Jesus describes this as beautiful. And coincidentally, there are only two times in the New Testament where Jesus uses this word. One is when he tells the Pharisees how ugly they are. He calls them whitewashed tombs—essentially, portraying beauty but really being ugly on the inside. And the second is here.
Of all of the beautiful sites and beautiful places and beautiful people that Jesus would’ve come across, what is beautiful to Jesus? This.
He then goes on to say:
“The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them anytime you want. But you will not always have me.”
So here it seems like a shift happens. “Why isn’t Jesus talking like Jesus here?” This doesn’t sound like the Jesus I know. “The poor you’ll always have with you”—it seems kind of out of nowhere.
But it’s actually an allusion to Deuteronomy 15:11, where the sense is that the poor will always be present and therefore always in need of help, at least on this side of heaven. Jesus is by no means minimizing acts of compassion or serving or generosity. He’s saying you can help them anytime. But the time to honor him is severely limited—because notice he does not dispute the fact that he is worthy of this honor. If he didn’t, this would be dishonest.
Basically: when Jesus is in front of them, it’s time to worship him. When Jesus has departed, the focus is on the needy. Jesus before death: worship me. Jesus after resurrection: one of the ways to worship me is through the poor. Remember, whatever you have done for the least of these, you have done for me.
He goes on to say:
“Truly I tell you, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told in memory of her.”
Which we are doing right now.
Okay. So a few takeaways. What do we do with a story like this?
First: perspective changes everything.
If you are like me, some days I am moved by so much. Sometimes it’s just a monotonous day. And then I turn out of a driveway or a parking garage and I’m met by this beautiful sky stretching out as far as I could see. It looks like an amazing painting.
Sometimes I’m moved by a sunset or a song or an interaction between two strangers. All I can do is respond with awe and wonder. But then on other days, it all just kind of blends into one another. “Oh, just another sunset. Just another conversation. Just another day on this floating rock.”
You’ve heard the cliché: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. There’s truth in this. Often what is beautiful to one person is seen as pointless or generic or even hideous to another. Like our story: this act is either worshiping or wasting. How can something be wasteful or pointless to some and yet beautiful to others—beautiful to God himself?
Remember the story of Moses and the burning bush. What does God tell Moses? “Take off your sandals for the place you are standing is holy ground.” Did the ground change, or did Moses’ perspective change to see God more clearly? Sometimes we need to change not just where we are standing, but how we see the ground beneath us—or more importantly, where we are looking. If you look at God, it is impossible not to see beauty in his direction.
Second: do you ever catch yourself judging other people’s worship?
The men standing around had a lot of opinions on not just how sinful this woman is, but her worship—and the better, more righteous, more respectable way she could have been faithful in this situation.
I remember not that long ago a friend who attends this wonderful, historic church told me they were doing a fundraiser to repair their church organ—this ginormous, beautiful, glorious organ that takes up the entire sanctuary. He said, “We’re halfway there.” It was going to cost them $175,000 to repair it. And I remember hearing that and thinking, “$175,000? Are you kidding me? Half of that is like our entire building fund here. Think of all the things you could have done with that money. Don’t you think Jesus would rather you—”
And I caught myself.
The truth is, I don’t know if this is a good use of money. These people love Jesus. They love worshiping. This church has done amazing things in the community for over a hundred years. Maybe God looks down at that and rejoices. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he looks at how I spend my money and has similar thoughts. But the truth is—it isn’t my job. It just isn’t. How other people worship is between them and God.
Lastly: the beauty we have in this story is connected not to a location or an artistic creation. It’s connected to a person. And not just any person.
The beauty that Jesus calls out is seen in a person that many would have seen as the complete opposite. In Luke’s account, the religious leaders say, “He should know who this is, who is touching him, what kind of woman she is.” They say she is a sinner.
This goes back to perspective—not just for our lives, but our interactions. And as I was reading this account, I stopped and had to ask myself: who is the person who I think in our society, in our culture, has the least amount of beauty in them? Who is the outcast? Or since this was happening at a religious person’s house, who is the person or group who would feel the least comfortable in this space? How do we treat them when they walk in? How do we think about them? But more importantly—how do we see them?
Do we see them as awkward or out of place? Or do we see them as capable of beauty, and holding beauty?
If a gang member or a prostitute or a politician walked in here, and the woman in the story began worshiping the living Christ—hands in the air, crying out in song, praising God—would you rejoice in that? Would you celebrate that? Or would you nudge the person next to you and say, “Check that out”?
What would it look like to see other people the way that Jesus sees all of us? How do we see their beauty? How do we see them the way God sees them—not to excuse or justify or judge—but to see them with God’s eyes and his heart?
How do we do that? Come back next week and we’re going to look at that question.
Let’s pray.
Lord, as I’m reflecting on this story—this beautiful interaction, this picture of not only a beautiful act, a beautiful person, how you see beauty—I can’t help but think of that picture in the wedding Psalm, Psalm 45, describing a king arriving, a king who deserves all worship and praise, and will be anointed not only with any oil, but with the oil of joy, the psalmist says.
And what I love about this picture of a wedding is that we read what this mighty king desires for his soon-to-be bride. Not for her to call him perfect or lovely or beautiful, but to recognize their own beauty, which is seen as an act of honoring their king.
And so, Lord, you are our king. The church is the bridegroom. Help us to see beauty all around us. Help us to see beauty within us. Help us to see beauty in others.
Holy Spirit, I ask for every single one of us now not only to see ourselves in creation as beautiful, as a reflection, as image-bearers, but soften our hearts as well. Harden our hearts to all of the lies that we hear, but soften our hearts to you. And also give us eyes to see others as image-bearers too—those who are harder to see the beauty within them.
Most importantly, give us your heart.
I pray this in the name of Jesus. Amen.