July 18, 2010
Pentecost 8, Proper 11
Luke 10:38-42
Part of my process before going to seminary involved answering a bunch of essay questions for the Diocese. One of the questions asked which biblical character I most identified with. I cheated and used two – the two sisters we read about this morning – Mary and Martha. I must admit that my answer was partly a calculated one. I didn’t want to pick anyone too righteous or too unrighteous, just in case that might set off red flags. But it was mostly a real answer. I have strong Martha tendencies, but in my heart I’d like to be Mary.
And maybe because I identify with her, this story makes me feel sorry for Martha. Here she is, welcoming Jesus into her home, along with all his disciples. There’s no telling how many people we’re talking about here, because Jesus has all sorts of folks following him around. Those dusty feet trodding all over her clean carpets. Those loud voices taking over her house. And she’s doing her best to make all her visitors comfortable. Running herself ragged getting them all cold drinks after their long journeys and fixing food for their hungry stomachs. Sweating as she washes their feet and passes out bandaids for their blisters. She’s doing what was expected in that culture – showing hospitality – just like Abraham in our Old Testament reading from this morning.
Meanwhile, her sister Mary is doing a whole lot of nothing. She’s sitting like a lump at Jesus’ feet enjoying herself, leaving Martha to do twice the work. And so Martha asks Jesus to get Mary to help her provide for him and the disciples. It seems like a perfectly reasonable request from poor, overburdened Martha. So why is Jesus so hard on Martha? Why does he say that Mary, who simply sits and listens, has chosen the better part? As my kids would say, it just isn’t fair!
For almost two thousand years, many people have been interpreting this little vignette to mean that the contemplative life and life in the world are somehow in conflict. That being spiritual is better than being part of the world, even if what you’re doing in the world is something as valuable as providing hospitality to travelers or feeding the homeless. But I don’t think that’s what Jesus meant at all.
There was nothing wrong with what Martha was doing. Her activity, her work providing hospitality for Jesus and his followers, that was all good. Our reading talks about Martha’s “tasks” and that word – tasks – is translated from the Greek word diakonia. Its a word used in the New Testament to refer to both domestic service and Christian ministry. Our word deacon is derived from it. So it’s valid work Martha is doing. After all, loving God isn’t an abstract thing. It is active and physical. People like us who live and work and wrestle in the real world can be just as spiritual, just as close to God, as the monks hunkered down praying in their desert caves. Just like God came in the flesh of Jesus and got involved in the details of everyday life, we can find God in our everyday details too.
I think it’s like loving a child. You can’t just say you love them and feel love in your heart. You have to also be willing to wipe their nose and tie their sneakers and teach them to drive. These things aren't trivial worldly concerns. They are the from that love take. Faith is the same; it isn't all praying or learning about Jesus. It is also writing your congressperson and stocking the food pantry and teaching the Sunday school class and cleaning the altar linens. So, as far as Martha is concerned, showing hospitality means vacuuming the house and chopping the vegetables, however noncontemplative those tasks may seem.
I’d say that the problem wasn’t what Martha was doing, but how she was doing it. The problem wasn’t that she was busy but that she was distracted. She’d forgotten that the goal of her hospitality was to welcome Jesus and had turned it into a reason for anxiety.
Instead of cooking and serving Jesus with a warm heart and a smile on her face, Martha was muttering in the kitchen and clanging the pans around on purpose. She grumbled to herself until finally she exploded with frustration, not only at her sister Mary but at Jesus – her guest, her Lord. “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me!”
The “better part” that Mary chose wasn’t the form of her devotion (sitting at Jesus' feet) it was her focus. Mary is focused solely on Jesus, while Martha is focused on herself, the injustice done to her, the overwhelming work in front of her. And so Jesus lovingly calls her to refocus. To remember that true hospitality isn’t about food, but about the people that eat the food. About truly welcoming them in the name of God.
Back to my discernment process: When I went before the Committee from the Diocese that interviews all the folks who want to be in the process towards priesthood, they asked me about my answer to that question about which biblical character I most identified with. They wanted to know about a time in my life when I had been Martha and Mary. And so I shared with them a moment of real understanding that had happened between the time that I’d written those essays and the time that I came before the committee. It was a day when my mom was really sick and it was obvious that she wouldn’t be around much longer. She couldn’t get around anymore and I had gone part-time at work and would head to Columbia to be with her and try to help Dad out in the afternoons and evenings. One day, I headed out from work and I stopped by Target to buy a pillow that I thought might make her more comfortable. And then I spent some time in the kitchen making this recipe that was a comfort food she used to make for us when we were kids that I thought maybe would tempt her to eat. And then I was cleaning a bit, and doing some laundry. And then I went into her room and asked if she needed anything. And she told me to lie down next to her. And I did. I just lay there next to her and talked and listened and loved her. And it occurred to me that although the things I’d been doing were helpful, a lot of it had been things to make myself busy so that I could avoid thinking about the worst. I’d been so worried and distracted by my many things that I’d forgotten what it was all for. The Martha in me had been neglecting the one thing – the better part.
I haven’t read it, but I saw a book title that says it all: Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World: Finding Intimacy with God in the Busyness of Life. Mary and Martha don’t have to be in conflict – in this story we read today or in our own lives. Martha could have been both. And we can be both. In fact, we have to be both. We have to be like Martha, going about the tasks, the diakonia, of life. Can you imagine what would happen if we didn’t? The trick is to not get bogged down by them. To avoid doing them grudgingly, complainingly, trying to be noticed. Instead, when we do our tasks – even the most menial and miserable – with a loving focus, trying to become aware that God is with us in the moment, we can turn them into prayer; an offering to God. Benedictine Monk David Steindl-Rast describes prayer as “waking up to the presence of God no matter where I am or what I am doing.”
But we also have to be Mary, willing to turn aside from our tasks to sit at Jesus’ feet. Sometimes what we need most in our walk with God is to just sit and listen for Jesus, to simplify our lives in order to have more quality time with God. We are so often bombarded with responsibilities and requirements – doing for doings sake, rather than for God’s sake. Sometimes stopping everything and just paying attention to what is right in front of us is the way to go. My favorite line in Alice Walker’s The Color Purple is when Shug says “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.”
The good news is, Martha does eventually end up noticing the color purple and stopping. If you were, like me, worried about poor Martha in this story, there’s a wonderful epilogue. In fact, her story is one of the few times in the Bible where we actually get “the rest of the story”. Sometime later, when Jesus comes to raise her brother Lazarus from the dead, Martha makes one of the strongest and most heartfelt confessions of faith in the whole Bible: “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” She is no longer frantic and resentful but full of love for Jesus. She’s found her Mary heart in her Martha world. Amen.
Pentecost 8, Proper 11
Luke 10:38-42
Part of my process before going to seminary involved answering a bunch of essay questions for the Diocese. One of the questions asked which biblical character I most identified with. I cheated and used two – the two sisters we read about this morning – Mary and Martha. I must admit that my answer was partly a calculated one. I didn’t want to pick anyone too righteous or too unrighteous, just in case that might set off red flags. But it was mostly a real answer. I have strong Martha tendencies, but in my heart I’d like to be Mary.
And maybe because I identify with her, this story makes me feel sorry for Martha. Here she is, welcoming Jesus into her home, along with all his disciples. There’s no telling how many people we’re talking about here, because Jesus has all sorts of folks following him around. Those dusty feet trodding all over her clean carpets. Those loud voices taking over her house. And she’s doing her best to make all her visitors comfortable. Running herself ragged getting them all cold drinks after their long journeys and fixing food for their hungry stomachs. Sweating as she washes their feet and passes out bandaids for their blisters. She’s doing what was expected in that culture – showing hospitality – just like Abraham in our Old Testament reading from this morning.
Meanwhile, her sister Mary is doing a whole lot of nothing. She’s sitting like a lump at Jesus’ feet enjoying herself, leaving Martha to do twice the work. And so Martha asks Jesus to get Mary to help her provide for him and the disciples. It seems like a perfectly reasonable request from poor, overburdened Martha. So why is Jesus so hard on Martha? Why does he say that Mary, who simply sits and listens, has chosen the better part? As my kids would say, it just isn’t fair!
For almost two thousand years, many people have been interpreting this little vignette to mean that the contemplative life and life in the world are somehow in conflict. That being spiritual is better than being part of the world, even if what you’re doing in the world is something as valuable as providing hospitality to travelers or feeding the homeless. But I don’t think that’s what Jesus meant at all.
There was nothing wrong with what Martha was doing. Her activity, her work providing hospitality for Jesus and his followers, that was all good. Our reading talks about Martha’s “tasks” and that word – tasks – is translated from the Greek word diakonia. Its a word used in the New Testament to refer to both domestic service and Christian ministry. Our word deacon is derived from it. So it’s valid work Martha is doing. After all, loving God isn’t an abstract thing. It is active and physical. People like us who live and work and wrestle in the real world can be just as spiritual, just as close to God, as the monks hunkered down praying in their desert caves. Just like God came in the flesh of Jesus and got involved in the details of everyday life, we can find God in our everyday details too.
I think it’s like loving a child. You can’t just say you love them and feel love in your heart. You have to also be willing to wipe their nose and tie their sneakers and teach them to drive. These things aren't trivial worldly concerns. They are the from that love take. Faith is the same; it isn't all praying or learning about Jesus. It is also writing your congressperson and stocking the food pantry and teaching the Sunday school class and cleaning the altar linens. So, as far as Martha is concerned, showing hospitality means vacuuming the house and chopping the vegetables, however noncontemplative those tasks may seem.
I’d say that the problem wasn’t what Martha was doing, but how she was doing it. The problem wasn’t that she was busy but that she was distracted. She’d forgotten that the goal of her hospitality was to welcome Jesus and had turned it into a reason for anxiety.
Instead of cooking and serving Jesus with a warm heart and a smile on her face, Martha was muttering in the kitchen and clanging the pans around on purpose. She grumbled to herself until finally she exploded with frustration, not only at her sister Mary but at Jesus – her guest, her Lord. “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me!”
The “better part” that Mary chose wasn’t the form of her devotion (sitting at Jesus' feet) it was her focus. Mary is focused solely on Jesus, while Martha is focused on herself, the injustice done to her, the overwhelming work in front of her. And so Jesus lovingly calls her to refocus. To remember that true hospitality isn’t about food, but about the people that eat the food. About truly welcoming them in the name of God.
Back to my discernment process: When I went before the Committee from the Diocese that interviews all the folks who want to be in the process towards priesthood, they asked me about my answer to that question about which biblical character I most identified with. They wanted to know about a time in my life when I had been Martha and Mary. And so I shared with them a moment of real understanding that had happened between the time that I’d written those essays and the time that I came before the committee. It was a day when my mom was really sick and it was obvious that she wouldn’t be around much longer. She couldn’t get around anymore and I had gone part-time at work and would head to Columbia to be with her and try to help Dad out in the afternoons and evenings. One day, I headed out from work and I stopped by Target to buy a pillow that I thought might make her more comfortable. And then I spent some time in the kitchen making this recipe that was a comfort food she used to make for us when we were kids that I thought maybe would tempt her to eat. And then I was cleaning a bit, and doing some laundry. And then I went into her room and asked if she needed anything. And she told me to lie down next to her. And I did. I just lay there next to her and talked and listened and loved her. And it occurred to me that although the things I’d been doing were helpful, a lot of it had been things to make myself busy so that I could avoid thinking about the worst. I’d been so worried and distracted by my many things that I’d forgotten what it was all for. The Martha in me had been neglecting the one thing – the better part.
I haven’t read it, but I saw a book title that says it all: Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World: Finding Intimacy with God in the Busyness of Life. Mary and Martha don’t have to be in conflict – in this story we read today or in our own lives. Martha could have been both. And we can be both. In fact, we have to be both. We have to be like Martha, going about the tasks, the diakonia, of life. Can you imagine what would happen if we didn’t? The trick is to not get bogged down by them. To avoid doing them grudgingly, complainingly, trying to be noticed. Instead, when we do our tasks – even the most menial and miserable – with a loving focus, trying to become aware that God is with us in the moment, we can turn them into prayer; an offering to God. Benedictine Monk David Steindl-Rast describes prayer as “waking up to the presence of God no matter where I am or what I am doing.”
But we also have to be Mary, willing to turn aside from our tasks to sit at Jesus’ feet. Sometimes what we need most in our walk with God is to just sit and listen for Jesus, to simplify our lives in order to have more quality time with God. We are so often bombarded with responsibilities and requirements – doing for doings sake, rather than for God’s sake. Sometimes stopping everything and just paying attention to what is right in front of us is the way to go. My favorite line in Alice Walker’s The Color Purple is when Shug says “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.”
The good news is, Martha does eventually end up noticing the color purple and stopping. If you were, like me, worried about poor Martha in this story, there’s a wonderful epilogue. In fact, her story is one of the few times in the Bible where we actually get “the rest of the story”. Sometime later, when Jesus comes to raise her brother Lazarus from the dead, Martha makes one of the strongest and most heartfelt confessions of faith in the whole Bible: “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” She is no longer frantic and resentful but full of love for Jesus. She’s found her Mary heart in her Martha world. Amen.
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