Lent 5C (John 12:1-8)*

In the world of contemporary art, Maurizio Cattelan’s Comedian—a banana duct-taped to a wall—sold for $120,000. Decades earlier, Piero Manzoni’s Artist’s Shit was sold for over $50,000. Both artists intended their works as satire, exposing the absurdity of the art market, where value is often assigned not by intrinsic worth but by the Artworld’s recognition. Yet, paradoxically, the very market they critiqued absorbed and legitimized their works, turning their statements into high-priced commodities.

This paradox invites a deeper reflection on how value is contextualized. Arthur Danto, in his philosophy of art, argued that what makes something art is not its physical form but the ideas and context surrounding it. A Brillo box in a supermarket is just packaging, but Warhol’s Brillo Box in a gallery is art—not because of what it is, but because of what it means within the Artworld’s framework. Likewise, Cattelan’s banana is not valuable in itself, but because of its place in conceptual art discourse.

This tension between material worth and contextual meaning appears in the Gospel story of Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus’ feet with expensive perfume. When Judas Iscariot criticizes her, arguing that the perfume could have been sold to help the poor, his logic makes sense—if value is measured purely by price and utility. But just as a Warhol Brillo box cannot be judged solely as cardboard and ink, Mary’s act cannot be reduced to an economic calculation. Her gesture operates in a different framework of value.

Mary’s action is radical in two ways. Firstly, she values the person over the product. The perfume, worth a year’s wages, was not used for trade, status, or even charity—it was poured out in an extravagant act of love. The worth of the material fades in light of the worth of the person. And this person, Jesus, is not a family member. He is not someone she is socially obligated to honor. He was once a stranger, yet she now recognizes him as a teacher and a friend. In a world where kinship often dictated loyalty, her devotion is not bound by blood but by recognition of something beyond herself. 

Here’s the second point that is radical in Mary’s action. She expresses gratitude through extravagant, uncalculated love. Her action is not measured or practical; it is excessive, reckless even. Yet love, when it is genuine, does not function by calculation. She gives not for future returns but because gratitude compels her to do so. Her love is not abstract—it takes shape in a material, sensory form. The fragrance fills the house, just as true generosity has a way of leaving an imprint beyond the moment.

Danto’s insight helps us see why Mary’s act is more than just an economic decision. Just as art cannot be judged solely by its material composition, neither can human actions be measured purely by cost. The true value of something—whether a conceptual artwork or an act of love—depends on its context and meaning.

In a society where material wealth often dictates worth, price is often prioritized over value, making Mary’s action countercultural. It reminds us that the most valuable things in life are often those that cannot be priced—love, gratitude, human connection. 

So where do we smell that fragrance today? Where do we see people offering extravagant love, not out of obligation, but out of recognition? Where do we encounter a generosity that transcends calculation?

Perhaps the real challenge is not just to admire Mary’s act, but to live it—to give not because it makes sense, but because love, in its purest form, is always a gift beyond measure.

*COST, PRICE, VALUE AND WORTH – WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE AND WHY SHOULD YOU CARE?