"The Necessary Wastefulness of Love"
Relational ROI, bad investments, the limits of His mercy
A Good ROI
In a culture that prizes efficiency above all else, more and more activities, behaviors, and even persons will begin to feel like a “waste.”
After all, the goal of life—every area of life—is “getting a good return on your investment.” Not just on your retirement portfolio, but even in your relationships.
This is where “efficiency culture” becomes particularly problematic for the Christian. Because, as Russ Whitfield says, “efficiency entails exclusion. Efficiency excludes the weak, the stragglers, the strugglers, and the despairing. It’s not efficient to leave the ninety-nine to find the one…”
Under the disguise of “boundaries” and “self-care,” we are told to:
cut out “draining” and “toxic” people
avoid those who don’t “give us life” (otherwise…imagine the adrenal fatigue!)
stop wasting our time on anyone “holding us back.”
Which is great advice…if you’re a Pharisee.
“Why this waste?”
Throughout the gospels, no one loves a good relational ROI more than the Pharisees. Their only rule: surround yourself with like-minded people who “bring something to the table,” and steer clear of anyone bringing you down.
This is nowhere clearer than with Simon the Pharisee (Mt. 26, Mk. 14, Lk. 7).
He holds a fancy dinner party at his house— sure to yield a good return on his social capital—and invites all the social and religious elites. He even gets Jesus of Nazareth to come—who has, to this point, shown himself to be a model teacher with good market exposure and long-term potential.
But then everything is wasted.
The woman
Because in walks a “woman of the city”—which is a nice way of saying “prostitute”—and to be clear, invited to this party she was not. Her mere presence is a significant hit to the party’s social, moral, and religious GDP.
But then—ugh—she begins to a) ugly cry and b) let down her hair on Jesus’ feet. But then c) worst of all, she begins to anoint Jesus’ head with some v expensive ointment! The ointment thing seems to really do the men in. “‘Why this waste?’ they asked. ‘This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor.’”
Party = wasted. Perfume = wasted.
Jesus
But even worse, Jesus lets her do it—when he of all people should have known better. “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what sort of woman this is who is touching him, for she is a sinner.”
By Simon’s mental calculations, the Messiah could not possibly know and love. He begins to wonder whether Jesus is the one we’ve been waiting for after all.
“Jesus, you’re a waste,” Simon says. And Jesus says, “That’s exactly right.”
“Jesus, you’re a waste,” Simon says. And Jesus says, “That’s exactly right.”
The moneylender
He says, “I’m like a moneylender who is really bad at investing his money. I lend my money to all kinds of people—and guess what, none of them can pay me back. Some owe me a lot, some owe me a little. But regardless, I get a negative return on my investment every time.”
What a waste.
Yet this is the Christian God.
The Necessary Wastefulness of Love
Both the woman and Jesus reveal what Erasmo Lleiva-Merikakis calls “the necessary wastefulness of love.”
That love is not just sometimes wasteful, but it is necessarily so. Love is always costly. It is always over the top. You never get back what you put in. Both in the short- and the long-term, you always get a negative return on your investment.
Love is not sometimes wasteful, but it is necessarily so.
If we want to hedge our emotional, financial, and social bets, love is a bad business to be in. Knowing this, Simon holds back, conserving his resources:
“You (Simon) gave me no water for my feet, but she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not ceased to kiss my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment.”
What then of us?
To quote Whitfield again:
Scripture beckons us to imitate a God whose generosity and extravagance in creation, redemption, and consummation knows no bounds…In his earthly life, Jesus did not lead his people down the “wise,” safe, centrist pathway that we so often like to take in his name. It didn’t appear to be “wise” for Jesus to commune with sinners and tax collectors. It didn’t appear to be “wise” for Jesus to welcome people to his banquet who could not return the favor. It didn’t seem “wise” for the Father to welcome his reckless son back home and to throw him a party after he wasted his entire inheritance.
Bad investments
The question we must ask then is…how do we become less wise and more wasteful (with our time, $$$, resources)?
On whom have we refused to waste our love?
As parents… the most difficult child.
As friends…the friend who won’t change.
As spouses…the husband or wife who doesn’t “make us happy” anymore.
And as the church…what about the “the disabled?”
Because let’s be honest: if you want to grow a church, or change the world, or take back the culture, they are not your best investment. No wonder, then, that most Christians have—like Simon—held back their resources from those with intellectual disabilities.
For example, how many private Christian schools with financial resources (think: college prep school, substantial sports program, probably in the suburbs) do you know that offer education for students with intellectual disabilities beyond ADD, dyslexia, or ADHD?
It would be fine if “we don’t have the money or the teachers” was a legitimate excuse, but in many cases, it isn’t.
I had a fascinating conversation with a social worker who works for a Catholic diocese. It’s their job to raise money so that schools in the diocese can provide education for those with physical and intellectual disabilities. They call up the schools and the schools say “we don’t have the money to do that.” So they offer the schools the money. But the schools still don’t want to do it. Why? It would be too “disrupting” for the other students. It would be too wasteful.
Meanwhile, these same resourced schools seem to have plenty of money for the football team. Imagine scrapping the football program to fund teachers and aides so that the Autistic or persons with Down Syndrome could receive a Christian education. Imagine…idk…being the Church.
We already know what the parents would say.
Why this waste? We could have been state champs. We could have used this money on the “best and brightest”—students with a good ROI.
The Limits of Mercy
In the 2014 movie Calvary, a Catholic priest is given one week to live. He spends it visiting all the people in his parish—including adulterers, drunks, and a (literal) cannibal serving a life sentence in jail. His is a wasteful love.
In one scene, his prodigal daughter comes to him struggling with a mixture of guilt, shame, and doubt. Her father, the priest, comforts her with these words: “God is great. The limits of his mercy have not been set.”
Simon tries to limit God’s mercy—and Jesus turns to him and says, “Simon, I have something to say to you.” It makes you wonder what he has to say to us.
In a room where everyone thinks they’re right and the woman is wrong, Jesus asks, “Simon, do you see this woman?” She is the model of love: waste.
Perhaps the best compliment we can receive—whether as individual Christians, or as the Church at-large—is for someone to look at us, too, and ask, “Why this waste?”
Amazing as always!
I've never thought of it this way... Wow!