Proof that miracles happen -- the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury asked me once again to serve as lay preacher, and once again, I agreed. Once again I regretted it until about five minutes in to the sermon, at which point it's all good and I'm at peace. The scripture readings were from Genesis 18:1-10a, and Luke 10:38-42 -- they're from the Lectionary. What follows below is my reading text, beginning with an introduction to the Gospel reading, followed by the scripture text, and then the sermon, titled Martha Bakes. You can hear the audio here.
Sunday 17 July 2016
This morning’s Gospel reading comes
to us from Luke – the tale of Mary and Martha. It follows the story of the Good
Samaritan. It is, I think, familiar to many of us – we know what it says,
understand what it tells us. It’s not an obscure parable requiring a Captain
Midnight secret decoder ring. Our heads don’t hurt trying to align our lives
with the teaching. No heavy lifting. No assembly required. Batteries are
included. An easy-to-digest message just right for a summer’s day.
Jesus is in town, and Martha welcomes
him into her home. She does what
many of us would do – she has a guest, and she busies herself with the many
tasks of hospitality. We can imagine her marshalling refreshments – drinks,
cheese and crackers, fretting over what to serve for dinner and does she have
what she needs and then preparing the food and setting the table and – oops,
this place needs dusting, and why didn’t I paint this room last week when I
meant to -- if only I hadn’t gone to the beach. And, damn! There’s a spot on
this tablecloth, and the other one is in the dirty laundry and what will Jesus
think of me and … hey, why is Mary not helping me? She’s sitting at the feet of
Jesus, listening to what he’s saying and I’m running around doing all the work.
That’s not right! Who does Mary think she is? Why am I doing all the work?!?
It’s not fair!
So Martha is stressed. What does
she do, when stressed? I mean, she has a specific complaint, which is that Mary
isn’t helping. Does she pull Mary aside and ask if she might lend a hand? Nah,
she goes to Jesus, looking for him to intercede – which is maybe what I do when
I want things to go my way – when things aren’t fair. Does she get what she
wants? What she needs?
It all sounds familiar. Very human.
What are we to make of all this?
I learned from Rev. David an
approach to understanding scripture, which is to put myself into the scene. Let’s
try that on … Jesus is coming!
Well, if there’s advance notice, my
wife would leverage the situation to have us repaper the hall upstairs, and
replace the carpet—which is kind of old and discolored here and frayed there. And
clean the basement. I’d need to clean the bathrooms and mop the floors and
she’d clean the front porch and vacuum and dust – it would be a big fix-up and
clean up effort. The lawn needs to be mowed, and the sidewalk edged – I’m not
good at keeping up with that. We’d get bagels, with cream cheese and lox and
tomatoes and onions, make fruit compote, make granola, get yogurt. Bake
cupcakes, and maybe cookies. Waffles with warm Maine maple syrup and soft
butter. Maybe some sausage links or bacon or pork roll. Coffee – decaf and
leaded. Juice. Bloody Marys. Wine. Cut flowers. Set out plates and glasses,
cups, the silver. Ice in a bucket. We’d have to invite people over – Jesus isn’t
in town very often so we’d want him to see the kids and grandkids and friends
and neighbors. And of course we’d get iTunes running – pick the right playlist
to set the mood. (Well, it’s always the same playlist – I hope Jesus likes
jazz.) We know the drill; we’re good at it – it’s mostly done before guests
arrive but that doesn’t mean there’s no stress involved, no last minute panics,
no barking. Some help would be welcome – couldn’t one of the kids get here a
little early and pitch in? Stop at the store and pick up an onion? Or get the
bagels – that parking lot is a nightmare of bad driving.
Just like Martha. That’s how it
goes with good hosts, yes? Hospitality – the “virtue of
a great soul that cares for the whole universe through the ties of humanity”*. (Somebody once famous said that.)
We offer nourishment, comfort, entertainment, and refuge to guests – even to
strangers. It’s a custom that
crosses cultures, dating far into the past.
It’s important – hospitality. Isn’t
that the point from the reading from Genesis? God calls on Abraham, who leaps
up and has a calf slaughtered and cakes baked and … puts a big feed on,
appropriate to the grandeur of his guests. And oh, by the way, for his troubles
he’s promised a son. Or so it might seem.
That’s what we do. That’s who we
are. It’s worth the effort. Right?
Isn’t it?
Is it?
Listen to the word of God, as it
speaks to you.
Luke 10:38-42
Jesus
Visits Martha and Mary
38 Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village,
where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. 39 She had a sister
named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. 40 But Martha was
distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not
care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to
help me.” 41 But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried
and distracted by many things; 42 there is need of only one thing.[l] Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken
away from her.”
This
is the word of the Lord.
Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of our hearts Be
acceptable in Your sight, O LORD, our rock and our Redeemer
Martha Bakes
In my dotage, I watch cooking shows
– America’s Test Kitchen, Jacques Pepin, Lydia, Martha Bakes. I’m fascinated –
which is new, it wasn’t so long ago that I had no interest in this stuff. The
Test Kitchen might try 67 different versions – really, I didn’t make that up --
of filet mignon, in search of the best result. Then they show what to do, how
to do it – the technique, all the details – and if I do what they did, I get
the perfect result. I’ve tried a couple of things, and … it pretty much works
that way, although I’m never content to just follow their directions – I eventually
make a few changes. I make a killer sorbet, a tasty Tin Roof Sundae ice cream,
some very good chocolate chip cookies, English muffin bread. Martha Stewart has
a recipe for bread dough, and with a few tweaks to ingredients and process she
makes three very different breads – a white sandwich loaf, a cinnamon-raisin
ring, and chili-cheese rolls.
Martha’s big on hospitality –
here’s how to be a fabulous chef, delighting your guests. In her other domains
she’s a master of crafts, and decorating, catering, and I guess multi-media
publishing, investing, managing businesses. When she was young she was a model
… she’s done it all. She has it all. When I ran a marathon up in Maine, I went past her place in
Seal Harbor. Nice. Anyway, we see her and think – I want to be like that. I
want what she has, and I can get it if I do what she does. That’s the thinking.
If I have time, and the right kitchen stuff, and Martha’s directions, and if I
do what Martha does, then I’ll be like Martha, happy and satisfied, the envy of
my peers.
It sells a lot of magazines, puts a
lot of eyeballs on ads. It works for Martha. We might want to keep in mind,
however, Oscar Wilde’s counsel: “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”
…
When I first read this scripture –
or first heard Rev David preach on it – what I heard was that Martha – the
Martha of the Bible, not Martha Stewart -- was doing the wrong stuff. She’s
doing the work of a good host when the thing to do is to be with Jesus. I mean,
how often does God sit down in the living room for a chat? When that happens –
I ought to be with God, listening, focusing, paying attention. That’s pretty
clear – at least it is here and now, or whenever I’m looking at the text or
listening to the preaching – removed from the pressures and confusions of life.
Being a good host, while a righteous thought and a good way to be – should
maybe be secondary to paying attention to what Jesus – sitting in the living
room – has to say. And that’s what I got – maybe you did, too. This scripture
is about paying attention; about getting my priorities straight.
And there’s something to that, there’s
a lot to that – but as I’ve pondered this, I see, too, that Martha’s mistake
isn’t so much that she’s a good host rather than a good listener, but that she
sees herself a victim. Not just “my
sister has left me to do all the work by myself”, which is a complaint about
her sister, but also “do you not care”? which is a complaint about Jesus. After all,
she’s working hard and Mary is just sitting. And Jesus doesn’t care! Not just a
victim, she wants to be acknowledged for her efforts, and not just
acknowledged, she wants Jesus to admonish her sister – she wants Jesus to care,
to take sides, to vote for her, to rule in her favor. She wants to be right. She
wants to keep score, gather evidence. She’s interested in making a case. She
wants God on her side.
This is all natural enough – Santa
makes a list and checks it twice, we were told while in school that “this will
go on your permanent record”, and we have St Peter at the pearly gates running
the rope line. (Maybe this is Rocky and Bullwinkle theology, but we – some of
us – carry it around and maybe even believe it.)
What Jesus suggests to Martha … is
to make a different choice. He doesn’t tell her she’s wrong. She’s a caring
host – and that’s a good thing. It’s okay to be a good host – she can choose
that, but in that choice she must also accept what goes with it, the
consequences. He doesn’t tell her she’s right. He points out that she’s worried
and distracted by many things.
I’d always thought the many things
distracting her were dusting and cleaning and preparing food and attending to
this and fretting that – the stuff of being a good host. And I take the point –
she might do better to listen to Jesus.
But she’s also distracted by a
different list of things – a need to do the right thing, being a victim, being
right, making Mary wrong, keeping score, collecting evidence, wanting God on
her side. What fretting and bustling and comparing bring are resentment and
anger and frustration. Mary, being quiet and listening to Jesus, has peace of
mind. Mary, being Mary, attuned to what’s important, is with God. If Martha
could be like that – if we could be like that – we, too, would have what Mary
has – something that isn’t given, and cannot be taken away – peace. Jesus
points Martha to Mary’s example – and that’s it. You’re distracted, he says –
consider Mary.
If Martha could be like that – but
… like what? If Martha could be Martha, at peace with being Martha, accepting
what it is to be Martha – Martha who welcomes Jesus to her home, Martha the
gracious host, Martha who busies herself even when others don’t – if Martha
could accept that Martha – if she
could be that Martha, then she, too, could have peace. Like Mary. No appeals
to a higher power to change others. No fretting that the world isn’t going the
way she’d like it. No entreaties to God to ring out judgment in her favor. Mary
as Mary, Martha as Martha. At peace with
the world. At peace in the world.
With the serenity to accept the things she cannot change, the courage to change
what she can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
That’s the first thing.
Here’s the next:
The reading from Genesis begins,
“The Lord appeared to Abraham”. Wow. Think about that. You’re sitting on your
front porch, three guys come up the walk, and somehow you just know the Lord
has appeared. Pretty cool. Pretty scary – you and the Lord, face to face. How
does that conversation go?
And what’s the business about the
Lord as three guys? That’s a Christian concept – with earlier roots – and we’re
in Genesis. I’ll leave puzzling this out as an exercise for you.
In the passage from Luke, Jesus
appears and Martha invites him in to her home. She knows who he is. Three guys
walking across the desert come up to Abraham, and he knows who he (they?) is
(are?).
In my life, there are no closed
captions, no voice telling me that the guy at the door is the Lord. No blaring
trumpets. No halo, no glowing aura. No host of angels. No phalanx of priests. So
how do we know?
We want to know God. We want to do
God’s will. But how do we know? As
you might imagine, much has been written about this – about revelation, about
God revealed. I’ve read a very little of it. I’m going to spare you … but first a quick example:
Calvin gave these matters much
thought, and wrote in his Institutes of
the necessity of scripture to the understanding of God’s revelation. I’ve not
read the Institutes – they’re heavy
going.
The necessity of scripture. Try
that on. Necessity. This requires an exploration of the taxonomy of revelation
– general revelation, special revelation, direct revelation. Calvin sees
scripture as equivalent to direct revelation – God revealed to man by words,
dreams, visions, impressions, actual appearance. This gets squishy pretty
quickly. Which words? Whose dreams? Whose interpretations of those dreams? Are
chemically induced visions on an equal footing with religious mysticism? What
credentials does a prophet need?
To avoid those problems, Calvin
likes the word of God in scripture – which takes human agency out of the loop –
we can’t screw it up.
Calvin helpfully adds: “But
it is foolish to attempt to prove to infidels that the Scripture is the Word of
God. This it cannot be known to be, except by faith.”
Known only by faith. There it is.
We can stop with the example now.
Enough of Calvin. Enough of
reasons for the necessity and authority of scripture. Enough. Reason will not
provide traction here. This is a mire from which there is no escape – except by
faith. We choose. We choose to believe. We choose to accept. We choose to act.
We choose to listen. We choose.
So … rewind to Abraham in his
tent in the desert, watching for mad dogs and Englishmen out in the noonday
sun. Hit . Three men approach – the Bible says this is the Lord. I
hit . I take Abraham out, and put myself in. How do I know this is
the Lord – this isn’t me reading the Bible, there’s nothing that says this is
the Lord appearing. Just three men. I can kick my brain into gear, looking for
signs, trying to figure it all out. Now, odds are, these three guys are not the
Lord. It’s never happened, to me, before, and the smart money says it’s just
three guys.
But sometimes long shots come in.
And I’ve heard others – I would never do this, of course – cover their bet:
they don’t think God exists but Just In Case, they’ll pray for this, or do
that, … or maybe not do the other thing. Just in case – wouldn’t want to spend
eternity in Hell. Just in case Hell exists.
So … are these three guys the
Lord, or not? How do I know? What do I do?
Here’s another approach. Three
men appear – and it doesn’t matter if
they’re the Lord or not. What if I treat them all as children of God, greet
them warmly, crank up the hospitality, give them food and drink and shelter?
What if I choose to welcome them as I would the Lord?
How do I know? I don’t. It
doesn’t matter. I create myself in my choices.
I can choose to welcome strangers – not for the reward, not
for a son to be promised – but because who I am is someone who welcomes
strangers. This isn’t transactional, this is identity.
Consider, too, that if we’re all
God’s children – if I choose to see the world as peopled with God’s children –
then perhaps God’s word comes to us not just from God appearing at my tent, or
from Jesus sitting in my living room, but from my four-year-old granddaughter,
who might be telling me something about her trip to Cape Cod. She doesn’t know
she’s spreading God’s word – she’s just being a four-year-old. God’s word might
come to me in the Foodtown checkout line, in something the clerk says when she
asks if I’d like to donate to the charity of the day. God might speak to me
when I’m about to react to some … well, to something. I might hear hear the
message in someone sharing an episode of pain and grief in their life – perhaps
pain and grief that they have caused others. I might hear it in the song of a
bird; it might come to me while hiking with my brother high in the Rockies. I
might even hear the word of God listening to a recording of Rev David’s
sermons, on the tpcas website.
Which is to say that it isn’t
necessary to see God, standing before me, or sitting in my living room, to hear
God’s word, to find God’s direction. I don’t need to puzzle out Calvin’s many
distinctions – or even to attempt it. If I can just listen – if I choose to see
all of you, to see everyone I meet, as a child of God, then I will hear the
message. What I do after hearing it is another choice. My choice. I’m
responsible. We are responsible. That’s who we are.
One last thing: I’m the
Stewardship chair, and I can’t let an opportunity like this pass. So I ask that
you keep these thoughts in mind when the fall stewardship campaign begins.
Remember who you are, and what that means. Remember that we choose, you choose,
I choose – who we are.
Let all those who do justice and
love mercy say Amen.
