Holy Monday
John 12: 1-8 - A house in Bethany
I was so excited that Jesus had accepted our invitation to come to dinner. Our guests arrived, weary from their long journey and hungry. My sister, Martha, was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches to the meal, so I greeted them.
I chose to sit at Jesus’ feet as I listened to Him recounting His latest run-ins with the Sanhedrin. As I sat, I gently massaged His tired feet with some precious perfumed oil I had been saving, and it’s smell filled the whole house.
As I gazed into His kind eyes, my tears began to flow and I wiped them away with my hair – ignoring the stares of the men at my uncovered head.
I knew the oil was used to prepare a body for burial and, although I did not know that Jesus would soon be crucified, I had felt impelled to carry on. Judas muttered that I was wasting precious oil which could have been sold and the money given to the poor. But Jesus defended my actions saying that the poor will always be with us but we will not always have Him.