Have you ever walked into a kitchen hungry, and just after someone’s baked fresh bread or simmered a pot of soup on a cold day? The aroma hits you before a word is spoken. You feel warmth, welcome, love. In our homes, smells, scent and aroma carry meaning. They speak when words fail.
In his article, The Fragrance of the Ointment, J.R. Miller says that the fragrance of Mary of Bethany's ointment that filled the house is a beautiful symbol of Mary's life. "She was not an active follower of Christ, except in her home and quiet daily life. She did not leave all and go with Him, as some other women and men did. Her name is not connected, even in tradition, with anything startling or great. Our first glimpse of her is her sitting at the Master's feet as a learner. Into her heart, she received the words of the Master, which were life to her. Like a handful of spices, they fell into her heart and transformed her life into radiant beauty."
In John’s Gospel, we are invited into the home of Martha, Mary, and, their brother, Lazarus. It’s six days before Passover. The air is heavy with anticipation. Jesus is dining with His dear friends — and Mary does something so unexpected that the entire house, and all of history, takes notice. She takes a pound of expensive perfume and anoints Jesus. Not His head, not His hands, but His feet. Then she wipes them not with a towel or napkin but with her hair. And the Gospel says, “The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.”
What a moment. Let’s pause and think of Mary’s actions. It was excessive. Lavish. Costly. It didn’t follow the rules. It wasn’t “practical.” Judas certainly didn’t think so — and maybe some of us wouldn't either. But that’s how love behaves. True love, especially in families, often looks extravagant to outsiders. A father driving for hours for his daughter’s 5-minute recital. A mother wakes every hour to check on her sick child. A grandparent who shows up again and again with the same stories and the same casserole, A mom eating burnt toast for the third day in a row so her kids can have the “good slices.” Love rarely follows logic. It’s messy, excessive, and beautiful.
Mary understood something others missed: Jesus was going to suffer and die. She may not have had all the theological details, but her heart knew it was time to pour out everything — while He was still with them. In the Old Testament, sacrifices were said to rise to heaven like a pleasing aroma to God. Mary’s perfume becomes that kind of offering — a holy act of worship that prepares Jesus for His sacrifice. This is the Holy Week invitation for us: Don’t wait to show your love. Don’t wait for the perfect moment to show love, to forgive, to affirm, to serve. Like Mary, pour it out now — not because it’s efficient, best, and flawless but because it’s true.
And here's something even more unusual: Mary’s act fills the house with fragrance. But we know how Holy Week unfolds. Soon, there will be betrayal, arrest, and death. And yet, even in the shadow of the cross, that scent — that offering of love — lingers. That’s what love does. It stays. It sticks to the memory long after the moment has passed. Friends and families, your actions of love matter even when unnoticed, costly, or excessive, and even when misunderstood. Your sacrifice — a kind word, a late-night talk, a simple meal together fills your home with the fragrance of Christ.
This Holy Week, may we love like Mary: not with calculation, but with abandon and leave a scent that never fades.