What Will You Pour Out?

Have you ever been so thankful for someone that you wished you could give them everything? Not just a polite “thank you,” but the kind of thankfulness that stirs deep in your soul and demands to be expressed—no matter the cost, no matter who’s watching? It’s the kind of gratitude that rises from the depths of love, not obligation; the kind that doesn’t calculate but gives freely and fully.

Six days before the Passover, in a quiet home in Bethany, something remarkable happened. A dinner was held in honor of Jesus. It wasn’t a grand public banquet, but an intimate gathering among friends. Lazarus—whom Jesus had raised from the dead—was there, reclining at the table. His sister Martha was serving, just as she often had. Everything seemed ordinary, until Mary stepped forward.

In her hands, she carried a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume worth a full year’s wages. Without a word, she knelt before Jesus, broke open the jar, and poured the perfume onto His feet. Then she did something even more unexpected—she let down her hair and wiped His feet with it.

The room must have fallen silent. Her act was extravagant, personal, and humbling. And as the scent of the perfume filled the house, so did the beauty of her love.

This wasn’t just about perfume—it was about devotion. And what Mary did that day still speaks to us now. Because true gratitude, once poured out, fills every corner of the room—and the heart.

Mary never forgot what Jesus had done for her. Her brother Lazarus had died and been buried for four days. The finality of the tomb had settled over their household like a heavy cloud. She had wept at the grave, overcome by sorrow and loss. When Jesus finally arrived, she ran to Him and cried, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (John 11:32). Her words were full of both faith and pain. And then—something miraculous happened. Jesus stood before the tomb and called, “Lazarus, come out!” (John 11:43)  And Lazarus did.

It wasn’t just a miracle—it was a personal resurrection. Death had been reversed. Hope had returned. And Mary’s heart would never be the same.

So when Jesus returned to Bethany shortly before the Passover, Mary saw her opportunity. Her love and gratitude had been quietly growing, and now they overflowed into action. She came into the room during the dinner and brought with her a jar of pure nard—a rare and costly perfume, worth nearly a year’s wages. This wasn’t something she could easily replace. It was likely her dowry or her inheritance, meant to secure her future. But to Mary, Jesus was worth more than her future, more than her savings, more than her cultural dignity.

She broke the jar and poured the perfume on Jesus’ feet. Then she did something even more shocking: she let down her hair and wiped His feet. In that culture, a woman’s hair was a symbol of honor and privacy, only shown in intimate or private settings. Yet she offered her hair to serve her Lord.

This was love—raw, unfiltered, humble, and beautiful. Love that did not count the cost. Love that didn’t seek applause. Love that remembered what Jesus had done and responded with everything she had.

John 12:3 tells us, “And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.” Her act of devotion was not silent or invisible—it filled the room. Everyone noticed. The aroma of her sacrifice spread into every corner of the house. That’s the nature of true love—it doesn’t stay hidden. It moves outward, touches others, and leaves a lingering presence behind.

Her love was a response to grace. She didn’t love Jesus to earn something—He had already given her more than she could imagine. Her love came from remembrance, and her remembrance led to surrender.

This kind of love still changes rooms today. When we remember what Jesus has done in our lives—how He’s called us out of our own dark tombs, brought light into our darkness, and offered us hope—we are moved. And like Mary, we’re invited to respond. Maybe not with perfume, but with whatever matters most to us. Our time, our talents, our resources, our dignity—poured out in worship.

When we remember His love, it becomes our joy to love Him back with all that we are.

Not everyone in the room understood what Mary did.

As she knelt at Jesus’ feet, breaking open her most precious possession and pouring out her gratitude in the most extravagant way, not all eyes were admiring. In fact, one voice cut through the quiet awe of the moment—a voice of criticism. Judas Iscariot, one of Jesus’ own disciples, sharply objected. “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages” (John 12:5).

On the surface, Judas’ concern sounded noble—almost virtuous. Who wouldn’t want to use such a valuable item for charitable purposes? Helping the poor was, after all, a worthy cause. But Scripture reveals something deeper. In the very next verse, John tells us, “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” (John 12:6).

Judas’ objection wasn’t about compassion—it was about control. He masked selfish motives with spiritual-sounding words.

This reveals an important truth: sometimes, pure devotion to Jesus will be misunderstood—even by those close to Him. Love that gives everything doesn’t always fit into the world’s categories. It can look reckless, wasteful, impractical. Judas wanted to manage Mary’s gift; Jesus wanted to receive it.

Mary’s act of worship broke the mold. It didn’t come with strings attached. It wasn’t calculated or reserved. It wasn’t meant to be useful—it was meant to be beautiful. And Jesus saw it for what it was. He said, “Leave her alone… It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial” (John 12:7).

There’s something mysterious and powerful in that statement. Mary may not have fully understood what she was doing, but Jesus did. Her act of love wasn’t just a response to the past—it was a preparation for what was to come. In anointing Him with perfume, she was unknowingly preparing His body for burial. Jesus would soon go to the cross. The same fragrance that filled that house would linger in His memory as He made His way to Calvary.

That’s how God uses our devotion. Even the acts that seem small—or strange—when done in love, become part of something far greater. Mary’s love became part of Jesus’ story.

When you give yourself to Jesus—your time, your heart, your resources—don’t be surprised if others don’t get it. Don’t be discouraged when they misunderstand your motives or minimize your sacrifice. The world understands logic, efficiency, and caution. But Jesus values love that pours itself out, not to impress, but to honor. A love that doesn’t always make sense, but always makes a difference.

Love like that leaves a legacy—even when it’s misunderstood.

Mary didn’t perform a miracle. She didn’t preach a sermon or lead a crowd. She didn’t confront rulers or walk on water. She simply gave what she had—fully, freely, and without reservation.

But her simple act of devotion rippled through history. In Matthew’s account of this same moment, Jesus declares something extraordinary: “Truly I tell you, wherever this gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her” (Matthew 26:13).

What Mary did wasn’t grand in the world’s eyes. It wasn’t efficient or strategic. But it was personal, pure, and precious. And Jesus promised it would be remembered. Why? Because love like hers reflects the heart of the Gospel.

That’s the power of the Gospel—it welcomes the humble, honors the quiet giver, and lifts up those whose hearts are simply moved by Jesus. The Gospel is not reserved for the qualified or the prominent. It embraces the one who weeps in gratitude. The one who kneels in surrender. The one who pours out their treasure at the feet of their Savior.

Mary’s act reminds us that true love outlives the moment. It lingers, like the fragrance that filled the house that day. It continues to speak, even when the person is gone. Her story is still told—not because she intended it to be, but because Jesus saw it, treasured it, and wove it into the story of His salvation.

More than that, Mary’s offering was a mirror of what Jesus Himself was about to do. She broke open her jar. He would soon be broken on the cross. Her perfume spilled out in a single room. His blood would be poured out for the whole world. She gave her most valued possession. He gave His life.

Paul wrote in Ephesians 5:2, “Walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” That’s exactly what Jesus became—the ultimate perfume, the eternal fragrance that still fills the hearts of those who draw near to Him.

When we love like Mary did, when we give not for applause or approval, but simply because we love Jesus, our worship becomes a fragrant offering too. It may not make headlines or go viral, but it reaches heaven. And it leaves an eternal impact.

We never know how far one act of love will go. A whispered prayer. A quiet gift. A sacrificial offering. In the hands of Jesus, these things echo into eternity. Mary didn’t set out to make history. She just wanted to love her Lord. But love like that never stays small.

Love that is poured out in response to Jesus never fades. It leaves a mark on every heart it touches. Just as her perfume filled the house, her worship now fills the Gospel.

And today, her story still invites us to do the same: to give Jesus our best, to pour out our hearts, and to live a love that never dies.

Mary’s story is not about perfume. It’s about love—the kind that overflows from a grateful heart and finds expression in worship. It’s about love that remembers where it once was, what Jesus has done, and what He means now. It’s a love that doesn’t just think or feel—it acts.

She gave not to impress, but to express. Her act wasn’t about being seen or celebrated. Her worship wasn’t calculated or convenient. It was costly, wholehearted, and deeply personal. She poured out the most precious thing she had because she had already received something far more valuable: the presence, power, and love of Jesus.

In a moment, her simple, quiet act of worship filled the entire room. The fragrance of that perfume lingered—not just in the air, but in the hearts of everyone present. And it lingers still, echoing in the Gospel, inviting us to love with that same kind of devotion.

Jesus saw her heart. He defended her love. And He made sure her story would be told wherever the good news is preached.

Not because Mary wanted to be remembered—but because Jesus wanted us to remember what true love looks like.

So the question remains:

What do you treasure?

What are you holding onto that Jesus is inviting you to pour out?

Will you break the jar?

In a world obsessed with calculation, efficiency, and control, may we become people who love like Mary—with open hands, open hearts, and poured-out lives.

Because love like that always leaves a fragrance. It changes the atmosphere. It outlives the moment.

And when poured out at Jesus’ feet, it becomes part of His story forever.

Let’s pray together.

Lord Jesus,

Thank You for loving us first—fully, freely, and forever. We see in Mary a glimpse of what it means to love You back with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength.

Give us hearts that remember what You’ve done, eyes to see Your beauty, and courage to pour out what we treasure in worship of You. Help us to love even when it doesn’t make sense to others. Help us to trust that nothing given to You is ever wasted.

May our lives carry the fragrance of gratitude. May our hearts be full of praise. And may our worship point others to You—the One who gave everything to bring us home.

In Your name we pray,  

Amen.