She Hath Done What She Could by I. H. Evans

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Mar 24, 1910

“She Hath Done What She Could”

By I. H. Evans

I. H. EVANS

THESE words fell from the Master's lips in behalf of Mary, after she had anointed him with the costly spikenard which she had bought.

The incident, recorded by three of the Gospel writers, is one of the most touching in the life of Christ. Often we find the Saviour censured by the proud Pharisees, closely questioned by the Sadducees, or doing for others in feeding the hungry, healing the sick, and bringing hope and comfort to the hearts of those in trouble and sorrow.

But here we see him—at the very close of his earthly life, only a few days before his crucifixion—with a few faithful, chosen friends, gathered together in his honor, in the house of Simon. In this little gathering there are present, besides his disciples, and perhaps others, Lazarus, Martha, and Mary, of the village of Bethany.

As far as the record goes, there is no avowed enemy in that little gathering: all are trusted, chosen friends, who know Jesus, and who are supposed to be in sympathy with his life and work.

What a comfort it must have been to Jesus to be thus among his friends, and away from the scrutiny of the Jewish elders, who were so anxious to take his life. Wearied with his long travel from Galilee, and with his heart full of anxious anticipation for the future, the Master could well appreciate the love and sympathy about him.

The supper had all been prepared, and the guests were reclining on couches, eating, while Martha helped to serve the meal. Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus, was there, and she, too, was serving the Master, but not like Martha.

Mary had prepared a surprise for Jesus. One can readily fancy she had kept her plan a profound secret from the disciples, and possibly from Lazarus and her sister. Doubtless she had thought they would be unable to appreciate the sacrifice which she was about to make, and the honor which she intended to do her Lord.

Ever since Jesus had left their home months before, and gone into Galilee, Mary had no doubt continually planned to save enough money to buy this costly present. Within her heart there burned a great, consuming love for Jesus. In all his ministry, there seems to have been none who loved the Lord with the same self-denying love as Mary. In her life Jesus was everything; he was supreme. Her love of finery and dress, her desire for the associations of the world,—all were lost in her love for Jesus.

It may be that for many years Mary had desired above everything else to possess an alabaster box of spikenard. She had seen this precious ointment in the shops where the rich traded, and had hoped that some day she might possess some of it for herself.

But Mary and her family were poor in this world's goods. Besides, the disciples of Jesus were poor, and lived in the simplest way, spending little upon themselves or their families. Well did Mary know that to purchase such a gift must bring on her head the censure of those in whose company she moved, and especially the condemnation of the disciples of the Master. Therefore, she confided her purpose to no one. She could not tell the Master, she would not tell the disciples; and she dare not tell her brother and sister; so she carried the secret in her heart, perhaps for many long months, until finally she heard that Christ was coming to Bethany. Then she purchased the alabaster box at a costly price.

This spikenard perfume was imported from India. It was brought from the far East by traveling caravans, those ships of the desert. It was among the most costly perfumes of ancient times, and only the rich could afford to use it. In its native land it was an expensive luxury, and far more so after being carried so many hundreds of miles by the expensive mode of transportation of those days.

The box in which this spikenard was kept, was made of light, white marble, used in ancient times for making costly boxes. These were made in beautiful, artistic patterns, and only those who were rich could afford such costly receptacles. Fine perfumes and very precious things were kept in them.

Probably Mary could not have given a very satisfactory reason why she was possessed of the desire to purchase this ointment with which to anoint the Lord. Nevertheless, she steadily persevered in her purpose; and when the Master came to Bethany, she had purchased the alabaster box, and was only waiting an opportune time to bestow it upon him.

The perfume must have been in liquid form, for she “poured it on his head.” “Very costly,” “very precious,” “very precious ointment,” are the phrases of the Gospel writers, as they described the perfume.

One writer says, “She brake the box, and poured it on his head.” Whether this means that the box itself was broken, or only the seal of the box was broken, we do not know. At any rate, she opened the box there, either by breaking it in her haste and love, or by breaking the seal which closed the ointment tight, and poured the spikenard on the head and feet of Jesus, and “wiped his feet with her hair; and the house was filled with the odor of the ointment.”

Mary had accomplished her purpose. Long had she toiled and sacrificed for this very hour. She asked no approval, she looked not to the disciples for a word of commendation. How her heart must have beaten as she sat at Jesus’ feet, her disheveled hair hiding her face from view, while the perfume filled the house. At once the indignation of the disciples was aroused. The very atmosphere was pregnant with their disapproval. Judas spoke boldly, and demanded, “Why was not this ointment sold for three hundred pence and given to the poor?” “And they murmured against her.”

But Mary had done her deed of love. She could give no reason for her act. Surely the poor were everywhere, and since the disciples had spoken so sharply, she appreciated their penury and sufferings more keenly than ever. Yet her heart was glad that she had done her Master such honor, and no reprimand from the disciples could make her sorry.

But the Master speaks. Will he, too, reprove Mary for her deed of sacrifice and devotion? Mary’s heart beats with greater excitement; but Jesus says, “Let her alone; why trouble ye her? she hath wrought a good work on me. For ye have the poor with you always, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good; but me ye have not always. She hath done what she could: she is come aforehand to anoint my body to the burying. Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached throughout the whole world, this also that she hath done shall be spoken of for a memorial of her.”

Mary’s heart must have thrilled with joy when she heard those words of approval, “She hath done what she could”! The disciples may censure, but the Master approves. Those about her may call it a waste, but Jesus calls it “coming aforehand to anoint my body to the burying.”

Jesus understood better than all the others Mary’s motive and love. He accepted what she did, and gave to her his blessing. So it has ever been since Mary anointed the feet of Jesus. The Master understands; he reads the heart; he weighs the motives; he sees and knows when we have done our best. It may seem a great waste; it may seem like extravagance. To human wisdom it may seem a great mistake. Yet, if the Master approves, all is well when he says, “She hath done what she could.”

What more can we ask? Jesus looks at the heart. He knows the inmost desires; and when he sees his children doing what they can for his cause, he is satisfied. Can he say of each of us that we have done what we could?

Takoma Park, D. C.