A woman came into the house, holding an alabaster flask filled with expensive, fragrant oil. She came right to Jesus, and in a lavish gesture of devotion, she poured out the costly oil, and it cascaded over his head as he was at the table. (Matthew 26:6-7 TPT)
As he was reclining at the table, a woman came into the house, with an alabaster flask filled with the highest quality of fragrant and expensive oil. She came to Jesus, and with a gesture of extreme devotion, she broke the flask and poured out the precious oil over his head. (Mark 14:3-4 TPT)
In the Gospels—Matthew 26, Mark 14, Luke 7, and John 12—we find four similar stories about a woman who pours expensive perfume on Jesus. Scholars continue to debate whether these accounts describe a single event or multiple, separate moments. Some stories focus on the disciples’ disapproval of what they see as a waste of costly oil. In one, Jesus uses the woman’s act of devotion to illustrate the depth of forgiveness. In two, she anoints his head; in the other two, his feet. In two accounts, she dries his feet with her hair. One woman is named as Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus. Another is described as a well-known sinner, likely a prostitute. Two accounts never name her at all. Yet despite these differences, the stories share striking similarities.
Each account features a woman bringing an alabaster flask—a luxury container made of creamy white stone—filled with nard, a rare and precious oil derived from a plant that grows in the Himalayas of northern India. Transported over vast distances, this oil was associated with royalty and came at a steep cost—likely a year’s wages. When she poured it on Jesus, perhaps only he understood the deeper meaning: she was prophetically anointing his body for burial, just days before his death.
John tells us that “the fragrance of the costly oil filled the house” (John 12:3, TPT). The translators of The Passion Translation suggest that the scent lingered on Jesus even after the dinner—through his trial before Pilate, during his scourging, and all the way to the cross. If so, then the soldiers who mocked, beat, and crucified him may have unknowingly inhaled a royal fragrance—a kingly aroma clinging to the One they were killing.
Pause for a moment. Close your eyes and recall a scent that brings back a memory. Maybe it’s a specific perfume or cologne. Maybe it’s the smell of vomit or dirty diapers, freshly cut grass, turned soil, or the stench of a skunk on the road. Maybe it’s the comforting smell of freshly baked bread or the chaos of a wet dog shaking off indoors. Smells have the power to evoke vivid memories and deep emotion.
I wonder: could the fragrance of this woman’s costly, fragrant act of worship have helped sustain Jesus in his suffering?
It’s just speculation, of course. But perhaps the scent of her love reminded him of his purpose, his kingship, and the value of his sacrifice. If, in the Garden of Gethsemane, he struggled with the weight of what was to come, and if—during his agony on the cross—he caught even a faint trace of that perfume, maybe it gave him strength. Maybe that lingering scent reminded him why he had to endure: because through his suffering, our redemption would be won. Maybe it helped him hold on, all the way to the end.
In the end, it would all be worth it.
Jesus,
Thank you for all you have done for us, and especially the costly price you paid for our redemption from sin. May our lives be given to you as a costly offering. And may the fragrance of your anointing on our lives be experienced by those around us.
AMEN.