It is Passion week.

The week when Jesus, motivated by compassion, walks into Jerusalem, and His extravagant love for us spreads like a broken bottle of perfume.

It goes everywhere.

perfume bottle
(Eric Sauvage)

Tables get turned over and coins scatter and distorted passion for wealth and riches and highway robbery spill over cobble stones and cobbled lives.

Passion withers the roots of a fig tree when hypocrisy is exposed.

Passion laments a city when desolation comes to withered souls.

The uptight upright whisper and plot, but Jesus already knows the whisper of their hearts before they do.

Then…a woman gets involved.

A jar gets busted and its contents are dumped on Jesus’ head. Passion perfume fills the room and Jesus and the woman are the only ones who get it.

Meanwhile, Jesus was in Bethany at the home of Simon, a man who had previously had leprosy, a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, which she poured on his head as he was reclining at the table.

What if you busted open a jar of your passion?
What if you shattered the glass of your broken self and let it spill everything you own?


Spilled everything you love and
every tear you let slide down your cheek,
every cry you wailed.
What if you broke open every talent,
every strength, every lame step you walked
and you just poured out to Jesus.

Past the stare, the glare,
the lips thin-gripped,
the mouths jaw dropped of those who can only see
the mess, the waste.

Everything takes on the scent of extravagant love and
everyone there, except the ones that matter,
think you’re a fool.

How dare you love this way.

But, like an expensive perfume that emits layers of fragrance and mystery, this woman went to another layer, she realized another depth.

Pouring everything she owned onto Jesus wasn’t about how much she loved, but about how much she was loved.

This is what those who mocked her passion missed and what the enemy of our souls does not want us to know.

How dare we to believe that we can be loved this way.


We owe something to extravagance, for thrift and adventure seldom go hand in hand.-Lady Randolph Churchill



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