Social studies was my favorite subject in high school partly because we had two great teachers who were creative and passionate about their subject and their students.

We learned by doing amazing role-playing units, including marriage, when we began to understand what it was like to be adults in a family (perhaps our teachers were attempting to evoke adolescent sympathy for our long-suffering parents).

Mr. Z presided over our “weddings” as each of us chose a classmate as a spouse. We threw rice and ate cake, although no couple was allowed a honeymoon. We received a fixed amount of Monopoly money, and also a mortgage, car payment, utility bills, student loans and doctor bills. Mr. Z introduced the budgeting part of the unit by sharing how he and his wife spent their money. I still remember him telling us they drove an older car and didn’t spend much on travel or entertainment because they valued their faith and life enough to give away 10 percent to their church and favored charitable organizations.

When my 17-year-old “wife” and I did our budget, we discovered that any percent we put in the giving column cut back on what I thought was an already low amount in the entertainment column. So we put 1 percent in our giving column; I am Lutheran, after all! Ten percent seemed a bit too much to me.

Shortly before Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem on the day we celebrate as Palm Sunday, Mary commits an extravagantly wasteful act in John 12. She dumps a pound of perfume worth a year’s wages on Jesus’ feet — $20,000, $30,000, $40,000 — and wipes them with her hair. As Judas witnesses this, he is horrified. “That could have been sold, and the money given to the poor!” he scolds, though John quickly reminds us of Judas’ apathy toward the poor and his intention to steal.

Mary anoints Jesus soon after he raises her brother Lazarus, who was stinking after four days of death. Out of the depth of her gratitude comes this profligate act preparing Jesus for his death. And while Jesus exceeded Mary’s wildest dreams, one wonders if he doesn’t disappoint Judas’ dark hopes of what a messiah should be. Judas is focused on himself, while Mary’s attention is on Jesus. Mary performs a wasteful act of worship, Judas claims he wanted the money for a laudable act, which turns out to be selfishness. Judas complains, Mary praises. Judas looks at what they don’t have — there is not enough for the poor (really myself), so let us cling tightly to what we have. Mary looks at who they do have — Jesus — so let us give everything to him. Love blows budgets. Sin clenches its fists. And we sinful people that Christ loves have both Mary and Judas in our hearts.

When I finally did get married for real, both Tammy and I were broke seminary students. We worked and scrimped and were generously supported by our congregations. We took out student loans only our first year of study. Why? That was the year we fell in love. We dined out, went to movies, bought gifts for each other. I took out a student loan to buy flowers! In love, it seems we lost track of everything. Maybe that’s why we say we “fall in love,” and not “rise in love.” Love is wasteful, love is prodigal and it costs our lives Love is not calculating, it does not do cost-benefit analysis. Love is from God — love is God.

As we worship this holy week, we are drawn into a love story. This God so loved the world, that he gave his Son. As this Son emptied himself, he blew up the quid pro quo of all religious systems that attempt to turn the grace of God into a transaction. Mary knew that and she poured her life out on his feet just as Jesus poured out his life, literally, on a cross. Judas didn’t know that and he betrayed the love that came to save him.

It is by this love that God transforms the world and our lives. As the glorious smell of Mary’s sacrifice filled the room, we are the aroma of Christ. The reckless and prodigal love of God is the difference between darkness and light, decay and growth, death and life, and we are agents of that love. Our faith did not spread because Christ’s followers clung tightly to what they had, but because they poured themselves out on the hungry, the sick, the hopeless, the dying. The fragrance of life covers the stench of death, because they loved, and we love, prodigally and wastefully as God does.

And that truth came home to me a few years after I left Mr. Z’s classroom, and served as a youth director in the church that he and his family attended. His oldest son attended my youth group, and we were talking about families and what was most important to their parents. Answers were poignant, as some said their jobs, and others were encouraging, as several kids said, “We are!” But then I came to Mr. Z’s son, a bright, personable, faithful young man, who answered the question, “What is most important to your parents?” by saying, “God is.”