The Power of Worship

Mark 14:1-11

Worship is never neutral. It either loosens our grip on lesser loves or tightens their chains around our soul. In Bethany, while death plotted in the shadows and religion calculated its risks, a woman stepped into the light of wholehearted devotion. She broke what could not be repaired, poured out what could not be recovered, and loved Jesus without reserve. And Jesus called it beautiful.

Mary’s act was not impulsive sentimentality; it was the overflow of a heart already shaped. She did not wake that morning intending to make history. She simply brought to Jesus what she treasured most. Worship is always like this—it reveals what already reigns within us. Judas stood in the same room, heard the same words, saw the same Jesus. Yet one broke a jar in love, and the other sold the Lord for silver. Experience with Jesus does not transform us; worship of Jesus does.

What we revere, we resemble. Mary worshiped Jesus and became free—free from calculation, free from fear of opinion, free from the tyranny of possessions. Judas worshiped money and became enslaved—restless, defensive, deceptive, willing to trade relationship for reward. Worship is never merely about what we do on occasion; it is about who or what commands our deepest allegiance. And that allegiance quietly but relentlessly forms us.

Notice that Mary did not understand the full meaning of her act. Jesus tells us she was preparing Him for burial, though she likely had no such awareness. This is the hidden power of worship: God uses surrendered love to accomplish purposes far beyond our understanding. We imagine worship as expressive; God reveals it to be effective. He has chosen praise, sacrifice, obedience, and devotion as instruments through which He works His will in the world.

Yet worship will always invite resistance. Mary’s devotion was criticized by the religious, rebuked by friends, labeled wasteful and impractical. True worship often looks foolish to those who measure life by utility rather than love. But Jesus stands between the worshiper and the accuser and says, “Leave her alone.” Heaven’s approval outweighs every earthly objection.

The question is not whether we worship, but whom. Our lives testify to our altar. Look not merely at your words, but at your formation. Are you becoming more loving or more guarded? More generous or more anxious? More gentle or more defensive? These are not accidental outcomes; they are the fruit of devotion.

Mary did what she could—and that was enough. She did not calculate future security or public opinion. She responded to Jesus with affection and action. Worship that costs us nothing shapes us into nothing. But worship that breaks us open becomes a fragrance God uses to fill the room—and sometimes, to give hope to others standing knee-deep in the mud.

Pour it out. Worship anyway. God is at work.

Practice the Way of Jesus

Jesus does not flatter us with comforting abstractions. He speaks with piercing clarity. “Everyone who hears these words of Mine and puts them into practice…”—and there He draws the line that divides all humanity. Not between the moral and immoral, the religious and irreligious, the fortunate and the afflicted—but between the practiced and the merely informed.

The striking truth of Jesus’ words in Matthew 7 is that everything else is the same. The storm does not discriminate. Rain falls on obedience and disobedience alike. Winds beat against every house. The difference is not the weather of life but the weight-bearing obedience beneath it. One hears and does. The other hears and delays. And delay, in the kingdom of God, is already a decision.

Throughout Scripture this pattern is relentless. God speaks; people respond—or refuse. Noah builds while the sky is blue and finds salvation when it turns black. Abraham keeps obeying long after obedience feels unreasonable and discovers that God keeps promises beyond biology. Moses lifts a staff, Israel walks, Naaman washes, blind eyes open, empty nets break with abundance. God’s power is never detached from trust expressed through action.

Equally clear is the sobering witness of those who heard and did nothing. They were invited. They were informed. They were near the truth. Yet they watched storms without experiencing salvation, commands without deliverance, Christ without transformation. It was not ignorance that robbed them—it was unpracticed truth.

Jesus never asked for admirers. He commanded apprentices. “Teach them to obey,” He said—not merely to agree. Christianity left at the level of belief alone becomes weightless. It can grow numerically, organize efficiently, and yet remain untouched by the living power of God. But obedience—real, embodied obedience—becomes the narrow gate through which life flows.

This is why practicing the way of Jesus feels so often unreasonable. Forgive when wounded. Give when anxious. Pray when exhausted. Speak when silence feels safer. These instructions offend our instincts because God has chosen the foolish-looking things to train our trust. We do not drift into this kind of life. We must aim.

Jesus Himself told us it would be harder. Easier roads are always available—but ease is often destructive. What is easiest rarely fuels what is eternal. The narrow way is demanding, but it is alive. As Chesterton observed, Christianity is not tried and found wanting; it is found difficult and left untried.

Yet hear the mercy in all this: Jesus never commands without empowering. He died not only to forgive sin, but to place His Spirit within us—to make obedience possible from the inside out. “It is God who works in you to will and to act…” Our responsibility is not self-powered righteousness, but surrendered cooperation.

So where is the storm pressing hardest right now? Where do you long to see God’s power break through? Do not ask first for relief—ask what obedience looks like there. Search the Scriptures. Seek counsel. Then act.

Build there. Practice there.

And you will find that the life you most truly crave is not found in hearing more—but in practicing what you already have heard.