When Worship Wept

(A Poem Inspired by John 12:1–8)

In Bethany’s quiet, sacred space,

Where love and friendship left their trace,

Mary knelt before the Lord of Light,

And broke a jar—her heart poured right.

A pound of purest nard she gave,

A costly gift for the feet that would save.

Not her words, but fragrance filled the air—

A silent sermon, maybe a prayer.

She wept for what others could not see,

Jesus’ body would be nailed to a tree.*

With trembling hands, she wiped His feet,

Her hair, a veil—her worship sweet.

While others scoffed and called it waste,

Her soul had known the Savior’s grace.

She saw the Lamb—her heart bowed low,

While others watched, but didn’t know.

And Jesus spoke, her gift made known,

A fragrant sign before His throne.

Her worship etched in sacred lore,

A fragrance time cannot ignore.

Her worship lingers to this day—

A holy hush, a soul’s display.

In every tongue, her name does ring—

A story told for Christ the King.

*I’ve taken some writer’s liberties in imagining the depth of what Mary of Bethany may have understood about Jesus’ coming death. Her anointing of Him with oil was both an act of worship and a preparation for His burial. While Scripture does not explicitly state that Mary knew Jesus would be crucified, her actions suggest a profound spiritual insight.