Spirit of Truth and Love, move in us and among us as we listen to the Scriptures read and proclaimed. Open our minds and hearts to God’s Living Word so that we may know it more fully and follow it more faithfully, day by day. Amen.
Gospel Reading: Mark 14:3-9
Today we mark Mother’s Day — a day of flowers and phone calls, of gratitude and remembrance. For many, it is a joyful day. We give thanks for mothers and grandmothers, for those who nurtured us in faith, who prayed for us, who taught us by example what patience and perseverance look like.
But we also know this day is not simple for everyone. Some carry grief. Some carry longing. Some carry complicated memories. So today, rather than romanticizing motherhood, we turn to Scripture to see love in its truest form — faithful, courageous, but also costly.
In our Gospel reading today from Mark, we meet a woman whose name he doesn’t even record. Jesus is in a home in Bethany, only days away from the cross. The tension is rising. Opposition is growing. And into the room walks a woman with an alabaster jar of costly perfume. Without a speech, without asking permission, she pours it over Jesus’ head.
Some of the people in the room protest. They calculate its monetary value. They call it wasteful. But Jesus sees what they do not. He calls it beautiful. He says, “‘She has performed a good service for me.’” Now, as the final week of Jesus’ life unfolds, it is striking how often women appear near him — present at the cross, watching at the tomb, coming early on the first day of the week. While others scatter in fear or confusion, these women remain.
On a day when we give thanks for mothers, we are invited to notice something profound: faithful love is often quiet, often overlooked, sometimes criticized — but never unnoticed by Christ. And the love we see in these women reflects something deeper still — the steadfast, self-giving love of God.
And while Mark doesn’t name the woman with the alabaster jar of perfume, the Disciple John, who recounts the same occurrence, does. He says, “Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.” (John 12:1-3)
So, from John, we learn that Jesus was in the house of the two sisters, Mary and Martha, and their brother, Lazarus. We were first introduced to the two sisters in the Gospel of Luke, where earlier in the ministry of Jesus, he had traveled to the village of Bethany and Martha had invited him into her home. It was there that we hear about Martha doing all the cooking and cleaning while Mary sat at the feet of Jesus listening to him teach. When Martha complained to Jesus about this, he said, “… ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.’” (Luke 10:41-42)
Later on, when Martha and Mary’s brother, Lazarus, was ill they sent a messenger to Jesus asking him to come and heal him. But Jesus delayed his visit, and in the meantime Lazarus died. Yet, despite being in the tomb for four days, Jesus was able to bring him back to life. Now Jesus returns to their home once again, and John tells us, “There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him.” Martha, it seems, is still faithfully carrying out her familiar role of hospitality.
One final note about that home in Bethany is that while John describes it as being the home of Lazarus, both Matthew and Mark call it the home of Simon the leper. While no Bible scholar is sure who this Simon, is it’s thought that he could be either another brother or perhaps the father of Martha, Mary and Lasarus. One thing is sure, by the time of the visit of Jesus this Simon was no longer a leper. If he had been, no one would have gathered in his home, nor would they have reclined together at table as they did. In that time and place, a person with leprosy was required to live apart, separated from family and community. To share a meal under his roof would have been unthinkable.
And there are other examples of women showing their faithful love to Jesus during his time here on earth. Early in his ministry, while traveling through the towns and villages of the region of Galilee, a number of woman accompanied him and his disciples on their travels. The Apostle Luke tells us, “Soon afterwards he went on through cities and villages, proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God. The twelve were with him, as well as some women who had been cured of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, and Joanna, the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their resources” (Luke 8:1-3)
And when we come to the crucifixion scene, Mark tells us something remarkable, he says, “There were also women looking on from a distance; among them were Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome. These used to follow him and provided for him when he was in Galilee; and there were many other women who had come up with him to Jerusalem.” (Mark 15:40-41)
These women had supported Jesus’ ministry long before that terrible Friday. Mark says that they had followed him in Galilee and provided for him. That simple phrase carries great weight. It means they used their own resources. They organized. They prepared meals. They ensured that practical needs were met. Their discipleship was not just following; it was woven into daily acts of service.
They walked the dusty roads with him. They listened to his teaching. They watched him touch lepers, forgive sinners, and welcome children. They were not casual observers. They were committed followers. And now — when the sky darkened and the earth trembled — they remained.
There is something deeply holy about that kind of staying. When suffering cannot be fixed, when outcomes cannot be changed, love remains. Many of us have seen that kind of love — sitting quietly beside a hospital bed, holding a frail hand, keeping vigil through the night. It may look small to the world, but heaven does not call it small.
And after Jesus died and was laid in that tomb, Mark tells us, “When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him.” (Mark 16:16) Luke continues on to say, “…on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body. While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, ‘Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.’ Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. (Luke 24:1-10)
After Jesus died and was laid in the tomb, their love did not end with grief. Mark says that when the Sabbath was over, “Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him” (Mark 16:1). Even in sorrow, they were preparing one final act of care. The One who had healed others would now be tended by their faithful hands.
Luke tells us that at early dawn those same women came to the tomb with the spices they had prepared. Notice the tenderness of that detail: they prepared. Grief did not paralyze them; it moved them to action. They expected to find a sealed tomb and a lifeless body. They expected tears, not triumph. Instead, they found the stone rolled away.
They entered a place of death and encountered this announcement of life: “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here but has risen.” And then comes a quiet but powerful phrase: “Then they remembered his words.” The women who had listened all along were now the first to remember. The women who had stayed at the cross were now entrusted with the news of resurrection. The women who came to anoint a body became the first witnesses of the risen Christ.
So, these same women who had followed Jesus for so long did not abandon him when he died. And because they did not abandon him, they were present to witness what others missed. Their faithful love carried them through darkness into dawn. Their hearts were filled with gratitude. It was enough for them that Jesus loved them, healed them, changed them, prayed for them, and displayed the heart of God to them.
On this Mother’s Day, perhaps we glimpse something here about the strength of steadfast love. Love that serves in ordinary days. Love that stays in painful hours. Love that rises early, even when hope seems buried. And in God’s mysterious grace, such love is often the first to hear of the resurrection.
So, these same women who had followed Jesus for so long did not abandon him when he died — and because they did not abandon him,0 they were present to witness what others missed. They stood when others fled. They watched when others hid. They returned when others locked themselves behind closed doors. Their faithful love carried them through darkness into dawn.
They did not remain because they fully understood what was happening. They did not stay because they were certain resurrection was coming. In fact, they came to the tomb expecting death. They carried spices, not songs. They brought ointment, not halleluiahs. They remained because love had taken root in their hearts.
Some of them had been healed. Some had been restored to dignity. All of them had been seen and welcomed by Jesus in a world that often overlooked them. He had received their service with gratitude. He had taught them about the kingdom of God. He had displayed to them the very heart of the Father — merciful, attentive, and compassionate.
Their hearts were filled with gratitude. It was enough for them that Jesus loved them, healed them, changed them, prayed for them, and revealed God to them. Their presence at the cross and their persistence at the tomb were not acts of shelfishness; they were responses of love. And love does remarkable things.
Love serves in ordinary days, preparing meals, organizing details, sometimes just being there. Love stays in painful hours — keeping watch when words fail, remaining when there is nothing left to fix. Love rises early, even when hope seems buried — because love cannot do otherwise.
On this Mother’s Day, perhaps we glimpse something here about the strength of steadfast love. Many in this congregation have known that kind of love. A mother sitting up through the night with a sick child. A grandmother praying daily for children and grandchildren. A caregiver showing up again and again, even when the thanks are few and the outcome uncertain. The world may not write headlines about such things. But heaven does not overlook them.
In God’s mysterious grace, it was these women — steady, grateful, faithful — who were the first to hear the whisper of resurrection. They came to complete an act of burial, and instead they were entrusted with the proclamation of life. The ones who stayed in the darkness were the first to see the light break over the horizon. And that is no accident.
For, in the kingdom of God, love that remains becomes love that witnesses. Love that perseveres becomes love that proclaims. Love that walks through Good Friday is often the first to glimpse Easter morning. And perhaps that is the quiet encouragement for all of us today: when we love faithfully, even without full understanding, even without visible results, God is at work. The dawn may not yet be visible, but it is coming.
Let us Pray:
Gracious and loving God, we thank you for the steadfast love we have seen reflected in the women who followed your Son — love that served, love that stayed, love that rose early even in sorrow. On this Mother’s Day, we give you thanks for mothers, grandmothers, and all who have nurtured us with patience, courage, and quiet strength.
Comfort those for whom this day carries grief or longing. Surround them with your gentle presence. And teach us all to love as those faithful women loved — to serve in ordinary days, to remain in difficult hours, and to trust you when darkness lingers. Carry us through every shadow into the light of your resurrection hope. Through Jesus Christ, our risen Lord, we pray. Amen