March 17, 2013 | 9:30 and 11:00 a.m. | Fifth Sunday in Lent

Love beyond Calculation

Victoria G. Curtiss
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 126
Deuteronomy 15:7–11
John 12:1–8

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.

Mary Oliver
“Mysteries, Yes” in Evidence: Poems by Mary Oliver

Mary’s gift to Jesus created quite a stir. Her action was controversial. She poured over Jesus a whole pound of expensive ointment, leading onlookers to protest, “What a waste! She could have sold it and given the money to the poor.” In the Gospel of Mark it says “They scolded her” without saying who the they were. In the Gospel of Matthew it says the disciples objected. By the time the Gospel of John was written many years later, Judas Iscariot is named as the one who complains, not because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief who stole money all along. I find that a bit hard to believe, since that little band of disciples probably didn’t have much more than grocery money. It’s easy to scapegoat Judas. Then no one else has to face the rejoinder of Jesus to leave the woman alone.

The fact is, any one of us could have made the complaint that an expensive resource should be used instead for those in need. Indeed, I have heard such comments at meetings of our Mission Committee and the Board of Chicago Lights. When a large, well-endowed church like ours puts money into a beautiful building, an expensive, new organ, and many paid staff, we can expect to hear, “Why was this money not used for the poor?”

Understandably so. After all, Jesus and the prophets before him repeatedly call us to respond to the needs of others, to be selfless in our giving. He told the rich young ruler the one thing he lacked was to give his money to those in need. Jesus’ encounter with Zacchaeus led Zacchaeus to give half his possessions to the needy. Jesus taught that when we feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, welcome the stranger, and visit the imprisoned, we are in fact serving Christ. One would think Jesus would have said to the complainers, “You’re right. This costly resource should be used for the poor.” The disciples must have been surprised and confused that he didn’t say that. They had been hanging around this teacher for some time and thought they knew the right answer.

Instead Jesus said, “Let her alone. Why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you will, you can do good to them, but you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has prepared my body for burial” (Mark 14:6–8).

We need to be careful about what this means. Some have understood that here Jesus was giving permission to ignore the poor, to treat them with benign neglect, or just care for them in one’s spare time or with money left over. But in fact, Jesus was quoting from the passage of Deuteronomy we heard earlier: “Since there will never cease to be some in need . . . I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor’ in your midst. And the verse just before that says, “Give liberally and be ungrudging when you do so” (Deuteronomy 15:10–11).

This interaction between Jesus and Mary was not an either-or scenario, in which one had to choose between serving the poor and expressing devotion. That would be an enactment of scarcity, and this was a pouring forth of abundance. The disciples only saw the situation through materialistic eyes. They saw the jar of ointment and only thought money and what else it could buy. They missed seeing it as a gift. They looked at Mary and saw only someone who was wasteful. They missed seeing Mary as a friend devoted to Jesus. They also missed the moment. Mary seems the only one besides Jesus who gets it, who realizes that he was facing his own death in a matter of days.

Mary was not careful or cautious. As a woman she was not to let her hair down in public, but down it came. She was not to exhibit emotion in the company of men, but her adoration overflowed. The perfume was worth a year’s salary, but she did not count the cost. She could have dabbed a few drops of the ointment on Jesus as a symbolic act, saving the rest for later, but she poured out so much of it that the whole house was filled with its fragrance. She held nothing back. Her boundless expression of love for Jesus was beyond calculation.

Jesus accepted her extravagant gift, not because he asked for it or necessarily needed it. He received it as an expression of her deep devotion to him. Mary, along with her sister Martha and brother Lazarus, were beloved friends of Jesus. It was their company he sought in the last days of his life. He knew he was headed into Jerusalem, where his life would be in jeopardy at the hands of the religious and political leaders. And Mary understood that, too. Not long before, Jesus had wept over Lazarus’ death and then raised him from the dead. In fact, it was that act by Jesus of raising her brother from death that accelerated the plotting of Jesus’ assassination. Jesus risked his own life to save another’s. Mary realized this. Jesus’ death would be soon; his burial was at hand. His precious presence would soon be gone. Mary not only recognized what was about to transpire, but also the extravagant love Jesus showed for her brother, for Martha, for her, and for so many others. How could she possibly express her thankfulness? Her love? What can you do for someone to whom you owe so much? Someone you are about to lose? Words are not sufficient. She expressed her love with the most extravagant gift she could—purchasing costly ointment to anoint him.

The disciples focused on particular rules to live by: Women should not be seen in public. Don’t wear your emotions on your sleeve. Don’t be wasteful. Use money to serve the poor. They thought they knew the answers that Jesus would commend. But their focus on being right and pleasing the teacher meant they totally missed what was really going on: a welcomed expression of deep love for a person near the end of his life.

Have you ever spent time carefully choosing or making a special gift for a particular person? Perhaps you even spent considerable money on it. And then your gift was received with just a lukewarm response, the minimum of what courtesy requires. Or perhaps it wasn’t even acknowledged, or worse, rejected. I’ve even had a gift returned to me with a note that said “You will enjoy this much more than I ever would.” Doesn’t it take all the joy out of giving? We hope through our gifts to connect with other persons, to express our appreciation or affection for them, or to assist them in some way. When our gifts are not received it hurts. The biblical story of Cain and Abel portrays how devastating it was for Cain to have offered his gift to God only to have it rejected, though his brother Abel’s gift was accepted. When we offer our gifts to another, in many ways we are offering our very selves. A rejection of our gift feels like a rejection of us.

It is important for us to receive others’ expressions of love. I learned this in a new way on a mission trip to Haiti years ago. We were a group of eight Americans welcomed as guests in the homes of several families in a poor, rural area. There was no plumbing in the home. All the cooking was done outdoors over a fire pit. There were only three rooms in the small house: two bedrooms and a room with a dining table and a few chairs. For my benefit, the family had rigged up a sheet by a neighbor’s pipe of water so I could take a shower with some privacy.

We were coached how to be guests beforehand. Our Haitian teacher said, “Do not look at Haitians with materialistic eyes. Don’t see whites and think money, and don’t see blacks and think poor. We Haitians have been taught that in the eyes of the world, we are people of little worth, with nothing to offer others.” He told us that our host families would be giving up their beds for us; they would be using their best dishes set aside for special occasions for us; they would be serving us generous helpings of delicious food before others ate. He coached that when they offered to do something for us, we should be humble enough to receive it. Otherwise they would think we saw them only as poor with nothing worth giving or that we were racist.

I felt uncomfortable sleeping in the only double bed of my host family while they slept on top of their clothing on a concrete floor. And I had to work hard to counter my strong inclination to refuse help at the conclusion of our week together. As I began the walk along a stony path towards the bus that would pick us up, a young woman insisted on carrying my suitcase, even though my shoes were much sturdier than hers and she already had a baby on one hip. While I walked empty handed, I kept telling myself, “Honor people’s gifts.” For us to receive their hospitality was a sign of respect and allowed them the joy of being able to give to us.

One Christmas season a large department store in a major city discovered they had far more poinsettia plants than they could sell. So they decided to give the flowers to homeless people on the streets so they could sell them for a little money. But the homeless people did not sell them for money. Instead, they gave the poinsettias away. They relished the opportunity to be able to give.

Jesus accepted Mary’s expensive present of perfume. He knew it wasn’t about the money. He received her lavish gift as a beautiful expression of her adoration and thanks. What was a sacrifice on Mary’s part no doubt still felt inadequate to her to fully express how much she loved Jesus. But it was the most and the best she could offer. As Eugene Bay has said, “she poured out her precious oil in response to the precious love of God poured out in Jesus Christ: her extravagance a mirror image of his, a generous, lavish, offering of love” (Eugene Bay, Sermon: “Such Extravagance,” 6 April 2003).

Are we in touch with how much God loves us, though we haven’t earned it? Are we moved by what a gift life is and how blessed we are? Do we recognize the moment we are in, remembering that Jesus sacrificed his life for us? As the poet Mary Oliver wrote:

Look, and look again,
This world is not just a little thrill for the eyes.

It’s more than bones.
It’s more than the delicate wrist with its personal pulse.
It’s more than the beating of the single heart.
It’s praising.
It’s giving until the giving feels like receiving.
(Mary Oliver, “Mysteries, Yes,” Evidence: Poems by Mary Oliver)

God calls us to break free from being constrained and calculating. We need to relinquish holding back “just in case,” clinging to what seems safe and secure. Jesus held nothing back in love for us. For all of us. Even when we, like the disciples, have latched onto the wrong answers. Even when we, like Judas, have made huge mistakes we wish we could undo. God forgives us. God loves us unconditionally. God withholds nothing so that we receive abundant life. Realizing this, how can we hold anything back? What response of ours could possibly be too extravagant? Jesus welcomes our giving our all, our very life, to him. As we will soon sing,

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small.
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
(Isaac Watts, “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross”)

1. Oliver, Mary. Evidence: Poems by Mary Oliver, poem “Mysteries, Yes,” p. 62.
2. Bay, Eugene. Sermon: “Such Extravagance” preached on April 6, 2003.
3. Oliver, Mary. Evidence: Poems by Mary Oliver, poem “To Begin With,
the Sweet Grass,” p. 37.
4. Watts, Isaac. Hymn: When I Sur vey the Wondrous Cross, vs. 4.

Sermon © Fourth Presbyterian Church