While He was in Bethany at the home of Simon the leper, and reclining at the table, there came a woman with an alabaster vial of very costly perfume of pure nard; and she broke the vial and poured it over His head. But some were indignantly remarking to one another, "Why has this perfume been wasted? For this perfume might have been sold for over three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor." And they were scolding her. But Jesus said, "Let her alone; why do you bother her? She has done a good deed to Me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you wish you can do good to them; but you do not always have Me. She has done what she could; she has anointed My body beforehand for the burial. Truly I say to you, wherever the gospel is preached in the whole world, what this woman has done will also be spoken of in memory of her."
— Mark 14:3-9

There is a scene that plays out in Bethany that contains within it a profound rebuke—not of excess, but of a certain kind of prudence. A woman enters with an alabaster vial, and in an act of singular devotion, she breaks it open and pours its contents over the head of Jesus. The perfume is extravagant. The gesture is total. And the response of those watching is immediate indignation.

The disciples lost sight of who was with them. In their rush to calculate the monetary value of the nard—over three hundred denarii, roughly a year's wages for a common laborer—they failed to recognize that nothing could be too costly, too wasteful, to be poured out upon Christ Himself. If they were to be upset about anything, they should have been upset that the gift was not more costly still.

The Cult of Efficiency

The disciples' cry for efficiency in the giving of this gift is not foreign to us. For those of us living within a capitalist economy, efficiency is not merely a virtue—it is a foundational assumption. One need study economics only briefly before understanding that market systems are remarkably efficient at distributing resources to winners and losers, and those who can enhance or contribute to that efficiency win far more than they lose.

So it makes a certain kind of sense that from an earthly perspective, the disciples would want to make this expensive resource go as far as it possibly could, to maximize its utility for good purposes. While most of those present no doubt had the genuine welfare of the poor in mind, it is worth noting that in John's account of this scene, it is Judas Iscariot who raises the concern most pointedly:

Mary then took a pound of very costly perfume of pure nard, and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped His feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But one of His disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray Him, said, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor?"
— John 12:3-5

Scripture is clear that Judas's distribution of charitable funds was far from selfless. John continues in verse 6: "Now he said this, not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief, and as he had the money box, he used to pilfer what was put into it." The appeal to efficiency, it seems, can serve as convenient cover for motives that are anything but charitable.

Three Certainties and a Fourth

In His response to this scene, Jesus makes three things certain to the disciples and to every reader since. And by the principles of logic, a fourth must be true as well.

First, while Christ is physically present, you must give all to Him to such a degree that it appears wasteful by earthly standards. The woman's act was not merely acceptable—it was exemplary. Jesus declares that wherever the gospel is preached throughout the whole world, what this woman has done will be spoken of in memory of her. Her extravagance was not a lapse in judgment; it was the very essence of right worship.

Second, the poor will always be with us. Therefore, the problem of poverty and genuine need will always be a problem requiring attention. Jesus reinforces this notion by adding that "whenever you wish you can do good to them"—meaning this problem will not ebb and flow like other cyclical earthly phenomena. It will always be there to be addressed. This is not a statement of resignation but of perpetual calling.

Third, when we take action toward the problem of poverty and aid those in need, we are doing it to no less than Christ Himself. And on the contrary, when we fail to do this, we are withholding from Christ what is due to Him:

"... to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me ... to the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me."
— Matthew 25:40, 45

Fourth, by tautological principle we can deduce that if the poor are always with us, and Christ is the poor to be aided, then He is always with us—not only in Spirit but also represented in flesh and bone by those in need. The woman in Bethany poured out her perfume on Christ in His physical presence. We have the same opportunity in every encounter with the marginalized.

The Social Gospel and Its Discontents

Within Christianity there exists the idea of the social gospel, which in more recent decades has been branded as belonging primarily to liberal progressive Christianity. Many conservatives have felt that this emphasis lost sight of the primary goal of the gospel, which is personal salvation and piety through sanctification. Instead, the social gospel elevated civil action to address issues such as workers' rights, education and healthcare for the needy, political corruption reform, and poverty—maintaining that this type of action is essential to living out Jesus's teaching about justice and compassion for the marginalized.

Both of these positions have merit. One need only conduct a cursory review of the gospels to affirm this and understand that they are both imperatives for any serious follower of Christ. Personal salvation and social action are not competitors; they are complements.

For my intended audience, I trust I do not need to expound at length upon the reasons for personal salvation and piety through sanctification. This should be blatantly obvious, and if it is not, there are larger problems afoot which deafen the ears of those to whom the following argument is directed. If this does not resonate with you, you must question the foundation upon which your Christianity is built.

Yet while it is true that the social gospel has at times been co-opted by those seeking to coalesce large numbers around a political agenda—a political agenda where some of its tenets are antithetical to Christian piety—this co-optation does not make its original aims evil, misguided, or any less important to God. The abuse of a principle does not negate the principle itself.

The social gospel, properly understood, should not be stripped from the foundational goals of Christ's mission, and by proxy, our mission as believers here on earth. Taking a step further, to refrain from this activity should be viewed as resisting Christ and withholding even a fraction of what we have toward what is due Him—an association with which no sincere believer would want to be identified.

The Scriptural Foundation

This is not a novel interpretation layered atop scripture; it emerges directly from it. The prophets of the Old Testament made abundantly clear that God's concern for the poor, the widow, and the stranger was not peripheral to faithfulness but central to it.

Isaiah thunders against those who maintain religious ritual while neglecting justice:

"Is this not the fast which I choose: to loosen the bonds of wickedness, to undo the bands of the yoke, and to let the oppressed go free and break every yoke? Is it not to divide your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into the house; when you see the naked, to cover him; and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?"
— Isaiah 58:6-7

Micah summarizes what the Lord requires in terms that are impossible to misunderstand:

"He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"
— Micah 6:8

James, writing to the early church, is even more pointed:

"If a brother or sister is without clothing and in need of daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, be warmed and be filled,' and yet you do not give them what is necessary for their body, what use is that? Even so faith, if it has no works, is dead, being by itself."
— James 2:15-17

And again:

"Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world."
— James 1:27

Notice that James does not present care for the vulnerable as an optional add-on to personal piety. He defines it as the very essence of "pure and undefiled religion." The two—personal holiness and active compassion—are woven together as a single garment.

Jesus Himself inaugurated His public ministry by reading from Isaiah in the synagogue at Nazareth:

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, because He anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor. He has sent Me to proclaim release to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed, to proclaim the favorable year of the Lord."
— Luke 4:18-19

He then sat down and declared, "Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." The mission of Christ was never simply about the salvation of souls in some disembodied sense. It was about the restoration of human beings in their totality—spiritual, yes, but also physical, social, and economic.

The Sheep and the Goats

Perhaps no passage makes the stakes clearer than Jesus's description of the final judgment in Matthew 25. Here, the separation of the sheep from the goats is determined not by doctrinal precision or religious observance, but by concrete acts of mercy toward those in need:

"Then the King will say to those on His right, 'Come, you who are blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.'

"Then the righteous will answer Him, 'Lord, when did we see You hungry, and feed You, or thirsty, and give You something to drink? And when did we see You a stranger, and invite You in, or naked, and clothe You? When did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?'

"The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.'"
— Matthew 25:34-40

The inverse is equally sobering. Those who failed to perform these acts are told to depart, because "to the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me."

This is not allegory. It is not hyperbole. It is the stated criterion by which the King will judge the nations. And it should give every believer pause.

A Simple Litmus Test

So what is the litmus test? How can a believer determine if they are on the right side of history and, more importantly, a sheep rather than a goat before Christ on judgment day?

A simple thought experiment will make things clear.

When you consider social programs such as SNAP and Medicaid in this country, where does your mind go immediately? Do you first focus on the lack of efficiency, the wastefulness, the fraudulent activity within these programs? Or do you first recognize how they are fulfilling the mission of Christ—and frankly, the gospel—by caring for the genuinely marginalized in this economy?

When you consider how someone might have found themselves in a position of genuine need, do you first think about their possible laziness, their foolishness, their general failure to pull themselves up by their bootstraps? Or do you accept poverty as a natural corollary of this fallen world, remembering Christ's words that "the poor will always be with you," and acknowledge that He made this claim specifically to draw our attention to a problem that will always require our focus?

The latter position, I would argue, requires a greater posture of humility. It is a tacit recognition that what you have is largely the result of God's favor upon your life and not primarily the product of your work ethic, shrewdness, or self-determination. As Moses warned Israel before they entered the promised land:

"Otherwise, you may say in your heart, 'My power and the strength of my hand made me this wealth.' But you shall remember the LORD your God, for it is He who is giving you power to make wealth."
— Deuteronomy 8:17-18

The prosperity gospel, in its crudest forms, would have us believe that wealth is a direct indicator of divine favor and poverty a sign of divine disfavor—or at least personal failure. But this inverts the biblical witness. Throughout scripture, it is the rich who are warned, and the poor who are blessed. "Blessed are you who are poor," Jesus declares in Luke's Beatitudes, "for yours is the kingdom of God" (Luke 6:20).

A Necessary Aside on Fraud and Exploitation

Lest I be misunderstood, I am not arguing that we should ignore fraudulent activity or the exploitation of government programs through legal loopholes. These instances of ignoring the essence of a program's intent while using exceptions in the law to garner resources represent flaws in character—regardless of whether the result is a lower tax rate through clever accounting or the collection of government assistance benefits through fraud.

The exploitation of systems designed to help others is wrong. The exploitation of systems designed to fund the common good is wrong. Both are forms of theft dressed in the clothing of legality. Scripture is clear that God "executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and shows His love for the alien by giving him food and clothing" (Deuteronomy 10:18). To subvert the mechanisms by which such justice is executed—whether from above or below—is to set oneself against God's purposes.

I do not need to explain at length why this is wrong to Christ-following believers, and so I will leave it at that. What I am addressing here is not whether fraud exists, but where our attention first lands—what occupies the foreground of our thinking when we consider the poor and the systems designed to aid them.

The Indignation of the Disciples Revisited

Return with me to Bethany. The woman has broken her alabaster vial. The fragrance fills the room. And the disciples are indignant.

Their indignation was not irrational by the standards of prudent stewardship. Three hundred denarii could have fed many poor families. It could have been distributed through proper channels, recorded in ledgers, allocated according to need. It could have been efficient.

But Jesus rebukes them. Not because efficiency is inherently wrong, but because their calculus was blind to what was happening in front of them. They had reduced worship to economics. They had made the mistake of thinking that what was owed to Christ could be measured in utility.

We make the same mistake when we approach the needs of the poor primarily through the lens of efficiency. When our first question about programs for the marginalized is whether they are cost-effective, we are speaking the language of Judas, not of Mary. When we are more exercised about the possibility of fraud than about the reality of hunger, we have adopted a posture that Jesus explicitly rebuked.

This does not mean we abandon wisdom. It means we order our priorities correctly. The woman did not ask whether there was a more efficient use for her perfume. She simply poured it out on Jesus. And Jesus said she would be remembered for it wherever the gospel is preached.

Always With You

"The poor you will always have with you."

This statement has been badly misused, often quoted as if Jesus were shrugging off poverty as an inevitable and therefore ignorable feature of human existence. Nothing could be further from His meaning.

Jesus is quoting Deuteronomy 15:11, which in full reads: "For the poor will never cease to be in the land; therefore I command you, saying, 'You shall freely open your hand to your brother, to your needy and poor in your land.'" The statement is not a dismissal of responsibility but an intensification of it. Precisely because poverty will always exist, the command to address it is perpetual.

When Jesus says the poor will always be with you, He is not granting permission to ignore them. He is establishing that the opportunity for Christlike action will never be exhausted. "Whenever you wish," He says, "you can do good to them." The door is always open. The need is always present. The question is whether we will walk through it.

Conclusion: What She Could

"She has done what she could."

This simple commendation from Jesus contains worlds within it. The woman in Bethany gave what she had. She did not calculate the most strategic deployment of her resources. She did not hedge her investment. She did not hold anything back for a more opportune moment.

She did what she could.

And in doing so, she provided a model for every believer who follows. We are not called to solve poverty—that work belongs to Christ alone in the fullness of His kingdom. But we are called to do what we can. To give not efficiently but extravagantly. To see in the face of the poor the face of Christ Himself. To pour out what we have without counting the cost.

The disciples' indignation seems reasonable until you remember who was sitting at the table with them. When we approach the poor with suspicion rather than compassion, with calculations rather than generosity, with an eye first for fraud and waste rather than for need and dignity, we make the same mistake.

Christ is still at the table. He is present in every hungry child, every struggling family, every prisoner and stranger and sick person without care. The question is not whether we can afford to help them. The question is whether we can afford not to—whether we are willing to be counted among those who, when the King separates the sheep from the goats, are told: "To the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me."

May we, like the woman in Bethany, do what we can. May we pour out what we have. And may we be remembered for it wherever the gospel is preached.