An excerpt from Chapter 26.
Then the chief priests and the elders of the people assembled in the palace of the high priest, whose name was Caiaphas, and they schemed to arrest Jesus secretly and kill him. And then comes the chapter’s first big but:
“But not during the festival,” they said, “or there may be a riot among the people.”
Notice what they are debating. Not whether to kill Jesus.
When.
That but gives us a glimpse into the hardened determination of Jesus’ enemies. They have already decided what they intend to do. The possibility of consequences doesn’t cause them to reconsider. It merely causes them to adjust the plan.
Years ago, I spent an evening at the home of some friends. Eventually the hour rolled around for them to put their young children to bed. My friend—their dad—excused himself, went upstairs, tucked everyone in, and returned a few minutes later, calling a hopeful, “Goodnight!” back up the stairs.
Their young son was rather strong-willed.
It wasn’t long before we heard movement overhead—the unmistakable sounds of play, not sleep. Dad excused himself, went upstairs, corrected his son, and returned.
Then it happened again. And again.
Finally, after another trip upstairs, my friend stood at the bottom of the stairs and issued a warning: “If you get out of bed again, I’m coming upstairs and spanking you. Do you understand?”
Silence.
For about two minutes. Then the playing resumed.
“I warned you!” my friend announced, and upstairs he went. Soon the unmistakable sounds of discipline drifted down to where we were sitting.
A few moments later, Dad returned carrying a small stack of children’s books.
His son had stuffed them into the back of his pajamas to pad his rear end.
Given the choice—stay in bed or face the consequences—the boy apparently decided, Well, I’d better pad my behind.
Consequences hadn’t changed his determination. They had simply caused him to make preparations.
That’s something like what we see happening with the chief priests and elders. They are not reconsidering their plans. They’re plotting around the potential consequences.
Matthew then places that scene beside another, and the contrast could hardly be greater.
While Jesus’ enemies are plotting against Him, a woman is preparing to shower Him with affection.
Jesus is reclining at the home of Simon the Leper in Bethany when a woman approaches carrying an alabaster jar filled with very expensive perfume. She pours it over Jesus’ head.
The disciples are indignant.
“Why this waste?” they ask. The perfume could have been sold for a considerable amount of money and given to the poor.
You can understand their reasoning.
Our minds often work this way. We calculate impact. We consider where our money, time, and resources can accomplish the greatest good. Even here, the perfume is being used for something unquestionably good—Jesus is being honored. But surely, the disciples reason, the money could have accomplished more if it had been used differently.
In fact, you might expect Jesus to agree with them.
Hadn’t He just taught them that whatever they did for the hungry, thirsty, sick, imprisoned, and overlooked, they did for Him? Hadn’t He repeatedly emphasized compassion for those in need?
But Jesus sees something they don’t.
“Why are you bothering this woman? She has done a beautiful thing to me. The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me.”
That statement has sometimes been misunderstood, as though Jesus were dismissing the needs of the poor. Everything we have just read in Matthew 25 should prevent us from reaching that conclusion.
Jesus is making another point. Don’t allow religious duty to squeeze the life out of devotion.
There is a place for extravagant love.
John’s Gospel identifies the woman as Mary and tells us that the perfume was worth approximately a year’s wages. This was no casual gesture. She poured out something enormously valuable in an expression of love for Jesus.
And Jesus received it as beautiful.
There was also a significance to her act that Mary herself may not have fully understood. The perfume—nard, or spikenard—was costly and could be used in preparing a body for burial. Jesus had repeatedly told His disciples that His death was approaching, but they had struggled to grasp what He was telling them.
Now He interprets Mary’s act for them: “When she poured this perfume on my body, she did it to prepare me for burial.”
She may not have understood the full significance of what she was doing. Jesus did.
And He promises that her act of devotion will be remembered wherever the gospel is proclaimed.
Two thousand years later, here we are remembering it.
Matthew’s placement of these scenes is powerful. In one room, religious leaders are plotting what it will take to get rid of Jesus. In another, a woman pours out something precious because she loves Him.
And between those two responses stands the same Jesus.
Reject Him.
Love Him.
Plot against Him.
Pour yourself out before Him.
Everyone in these closing chapters of Matthew is answering, in one way or another, the same question:What will you do with Jesus?
Please comment!