What We Can Do We are Bound to Do
Mark 14:8
She has done what she could: she is come beforehand to anoint my body to the burying.


This language of the Saviour most naturally associates itself with the closing up of life's great account. Of how many among us, when that trial hour comes, with all its retrospections and searching examinations, can those glorious words be spoken? We cannot recall nor judge the dead. They are in the hands of the All-Just. But we can speak to one another as yet living. How many of us are so striving righteously, and watching soberly, and praying earnestly, that this shall be the just and consoling eulogy — They have done what they could? The busy man of affairs, the successful one, the disappointed and losing one, the young adventurer, the older and long-trusted, and finally unfortunate one, — those that have prospered by others' industry, and those that have been ruined by others' crimes, — has each one of them done what he could? The wife or mother, whose very name is sacred, because the sacred office of forming character is her perpetual duty, the lonely woman that has only her own heart to discipline, the young girl that has so few cares for herself that God requires many of her for the less-favoured, — has each done what she could? The bereaved parent, the desolate widow suddenly summoned to take up the dreary and dreadful burden of solitary suffering, — has each done what she could? is each one doing what she can? Christ draws near to us and repeats the question. He turns and puts it, with twofold solemnity and sadness, to those that leave Him and pass away. To all that sit at His feet and follow in His steps in the spirit of her who poured the fragrant offering on His head, He is ready to speak the same benediction with His infinite love, — hiding in it the sure promise of life everlasting. I said we cannot adjudge the deservings of the departed. But we can guard ourselves against those hallucinations of mortal glory, and all those artificial illusions, which are so apt to cheat our souls, and obscure the plain truth. There goes to his august repose, enveloped in imperial pomps, the ruler of the world's mightiest, vastest empire. Fifty-seven millions of human souls, embracing nine different races of men, with a million soldiers, drew their daily breath subject to his direct and despotic will; but not all of so many millions could add one single breath to his prostrate lungs. Eight millions of square miles of territory were yesterday ruled by his word; now he needs not eight feet, out of it all. The guns of massive fortresses on the huge ramparts that guard widely divided waters made a continent tremble in their volleying answers to his edicts, and the haughtiest noblemen of the world bent at his smile or frown. Common cabinets and kings were perplexed and afraid at the cunning of his brain, as boys are of their master, and the armies of the strongest governments, after his own, felt the globe to be a more conquerable and practicable domain the moment they knew he was dead. But he is dead. And neither the millions of acres nor men, the fortresses nor the fears, the armies nor the brain, shall make it a whit easier, but harder rather, for his single soul — when it goes alone, disrobed of crown and purple, into the presence of the King of kings, whose right it is to reign — to answer that simple question, Hast thou done for Me — ah! for Me — what thou couldst? Canst thou stand with the lowly and powerless woman who crept with the box of ointment to her Redeemer's feet, and who shall have the story of that act of love told for a memorial of her wherever the everlasting gospel is preached, when the history of Cossack and Czar shall be dim as that of princes before the flood, and on to the end of time? But here, close by us, falls asleep a meek, patient girl, — a faithful sister, an obedient daughter, a mild and friendly counsellor of a few children that she knew, ruler of none on earth but her own patient spirit, and thereby made greater than he that taketh a city, or prevents its being taken. She, too, dies, and no anxious hemispheres dispute about the report, nor do kingdoms mourn, nor cowardly assemblies clap their hands, when the report is confirmed. And in the day when the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed, our only question is, which of these two shall be found nearest to Him who sitteth on the one throne, and shall wear the crown which is a crown of life.

(Bishop F. D. Huntington.)



Parallel Verses
KJV: She hath done what she could: she is come aforehand to anoint my body to the burying.

WEB: She has done what she could. She has anointed my body beforehand for the burying.




What a Woman May Do
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