In the economic life of buying and spending, prudence always counts the cost and considers whether the purchase is worth the price. No one wants to pay more than he can afford, and good shoppers always compare prices to increase their savings. Caution and wariness protect buyers from impulsive spending and unnecessary purchases. In the moral life of loving and giving, however, the mind does not engage in comparative prices or counting savings. It is the nature of love to perform spontaneous acts of generosity that transcend the calculations of economic thinking. Love is not counting the cost. When Mary of Bethany poured “a pound of costly ointment of pure nard” to anoint the feet of Jesus and then wipe them with her hair, she used a lavish amount of the best, most expensive quality of spikenard and spared nothing out of love for her Lord. Even though Judas complained of Mary’s extravagance and prodigality (“Why was this ointment not sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor?”), Christ rebuked him for his miserliness: “Let her alone . . . . The poor you always have with you, but you do not always have me” (John 12: 3-8). Love is not economical, calculating, or stingy. When Christ praised Mary Magdalen as a woman who “hath loved much” despite her sins, He acknowledged this very quality of unrestrained, uninhibited giving.

The nature of love is to be outpouring in the way Mary emptied all the ointment to express her adoration. In Psalm 23, David praises this quality of God’s abundant love with the same image of unstinting liberality: “Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup overflows.” In Mark’s account of the feeding of the four thousand Christ’s multiplication of the loaves and fish was bountiful beyond measure with “seven baskets full” after all had eaten, and Matthew’s version of the feeding of the five thousand reports the plenty of “twelve baskets full of the broken pieces.” When Christ commanded Peter to cast his nets on the right side of the boat after an unsuccessful night of fishing, the quantity of the catch required the apostles to drag “the net full of fish” ashore with the teeming number of 153. God’s copious love knows no limits.

George Herbert’s poem “The Pulley” depicts God at the Creation as emptying a cup of blessings in a similar outpouring, overflowing manner of abandonment:

When God at first made man,
Having a cup of blessings standing by;
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can:
Let the world’s riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.

As the cup pours its contents, out flow beauty, wisdom, honor, and pleasure—everything except “rest, “the “jewel” God reserves in order for man to turn to Him to find the peace the world cannot give. This image, then, of boundless giving reveals the heart of love that transcends numbers, limits, and measures. Love does not weigh amounts, count sums of money, calculate profits, spare something for a rainy day, or put money in the bank. It gives, gives more, and gives all.

This is the teaching of the Church about self-donation and the gift of self in marriage. This is the teaching of the Church about total surrender, openness to life, and abandonment to Divine Providence in conjugal relations. The contraceptive mentality, on the other hand, thinks like Judas with his anxiety about frugality and economy, not like Mary of Bethany who cannot do enough or give enough to communicate her love and gratitude. This same idea of outpouring love informs the Church’s teaching about generosity with life and large families. Just as Mary gives all by her lavish spending of the ointment, God commands generosity: “Be fruitful and multiply.” Fruitfulness is the opposite of scarcity, stinginess, and thrift.

The outpouring of love, however, is not depletion in the way that the spending of money means loss of wealth. While the box of treasure diminishes when the gold is spent, the heart of love when given receives more to give by virtue of its generosity. To be emptied is to be filled again on condition that the giving is total. Confusing the difference between spiritual goods and material goods, Judas does not grasp this paradox of the law of love. The heart can always love more and always love again. The heart always welcomes another child into the family, another guest to the table, or another friend into one’s life. The Sacred Heart and the Christian heart have no limits to their hospitality. While material goods like 300 denarii disappear when spent on expensive ointment, the spiritual good of Mary’s anointing of Christ increases and multiplies when offered without counting the cost.

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Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “The Miraculous Pitcher” from A Wonder Book portrays this mystery of giving all and receiving more than offered. The elderly couple of Baucis and Philemon, renowned in classical mythology for their bountiful hospitality to all travelers, welcome two poor vagabonds (Greek gods in disguise) who are amazed at the bountiful hospitality of their kind hosts. Even though Baucis offers the simple fare of bread, honey, cheese, grapes, and milk, the gods call the meal “an absolute feast” and compliment their hosts with their highest praise: “An honest, hearty welcome to a guest works miracles with the fare, and is capable of turning the coarsest food to nectar and ambrosia.” To acknowledge their gratitude, the guests bestow on their hosts the miraculous pitcher that always refills after it is emptied to the last drop—a gift that corresponds to their hospitable hearts that give without measure the best that their home provides. Spiritual goods possess an infinite supply that fills the heart with more love to replenish it when it spares nothing. As Philemon notices after their pitcher of milk was emptied to the bottom, “it contained not so much as a single drop. All at once, however, he beheld a little white fountain, which gushed up from the bottom of the pitcher, and speedily filled it to the brim with foaming and deliciously fragrant milk.

Outpouring, overflowing, and emptying like a miraculous pitcher, the human heart of love in its giving imitates the divine heart of Christ who also, in St. Paul’s words, “emptied himself” (Phillipians 2:7) by shedding every last drop of blood to redeem all the sins of every person who ever lived and who will live.

Mitchell Kalpakgian, Ph.D. earned degrees in English from Bowdoin College (B.A.), The University of Kansas (M.A.), and The University of Iowa (Ph.D.). He has completed fifty years of teaching beginning as a teaching assistant at the University of Kansas, continuing as a professor of English at Simpson College in Iowa for thirty-one years, and recently teaching part-time at various schools and college in New Hampshire (Thomas More College, The College of Saint Mary Magdalen, Mount Royal Academy, and New England Classical Academy.

He is a contributing editor of New Oxford Review, writes for Saint Austin Review and Homiletic and Pastoral Review, and reviews books for The Wanderer. He has published seven books: The Marvelous in Fielding’s Novels, The Mysteries of Life in Children’s Literature, The Lost Arts of Modern Civilization, An Armenian Family Reunion (a collection of short stories), Modern Manners: The Poetry of Conduct and The Virtue of Civility, and The Virtues We Need Again. He has designed homeschooling literature courses for Seton Home School, and he also teaches online courses for Fisher More College and Fisher More Academy.

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