Spending someone else'€™s money

The sun was setting low on the Judean hills as Jesus and his disciples sat down to supper in the home of Lazarus and his two sisters, Jesus’ dear friends. On the morrow he would make that ride into Jerusalem on the back of a colt and be hailed as the King of Israel with palm branches and shouts of “Hosanna,” but tonight, his thoughts were elsewhere. The mood was somber and reflective as he drifted forward in time just a few days to where he stood before Pilate, and then, having been scourged, as he carried his cross through the streets of Jerusalem to be crucified on Calvary, the place of the skull. Then softly from behind there was the break of a seal, and as his attention was drawn back to the present, the aroma of spikenard filled the house and he breathed in its perfume. It was Mary; in a gesture perhaps of gratitude for the resurrection of her brother, she anointed Jesus’ feet and began wiping them with her hair.