"Wherever this Gospel is preached, this that she had done shall be told
as a memorial of her." What a gracious memorial, and how worthy of it
was Mary's beautiful outburst of generosity! But what a pity that the
speech of Judas should be recorded also, as a memorial of him! And yet,
on mature consideration, we would not have the Judas criticism
forgotten. Because it called forth what we might not otherwise have
had, the vindication of Jesus Himself. And because, as a matter of
fact, we are constantly hearing the protest of Judas repeated in our own
day, and are often ill-held to know how to meet it.
"This he said," records our evangelist bluntly, "not because he loved
the poor, but because he was a thief and kept the bag." Yet he might
have been an honest man and said the same thing. For very many honest
and earnest men and women are repeating this criticism still. It is
repeated whenever it is taken for granted that practical utility is the
only standard by which to judge actions and offerings, that God and man
can be served in no other way than by "iron bars and perspiration."
How often do we meet the type of mind that admits the service of a
ploughman and denies that of poet or artist, for whom a waterfall, as
somebody has said, exists merely as so much power for driving turbines,
and whose sole test of usefulness is that of making two blades grow--and
corn blades at that!--where but one grew before. We are commonly
browbeaten by this type of person, and yet we feel that somehow, if we
could only say it, he is wrong--that the poet's is as divine a vocation
as the farmer's, that God meant a silver band of falling water in a
green glade to suggest other things besides dynamos, and that he who
even paints some blades of grass, and paints them pleasingly, has his
place somewhere in the great guild of servants of God and man.
One has heard the same attitude taken up in other directions too. Why
spend so much money on a Church, you will be asked, when there are so
many poor people in the land? What need for stone pillars and a fine
organ, when a plain building and a harmonium would do as well? Why try
to secure what is called a beautiful Church service, dignified, stately,
musical, when the very baldest worship is acceptable in God's sight, if
only it be sincere? We have heard all that, and other remarks like
that, often, and we have seldom been able to give reasons against them.
A mere instinctive sentiment seems a feeble thing to oppose to such cold
and hard facts. Yet somehow we feel that it is all wrong if only we
knew how to convict it.
Did it ever occur to you that Jesus Himself has answered that objection
and others like it when He vindicated Mary's action that night? There
is no doubt that her ointment cost a deal of money, money that could
have fed many hungry people. It was an extravagant offering, without
any practical outcome, save that Jesus was refreshed. There is no doubt
also about our Lord's sympathy with the poor and needy. And yet He
upheld Mary's action, and would not have it called wasteful! All that
could be said in its favour was that it was beautiful, that it touched
Jesus keenly, and influenced all who saw it done. And that, as I read
the story, was one reason at least why Jesus defended it. He allows the
Beautiful. He would have the Beautiful honoured for its own sake even
in a world so full of sorrow and trouble as this.
For my part, I am very grateful that this word of Christ's has been
recorded. For it affords sufficient warrant for declaring the poet, the
artist, the architect, and all those who are trying to make the world
more beautiful, God's servants too, offering Him a gift He does not
disdain to recognise, as truly as the physician, the philanthropist, and
the preacher whose object is to make it better.
Beauty of form and structure has been lavished profusely by the Creator
on creatures too small to be seen. There are more things grow out of
God's earth than corn for food or timber for building houses. There's
the heather and the wild flowers, the daisies and the violets.
Hard-headed common-sense asks--What's the use of them? What good do
they do? The answer is that they are beautiful, and that seems in God's
sight to be justification enough for having made them.
So when we see Love breaking her alabaster box, and pouring forth her
offering without stint, as she is doing every day--a mother lavishing
care upon an ungrateful son, a husband surrounding a peevish wife with a
tireless devotion, or a sister keeping her own love-dream at arm's
length that she may guard and guide some graceless brother--let us lay
our hands upon our lips when we are tempted to criticise. These actions
may be foolish, extravagant, quixotic, and may outrage every canon of
common-sense. But there is a fragrance about them without which the
world would be much poorer. They are morally beautiful, and for that
reason, our Lord Himself would teach us, they are not to be rudely
handled nor judged by any hard standard.
Yes, but He said more than that. He found a more complete extenuation
of Mary's extravagance. It was because she loved much. Her gift was an
offering of love to Himself. "She hath done it for my burial." And
that is the end of the whole matter, my brothers. Love is always
extravagant when measured by the tape-line of bare duty. It always
overflows. It breaks its box and gives everything it has. Yet, like
the widow's cruse of old, its casket is never empty, for even when it
has given its all, the next needy case will find succour at that door.
Take your charity subscription sheet to the man who loudly asserts that
too much money is being given to the Kirk this dull season, and what
will you get? Take it also to the man who has signed a bigger cheque
than he can well afford that the House of his God may be made beautiful,
and it will be strange if you are sent empty away. Ah no, it is not
Mary, whose devotion has found outlet in some sudden generosity, it is
not she who neglects the poor.