THE ALABASTER BOX BROKEN.
In blessed contrast to the cruel contempt and rejection of the nation, and the malignant persecution and bloodthirsty plots of the rulers, which darkened the closing days of the Lord’s life of love, stands the loving appreciation and sympathy of the quiet family of Bethany. Our hearts are drawn out in affectionate, grateful remembrance of Lazarus, and Mary, and Martha, in whose humble home He found a retreat from the cruelty of days when, by way of eminence even in his life, we see him as the man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. How divinely fair he appears in these scenes of peaceful retirement when, for example, Mary sits at his feet listening, and Martha, cumbered with much serving, shows her love in another way. Or here again, in the house of Simon the leper, what a group! The Prince of Life in that lowly guise; and Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead, seated at table with Him, Martha still serving, and Mary breaking her box of ointment, very precious, and wiping his feet with the hairs of her head! All her best and fairest employed to do honor to Him whom man despised. What voice is this that breaks in upon their peace with the murmur, “Why was this waste of the ointment made? for it might have been sold for more than three hundred pence, and have been given to the poor.” There is a kind of satisfaction in knowing that it was the voice of Judas Iscariot, though it seems that he was not the only one who had indignation at this honor done to Jesus. May there not be some in this age—which measures every thing by its utility—who would say, “Well, and why this waste? Would it not have been better bestowed on the relief of human wants?” Is it Judas Iscariot who speaks in the cause of humanity against Jesus, who defends the poor woman’s “waste?” “Let her alone. Why trouble ye her? She hath wrought a good work upon me.” There is surely something in this act which we imperfectly understand. It is made of great importance in the gospels. John interrupts his narrative of the resurrection of Lazarus to explain that Mary, the sister of Lazarus, was “that Mary which anointed the Lord with ointment, and wiped his feet with her hair.” Then the Lord speaks of it in terms of such peculiar commendation as a good work done upon him: “She did it for my burial.” In John we learn that Mary had treasured in her heart the intimation of His death, which His disciples generally seem to have heard with strange stupidity or indifference. She had been looking forward to that event, and, with love’s sorrowful providence, as He who had known it all, tells her secret, “against the day of my burying hath she kept this.” She saw the gathering darkness with love’s quick apprehension, and knew that the hour was come; and so, as he expresses it, “She has come aforehand to anoint my body for the burying.” And then we have the emphatic testimony of the spiritual import and permanent interest of the action: “Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached throughout the whole world, this also which she hath done shall be spoken of for a memorial of her.” But does it occupy the prominence among us which seems here to be assigned to it in connection with the preaching of the gospel? The gospel is preached and souls are saved; but is “this that she hath done” spoken of with true appreciation and intelligence, as a memorial of her? Let the reader answer for himself, not as to what he hears others do when the gospel is preached, but whether this expression of the poor woman’s love stands out in his own thoughts as the words of Jesus would lead us to expect. What did it mean? The cost of that box of ointment was a large sum for one in her circumstances. Estimate it not according to the measure of value in our day, but as it was to be reckoned when “two pence” was a reasonable sum to be given to the host when a wounded man was left in his care at an inn. In the parables the wages of the laborers were a penny a day; so that three hundred pence was about a year’s income from incessant daily toil. She had treasured that costly box for this very purpose; and we must suppose that in doing so she had denied herself many things which a selfish heart could ill have spared in that humble home. It would not have served her purpose had it not been costly to her; for its very use was to testify her appreciation of Him, her love to Him, and her sense of the great love of which He was about to give the crowning proof in that death which she had in mind when she anointed Him for the burial. There is something more acutely sad in the apparent insensibility of His disciples to His sufferings, than even in the malignity of His open enemies. And was it nothing to Jesus in that hour—is it no relief to you, lover of Jesus, in looking back to that hour—to know that there was one human heart—alas! we know not that there was another—in which His sayings about His death were treasured up, and which overflowed with intelligent sympathy for a suffering Saviour? Yes, dear Lord, thou hast not forgotten it amidst the glories of the Father’s right hand. Thou wilt not forget the alabaster box broken at Bethany, when the homage of unnumbered crowns is cast at thy feet. And we, too, would enter into fellowship with Thee, as we remember that there was one poor woman who hung over Thee with tenderness, as Thou didst go out to meet all that death for us, and counted nothing too costly to express her sense of Thy love and her attachment to Thy person. Now rejoicing in the gospel, which tells all Thy love to us, we will tell of this humble tribute of the love that answered back to Thine as a memorial of her who paid it. Two other incidents associate themselves with this in our minds. The first is that recorded in Luke vii, where a woman which was a sinner, braves all the scorn of the company at the Pharisee’s table, where Jesus was, “and stood at his feet behind him, weeping;” weeping tears of tenderness, in the consciousness of a Saviour found, but tears of grief too, at the sight of that Saviour treated with haughty neglect, “and began to wash His feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed His feet, and anointed them with the ointment.” The Lord interpreted that act as the great love of a sinner to whom much was forgiven; it was love’s appreciation of a Saviour despised of men, which presented everything to honor Him—her tears to wash his feet, her hair to wipe them, her lips to kiss them. The other incident is recorded in Luke xxi, where He sees a poor widow casting two mites into the treasury, and commends it as surpassing all the gifts of ostentatious wealth; for “she of her penny hath cast in all the living that she had.” She gave her all for the repair and maintenance of the temple, which was a type of Christ, and thus, according to her light, gave expression to the same grateful love which placed him first. Judas would have said, “Better buy bread with it.” These two incidents illustrate the meaning of Mary’s action, and they may show that while the alabaster box would not have served her purpose unless it had been costly to her, yet the costliness is not to be estimated by human standards. The widow’s two mites were just as much as Mary’s three hundred pence, and no more; for it might be said of the one as well as of the other, “She hath done what she could.” But then Mary’s action stands pre-eminent in the fullness of her appreciation, the pureness of her love, and the intelligence of her sympathy and fellowship with Him in his circumstances. He was there the outcast and rejected one, resting for a brief hour ere he went out to bear our sins in his own body on the tree; and there was she, alone in her loving sympathy, with her alabaster box of ointment, which she had kept for that day, to anoint his body for the burial and refresh his spirit by her love. Judas said, “Why this waste?” And there is never wanting a spurious philanthropy to take up the Judas-cry, whenever it is a question of suffering for Christ or honor paid to him, or anything laid upon the altar of God, as though everything rendered to God were a robbery of man. We know how to estimate the specious hypocrisy which would hide the bag under its flowing robe. But at present we are not called upon to expose the essential self-seeking of a Christless philanthropy. Brethren in Christ, let us look to ourselves. Does not our failure, even when the gospel is preached, to speak of this that she hath done, as a memorial of her, reveal a radical defect in what is called “the religion of the day?” With all its bustling activities, and apparent zeal in the service of man, or even in telling of the love of God to men in the gospel of his Son, there is such a want of appreciation of Christ, in the excellence and loveliness of his person, such a want of love to himself, as leaves all cold and mechanical—and even, so far as men are concerned—lifeless and inefficient. Ah! it is not that there is too great love of souls, too deep and absorbing a desire that they may be saved, to great sacrifices for the welfare of others—far from it; but there is too much self-seeking under the guise of service for man or for the church, when Christ himself is left out of view. We consider man and his interest only, and refuse to break the alabaster box of ointment to the Lord, under the plea of spending it on the poor. This runs through all our professed service. Even in the assemblies of the saints, everything is measured by man’s profit; and worship, the soul’s manifested appreciation of Christ, is lost sight of. We meet rather to hear a sermon than to worship; and we reckon the results, not by the savor of Christ that has ascended to the Father, but by the impressive views which have been presented to ourselves of our duties or our comforts. We say nothing of the far lower objects of the entertainment and enjoyment of a passing hour. Brethren, here also it is ours to break the alabaster box of ointment in our loving appreciation of Him who is the chiefest among ten thousand and altogether lovely; in homage and devotedness giving to Him, and not to man, the first place, recognizing His presence in the midst of us; and then, in the out-poured love and gratitude of our souls, we may say, “While the king sitteth at his table, my spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof.” It is heaven anticipated, when it can be said, “And the house was filled with the odor of the ointment.” Let us remember, too, that it was to Jesus rejected, that she offered this tribute of love, and that she did it for his burial, as though all earthly fragrance and honor must be buried with him. And so let us prove that the heart, in devotedness to him, has, in association with him, sacrificed all that is most attractive of earth. “I am crucified unto the world, and the world unto me.” The alabaster box is broken and its fragrance poured out. Men will account it a waste; but he who said, “She hath wrought a good work in me,” hath said, “Every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundred-fold, and shall inherit everlasting life.” Brethren, we need to learn that to renounce for the Lord’s sake is greater than any service. In this connection also, we may say, that it is the Judas-argument, Why this waste? that attempts to justify the occupation of places, and the continuance of associations, which we know to be dishonoring to the Lord, under the plea of the opportunities and influence they afford to serve man. Opportunities of usefulness, influence for good, while Christ is dishonored! Brethren, break the alabaster box of ointment, however carnal wisdom may condemn or reproach you. There is but one thing more, to which we barely allude. The bodily presence of Jesus is no longer with us, that we might, like these honored women, testify our love to him in acts of personal service. Yet in another way the body of Christ is here; and beyond any mere service to man, we may minister to him in such a way that at last he will acknowledge it. “Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto me.” And here, again, we find occasion to break the alabaster box of ointment very precious. But then, it is only as we see him before all that are his, and value him beyond all his gifts, and show that Christ himself is our object and portion beyond the engagements of any service. And will it not all be perfected, when, like the odor of the ointment filling the house, the love and gratitude of the redeemed gathered together in him shall fill all Heaven with the songs of his praise forever?—The Witness.