Mark 14
Mark 14: A Week of Fulfillment, a Woman of Worship
As we enter Mark 14, we find ourselves standing at the threshold of Holy Week. The triumphal entry has taken place. The crowds have cheered. But now the air grows thick with tension, and every detail begins to matter even more. When the Gospel writers slow down to describe something in vivid detail, we’re invited to lean in closely—because these moments carry weight beyond the surface.
It’s a few days before the Passover, and the echoes of Exodus still linger. We remember how God’s people were told to sacrifice a lamb, place its blood over their doorposts, and trust that the Lord would pass over them. Now, Jesus steps into that very role—the Lamb whose blood would soon be shed, not just for one household, but for the sins of the world. In every way, He is fulfilling ancient promises, taking on the weight of history, prophecy, and our redemption.
A Woman Who Gets It
In the middle of this profound lead-up to the cross, we meet a woman. Mark tells us that Jesus is reclining at the table in Bethany when she enters, breaks an alabaster jar, and pours perfume over Him. The aroma must have filled the room, but what she did went beyond the senses—it pointed to the reality of who Jesus is.
This act of reverence and worship is so intimate, so bold. It’s also disruptive. The disciples, most likely Judas among them, rebuke her harshly. They see waste. But Jesus sees beauty. He defends her, saying, "She has done a beautiful thing to me." She is preparing Him for burial, even if others can’t see it yet.
And maybe that’s the point. She gets it. She understands what the others are still missing. That Jesus is not just a teacher or miracle worker—He is the King who will suffer, the Lamb who will die. And while some, like Judas, respond with disillusionment and betrayal, this woman responds with costly love.
We don’t know her name from Mark’s account—and maybe that’s intentional. The spotlight isn’t on her identity but on her worship. We are left asking ourselves: do we get it like she did? Are we willing to give Jesus our best, even when others don’t understand?
The Table, the Betrayal, and the Invitation
As the chapter moves forward, we come to the upper room. Jesus prepares the Passover with His disciples, fully aware of Judas’s betrayal. He isn’t fooled. He isn’t tricked. He knows exactly what’s coming, and He walks into it willingly.
When we read about Judas, it’s sobering. He was close to Jesus—part of the inner circle, a witness to miracles, a participant in ministry. And yet, his heart was far. He played the part, but his soul wasn’t aligned with Christ. It reminds us of the fig tree in Mark 11—lush in appearance, but fruitless up close. God desires authenticity, not performance. He longs for hearts that are truly His.
Then Jesus does something astonishing: He shares a meal. With all of them. Including Judas. He takes bread, breaks it, and says, "This is my body." He takes the cup and says, "This is my blood of the covenant, poured out for many." And in this moment, He gives the Church a signpost. Like a road sign that signals what’s ahead, communion points us to the cross and to the risen Christ. It’s not just ritual—it’s grace, it’s reality, it’s communion with the Living God.
As we reflect on Mark 14, we’re invited into the tension, the beauty, and the sacrifice. We’re reminded that Jesus is both fully in control and fully surrendered. He chooses to love, to die, to rise. And He invites us—flawed, confused, worshipful, afraid—to the table with Him.
Let’s bring our whole selves to Jesus. Let’s not just appear fruitful but be faithful. Let’s worship like the woman with the alabaster jar, not holding anything back. And let’s receive communion with the reverence it deserves—knowing it’s not just a sign of what Jesus has done, but a taste of the Kingdom that is coming.
Wrestling in the Garden: What We Learn from Jesus in Gethsemane
As we enter the Garden of Gethsemane with Jesus and the disciples in Mark 14, we find a moment soaked in emotion, conflict, and intimacy with God. It's late. The disciples are exhausted and falling asleep. And yet, Jesus is fully awake to the weight of what’s coming.
We watch him cry out to the Father, saying He is overwhelmed—“even to the point of death” (Mark 14:34). That phrase alone stops us in our tracks. If Jesus, fully God and fully man, can feel overwhelmed, can say, “This is too much,” then we know it's okay when we do too. In fact, it's human. It's honest.
Jesus doesn’t numb the pain or distract himself. He doesn't tweet about it. He doesn't vent to friends first. He goes straight to the Father. That kind of raw vulnerability before God is something we need to reclaim. If Jesus can ask, “Is there another way?” so can we. If Jesus can wrestle with obedience in the dark, so can we.
And in that wrestling, we find peace. That’s the paradox. Jesus prays with anguish, but he rises with peace. He is ready. He walks into betrayal and injustice with clarity and calm. Meanwhile, the disciples—who slept instead of praying—scatter, panic, and lie. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. We see it. We’ve lived it.
Prayer isn’t just about getting answers. It's about getting aligned. And when we spend real time with God, we don't just survive hard seasons—we can walk through them in peace.
Betrayal, Denial, and the Long Road of Discipleship
The rest of Mark 14 is a painful unraveling. Jesus is betrayed by Judas, arrested, and brought before a corrupt council. Peter, who just recently claimed loyalty unto death, denies even knowing Jesus. Not once, but three times.
But here’s what gets us: Jesus knew. He told Peter it would happen. He didn’t stop it. He didn’t redirect Peter away from the failure. He allowed it, and then later, he would reinstate him.
That moment reminds us that failure isn’t final. Discipleship is not a straight line. Even when we disown Jesus—through fear, shame, or compromise—he doesn’t disown us. He is committed to the process of our transformation, even when it gets messy.
We see ourselves in Peter. One moment full of faith, the next moment faltering. But Jesus sees the whole story, not just the chapter we’re stuck in. And through every fall, his hand remains steady.
Discipleship takes time. It takes sifting. And sometimes, it takes failure for us to truly understand grace. But we serve a God who doesn’t write us off—he writes us back in.
So wherever we are in our walk—whether we’re wrestling in the garden, waking from spiritual sleep, or weeping after failure—there’s hope. Jesus is still pursuing us. And just like Peter, our story isn’t over yet.
