Unveiling the Woman Behind the Anointing
While visiting and worshipping at the Milan Baptist Church, I heard a message from Pastor Ivano that stirred something deep—about the moment in John 12, when a woman anointed Jesus at the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. But it wasn’t just the beauty of the act that stayed with me. It was the question: Who was this woman, really?
Was she just a bystander? A grateful follower? Or was there more?
I believe there was. And the more I trace the lines of the Gospel, the more I’m convinced: Mary wasn’t random.
She was part of something hidden, sacred, and close.
She was part of the entourage.
She may have even been part of the family. (I know it may sound too confusing but read on)
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Mary Wasn’t Random: Unveiling the Woman Behind the Anointing
John names her clearly: Mary of Bethany, sister of Lazarus (Jo teaches Lazarus is the disciple “whom Jesus loved” mentioned in the same Gospel). Yet Mary is no passing character. This is someone who knew Jesus well enough to pour nard—expensive burial perfume—on his feet and wipe it away with her hair. That’s not just adoration; that’s intimacy.
In Jewish tradition, gestures like this carry layers:
It was priestly: preparing the lamb.
It was bridal: reminiscent of the Song of Songs (1:12).
It was prophetic: recognizing the death the men still refused to accept.
Only someone within the inner circle could have done this.
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The Woman Caught in Adultery – A Veiled Story?
Then there’s the woman from John 8—dragged out, shamed, ready to be stoned. And yet… Jesus stands with her, covers her, restores her. We’re not told her name. But the tradition, early and persistent, linked her with Mary Magdalene.
Coincidence? Maybe. But what if it’s not about confusing women—what if it’s about veiling women?
In rabbinic and mystical tradition, the sacred is often hidden—especially when it comes to women who bear divine witness. Names are withheld, not to diminish them, but to protect intimacy. The closer you are to the holy, the more your story is veiled.
So whether it’s Mary of Bethany or Mary Magdalene—or both wrapped together—these are not disposable characters. They are guardians of memory.
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Mary Magdalene: The First Witness
At the resurrection, who is there first?
Mary Magdalene.
She mistakes him for a gardener—but is it a mistake? Or is it Eden, renewed?
She is the new Eve. The first to see the New Adam in the garden.
She calls him Rabbouni. He calls her by name.
If the apostles are the pillars of the early church, Mary is the gatekeeper of the empty tomb.
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Entourage or Family? The Hidden Structure
In the first-century Jewish world, discipleship was familial, such a dynastic structure continues to this day in Orthodox Judaism, namley the pacifist Hasidic. There was no divide between spiritual and blood ties when it came to a teacher’s entourage. You either belonged, or you didn’t.
Mary of Bethany’s access, Mary Magdalene’s loyalty, and the women who funded and followed Jesus weren’t exceptions—they were essential parts of the movement.
Which makes sense when you remember: Jesus wasn’t some solitary sage, he was from the Davidic line. He was Yeshua MiNZaret (what good could come from such town). And later confused with Yeshu haNotzri, a figure remembered (even in hostile texts) as someone with insider access, a name, a reputation, and followers who walked close and confused with Jesus Christ as we Christians know him. Perhaps the Son of Mary Magdalena with Jesus brother Jose Pandera, the anti-Christ.
If anyone knew the real story—its textures, tears, oil, and resurrection light—it was a Mary. Whether His mother or the followers.
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What the Memory Protects
The early church guarded Mary’s role, but so did the tradition around it. In mystical circles, she was whispered about as a visionary. In apocryphal texts, she’s a teacher.
In art, she’s the one clinging to Jesus not in sensuality, but in witness.
She doesn’t ask for explanation. She remembers.
Because she was there.
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What about Mother Mary? (Coming in Part Two)
Mary, the Mother of Jesus, stands not only at the threshold of Jesus’ ministry but at the threshold of a new creation. At Cana, she initiates the first sign with quiet authority, echoing the voice of Wisdom that calls the faithful to obey. At the Cross, she endures the piercing of her soul, offering up her son in silent solidarity. And in her hidden presence near the tomb, she embodies the faithful remnant, the suffering Bride, the maternal mystery of Zion.
Mary, the Mother of Jesus, stands not only at the threshold of Jesus’ ministry but at the threshold of a new creation. At Cana, she initiates the first sign with quiet authority, echoing the voice of Wisdom that calls the faithful to obey. At the Cross, she endures the piercing of her soul, offering up her son in silent solidarity. And in her hidden presence near the tomb, she embodies the faithful remnant, the suffering Bride, the maternal mystery of Zion.
Mary is not merely a mother—she is the living sign of the Heavenly Jerusalem, the woman clothed with the sun, bearing the pain of birth and the hope of resurrection. Her role is eschatological, covenantal, and cosmic. She does not speak often, because she is the sign—the vessel through whom heaven touches earth.
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Conclusion: Not Random. Never Random.
So when we read John 12—or John 8—or John 20—we’re not reading disconnected snapshots. We’re reading theological memory, encoded with love, pain, and truth.
And when we see these Marys there, we should say:
They knew.
They were part of it.
They weren’t random.
They were family.
Postscript: Sacred Memory and Hidden Names
“That which is most intimate is not always spoken aloud—it is guarded, whispered, remembered.”
— Oral Torah principle (based on Avot de-Rabbi Natan)
Zohar Reference – Spikenard and the Anointed King
The Zohar (Vol. II, 63b) reads Song of Songs 1:12 — “While the king sat at his table, my nard sent forth its fragrance” — as a mystical reference to Messiah ben Joseph preparing for his death, and the Shekhinah (the feminine Presence of God) drawing near in sorrowful glory. The oil is not just fragrance—it is the signature of devotion, the sign that someone understands the mystery before it happens.
Mary of Bethany’s act in John 12 becomes a direct embodiment of this mystical moment.
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Talmudic Glimpses – Yeshu and the Entourage
In Sanhedrin 43a, the Talmud speaks (cryptically and controversially) of Yeshu the Notzri, noting that “he was close to the kingdom” and that “he practiced sorcery and led Israel astray.” Regardless of the polemic, what stands out is the acknowledgment of his access and impact. He had disciples. He had a name. He had people close to him.
Mary Magdalene may have been one of the most dangerous figures for the memory of this movement—not because she betrayed it, but because she remembered it faithfully.
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Apocryphal Echo – The Gospel of Mary
In the Gospel of Mary (Magdalene)—a 2nd-century text that survives in Coptic—Mary is portrayed as the one who understood the words of the Savior better than Peter, and who holds mystical teachings the others didn’t grasp. While not canonical, the text reflects an early tradition that saw Mary not as background but as witness, interpreter, and vessel.
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Suggested Reading for the Curious
Harvey Falk, Jesus the Pharisee (esp. his notes on oral tradition and inner circle relationships)
Jacob Emden’s letter on Yeshu the Notzri – surprisingly affirming and nuanced
Rachel Elior, The Three Temples: On the Emergence of Jewish Mysticism
Susan Haskins, Mary Magdalene: Myth and Metaphor
And for theological resonance: Edith Stein’s reflections on woman as bearer of divine memory
