Homilies
A Love Unmeasured
Holy Spirit take my words and speak to each of us according to our need.
There is a tension in today’s Gospel reading that is quite unsettling. On the one hand, we have Mary—extravagant, wasteful even—pouring out perfume worth a year’s wages in a single moment of devotion. On the other, we have Judas—practical, reasonable, raising what seems to be a plausible objection. If we didn’t know his heart, from we have already been told about him in the Bible then we might even have agreed with him. But Jesus rebukes him, not just because of his greed but because he misunderstands what truly matters.
It's tempting to want to see ourselves as Mary, the one who loves Jesus so much that no gift is too costly. But if we are truly honest with ourselves. How often would we find ourselves behaving more like Judas—calculating, hesitant, hiding our selfishness behind the mask of virtue?
Mary's act of anointing Jesus was reckless by human standards. The perfume wasn’t just expensive—it was excessive. And she didn’t just anoint his feet; she wiped them with her hair, a scandalous act in her culture. This was love unmeasured, freely embraced, without reservation. When was the last time we were able to love like that? Not just in grand gestures but in the small, unseen sacrifices: the time we give to the lonely, the patience we show to the difficult, the resources we share without counting the cost.
Mary reminds us that love is not about measurable things and gestures; it is about presence, about being in the moment with Christ and offering everything and anything without reserve. She embodies the extravagant love of God—a love that does not measure, does not hold back, and does not ask, “Is this too much?”
Then, on the other hand, there is Judas. His words ring with logic: surely three hundred denarii could do so much good for the poor. But John, in his writing, reveals that Judas does not love the poor. He loves himself. Not necessarily in a way that would deliberately hurt others for his own gain, but certainly his love for himself is about self-protection and self-preservation. He uses pious words to deflect his real motives.
And more worryingly, we are probably able to identify with this behaviour much more than we would like to admit: we do it, too. How often do we use righteous causes to disguise selfish interests – whether overtly or not? How often do we avoid generosity because we convince ourselves the money could be used “better” elsewhere—when in truth, we just don’t want to let go of it? Judas’ behaviour challenges us to examine our own motives: do we serve because we love, or because we want to be seen as good? Do we hold back from generosity, not because we are being considerate or wise, but because we are afraid to lose control?
Jesus’ response to Judas is often misunderstood. He is not saying, “Ignore the poor.” Quite the opposite—he is quoting Deuteronomy 15:11, which commands generosity to the poor. But he is also saying, “There is a time to act, and a time to be still in my presence.” Jesus was physically with them for a limited time, there was a slim window of opportunity to acknowledge His presence and their love - Mary seized that moment. Judas missed it.
In today’s world, we face similar tensions. The cost-of-living crisis makes us hesitant to give because we are worried about our own security. During the pandemic, we saw moments of extravagant generosity—health workers who gave their all, neighbours looking after one another—but we also saw the temptation to hoard (remember the toilet paper situation?), to put self-preservation above compassion. When we hear about refugees risking everything to cross dangerous waters to replace life threatening situations, with better safety but lack of resources, do we respond like Mary, offering hospitality and love? Or do we, like Judas, justifying reluctance to help by saying, "We must look after our own first" while protecting our own comforts?
But here is the paradox of Christian generosity: when we give extravagantly, we become spiritually richer, not poorer. Consider the boy who offered his lunch to Jesus to help feed the 5000. He did not just give some of it, he gave all of it. He didn’t hold back a portion for himself, yet in the end, he ate and was satisfied along with everyone else. This is the mystery of the Kingdom of God: those who give without reserve will find themselves filled, while those who cling to their security will never have enough.
Jesus also pointed out another giver who gave without reserve—the widow with two coins. She had no obligation to give; as a widow, she wasn’t required to pay the temple tax. Yet she offered everything she had. In contrast, a wealthy man strutting around loudly announced his full payment for his entire family. His contribution may have been large, but it cost him nothing; it was a drop in the ocean for him. The widow’s gift, though tiny, was worth infinitely more in the eyes of God.
This is the difference between giving as a performance and giving as an act of faith. The wealthy man wanted recognition; the widow wanted only to honour God. Mary, too, was like this widow—giving extravagantly from the heart, while Judas, like the rich man, cloaked his self-interest in religious language. Which are we more like? Do we give from a place of love and trust, or do we hold back, giving only what is comfortable, only what makes us look good?
What does it mean to give without reserve? It does not mean recklessness or abandoning wisdom, but it does mean trusting that God provides when we step out in faith. It means resisting the urge to hoard our time, our love, and our resources out of fear. It means choosing generosity even when it costs us, knowing that the greatest treasures are not of this world but of the Kingdom.
Living in this world means we have responsibilities—families to care for, bills to pay, futures to consider. But this does not mean we cannot live generously. It means holding our possessions lightly, being willing to share when others are in need. It means offering hospitality even when it inconveniences us. It means being fully present with those who are suffering rather than merely offering our thoughts and prayers. It means trusting that God’s economy does not work like the world’s: in His Kingdom, those who give find themselves richer in joy, in love, in community, and in peace.
The boy who gave his lunch trusted Jesus, and in the hands of Christ, his small act of faith became an overwhelming abundance. So too, when we give what we have—without reservation, without calculation—God transforms it into something far greater than we could imagine.
This is the challenge for all of us. Will we be like Mary, who gives without reserve, who embraces the scandal of reckless love? Or will we be like Judas, who masks his self-interest with a thin layer of piety? Will we pour out our love in the time we have, or will we wait too long, calculating, justifying, and in the end, possibly missing the moment altogether?
The fragrance of Mary’s devotion filled the house. My prayer for the coming season is that our love for Christ may be just as undeniable, just as extravagant, just as real and most definitely, freely and unconditionally given.
Amen.