Joel D. Kline
July 18, 2004
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
The setting was a Sabbath retreat at the Loretto Center in Wheaton, where some twenty of us from Highland Avenue went for an overnight retreat offering opportunity for silence and prayer, personal reflection and renewal. One of the directed prayer experiences centered on the story of Jesus visiting in the home of Mary and Martha, and it was not long into our reflections on the story that individuals began to identify themselves either as Marys or as Marthas. Perhaps as you listened to the reading of this morning’s Gospel lesson, you also found yourself identifying with one character more than the other. Are you most like Mary, apparently comfortable with the reflective side of life, perceptive, sensitive, calm in the face of life’s pressures and stress points? Or are you more like Martha, a whirlwind of activity—one who sees a need and immediately enters into the fray, a task-oriented type who knows how to get things done?
We live in a day and age that extols the Marthas of the world, and that’s as true in the church as it is in the world beyond the church. Indeed, we can scarcely conceive of the church functioning without a whole host of Marthas. Peter Gomes, pastor of Memorial Church at Harvard University, asserts in a sermon on this text that churches literally thrive on their Marthas, and then goes on to question,
Who will do the coffee hour? Martha. Who will do the washing up? Martha. Who will feed the visiting choir? Martha. Who will see that child care is provided? Martha. Who will drive the youth group to its diversion, and who will put on the reception or cope in a volunteer capacity when there is no professional around to do the work? Martha, of course. The unsung heroes of any movement, the Marthas are both the advance and the rear guard.
But what if you are not a Martha by nature? I recall one participant in our Sabbath retreat speaking of frequently feeling out of place as a Mary in a world—or church—seemingly filled with Marthas. But perhaps this dichotomy between Mary and Martha is not the real point of the story. Perhaps this story is remembered by the early church, not as a means of playing these two sisters off of one another, nor to suggest that you and I must choose between Martha’s aggressive fussiness, on the one hand, and, on the other, Mary’s seemingly passive spirituality. Instead, might we find a deeper lesson within this story? Perhaps Jesus commends Mary, not because her personality type allows her to sit more comfortably at the feet of Jesus, but because Mary has recognized that something radically new is unfolding in her midst, and now is the time to sit at the feet of Jesus and learn from him. Now is the time to embrace the opportunity to learn a whole new way of seeing and experiencing life from Jesus; now is the time for Mary to ponder an entirely new purpose for her living.
Consider the story in more detail, particularly its placement in Luke’s Gospel. The story follows on the heels of the familiar parable of the Good Samaritan, a story that surely extols the virtues of the Marthas among us, those who display an active discipleship, who take the risk of responding compassionately to persons in need encountered along life’s way. And in the most surprising twist of that story, it is a despised Samaritan, representative of a people with whom the Jewish community had shared a smoldering tension and hostility for more than 400 years—wonder of wonders, it is a Samaritan who demonstrates Christ-like compassion and mercy and grace! In the process, the story redraws the boundaries of the people of faith, announcing that those who formerly were enemies may well now find their place in God’s kingdom. In a most remarkable way, Jesus is asserting that there is space among God’s people for those who had long been excluded.
N.T Wright, canon theologian at Westminster Abbey, asserts in his book Luke for Everyone that Jesus not only redraws the traditional boundaries of his day between Jew and non-Jew. Even more, Jesus is redrawing boundaries within the faith community, blurring the clearly defined roles of that day between men and women.
In ancient Israel, sitting at the feet of a rabbi was clearly a man’s role. When Jesus comes visiting, the real issue for Martha is not her workload; the real issue is Martha’s disdain for Mary choosing to act in ways contrary to how a woman of that day ought to act. Indeed, Mary’s actions border on the scandalous. Mary crosses an invisible but significant boundary when she decides to sit at the feet of Jesus, behaving as if she were a man.
To sit at the feet of a teacher in that day does not suggest taking a dog-like, adoring posture, as though the teacher were a rock star or a sports idol. Instead, it is the posture of discipleship. In the book of Acts, we are told that the apostle Paul, earlier in his life as Saul of Tarsus, “sat the feet of Gamaliel” (Acts 22:3), meaning that Saul listened to and learned from his teacher, focusing on the teachings of Gamaliel and seeking to put those teachings together in his mind and spirit. Notes N.T. Wright,
To sit at someone’s feet meant, quite simply, to be their student. And to sit at the feet of a rabbi was what you did if you wanted to be a rabbi yourself. There is no thought here of learning for learning’s sake. Mary has quietly taken her place as a would-be teacher and preacher of the kingdom of God.
And surely what the first hearers of this story would have found most astounding is that Jesus affirms Mary’s right to do so. The two stories—the Good Samaritan, and the subsequent story of Mary and Martha—together affirm what the apostle Paul underscores in his letter to the Galatians, that in Christ Jesus old barriers no longer have their power. The kingdom Jesus came to announce and, even more, to embody, the kingdom to which you and I are invited to give our loyalty—the expanse of this kingdom is far greater than the people of Jesus’ day—and the people of our own day—can scarcely imagine. Hence the power of Paul’s conviction: “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).
There’s so much left unsaid in the few short verses of this story. For the next meal, did Mary and Martha reverse roles, with Mary assuming the customary role of meal preparation, allowing Martha time to sit at the feel of Jesus? Did Mary—and Martha, too, for that matter—join the small band of traveling disciples as they journey with Jesus, on their way to Jerusalem? Was this Mary one of the women at the foot of the cross, staying with Jesus when most of the male disciples had fled from the scene, for fear of their lives? And was this Mary still later at the site of the empty tomb, one of those reporting to her fellow disciples the remarkable message of the angel, that Jesus has risen from the dead?
We do not know, but this much we can affirm. Each of us is invited to sit at the feet of Jesus, to learn from his teachings and his example, that we might become, each in our own way, embodiments of the kingdom and its upside-down ways of self-giving love, servanthood, peacemaking, discipleship. For once we learn from Jesus, once we drink in the rich teachings of Jesus, we do not remain in a sitting posture. With Mary, we find ourselves back on our feet, living and proclaiming the wonder of life in God’s realm—extending compassion, deepening faith, widening the welcome, embracing the gift of community, walking in the footsteps of Jesus.
Many continue to pit Mary and Martha against one another, with Martha representing active discipleship and Mary representing a more contemplative experience. From this perspective, Mary comes out on top, since, after listening to Martha’s complaints, Jesus asserts, “Mary has chosen the better part, which shall not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:42). But the story’s linkage with the Good Samaritan parable would suggest that Jesus is not talking about an “either/or” decision, but rather a “both/and.” Jesus is asserting that you and I are indeed called to active discipleship, living out or faith in the world around us, but we do so not on our own strength alone. Instead, our acts of faithfulness are to be rooted and grounded in relationship with the Lord of life. For without such grounding, we become fragmented and anxious, and soon find ourselves carping at others, along the way losing steam.
Is this not why Jesus reacts to Martha’s complaint in almost pleading terms, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing” (vv. 41-42). And what is that one thing needful, but grounding in God and God’s vision for life? Jesus’ words serve as a reminder that discipleship is not mere duty, nor is it intended to be an act of drudgery or little more than oppressive obligation. To the contrary, discipleship is joy, as we are freed to respond to our fellow human beings—and all creation—with the best that is in us, with compassion and loving kindness, with grace and mercy, with peace and self-giving love.
The German theologian Karl Barth once asserted that “to clasp the hands in prayer is the beginning of an uprising against the disorder of the world,” which is a far cry from the more typical view of prayer as somehow an escape from the world and its pressing issues. Prayer, connectedness with God, is that which undergirds our active discipleship—feeding the hungry, embracing the things that make for peace, proclaiming justice, embodying Christ’s self-giving love.
Thomas Merton, the Trappist monk who wrote prolifically about the spiritual life, served for many in the civil rights and peace movements of the 1960s as a spiritual guide, so convinced was he of the intertwining of prayer and social change. Indeed, Merton spoke of contemplative prayer as “subversive activity,” for in prayer we connect with a God who envisions a whole new world. Prayer leads us to see new paths before us and to hear new melodies in the air. Prayer is the breath of life freeing us to love and serve with all our heart and soul and mind and strength. Prayer is not simply a source of strength in times of danger and need, nor is it restricted to Sunday mornings or as a frame surrounding mealtimes. Much more, prayer is living—living marked by God’s hold upon us, living that responds to God’s call to embrace a whole new way of relating in the world.
Along the way, we discover that the boundaries of God’s realm are ever expanding and being redrawn. God’s invitation is to all, God’s gracious love is for all. And as we sit at the feet of Jesus, we find ourselves—male and female, poor and rich, persons of varying color and background and life experiences—each being refashioned, remade, reborn in the very image of the One who loves us with a love that will not let us go. We follow the Christ whose life is still a summons to serve humanity.
Gracious God, our hearts are frequently anxious, our minds racing with lists of tasks to accomplish and needs to care for. So many good things, and yet, O God, we acknowledge how easy it is to lose our centeredness, to find ourselves caught in a seemingly endless rat race through life!
O God, be the guiding vision of our lives—the Lord of our hearts, the Shepherd of our souls, the Dayspring of our living, the light of our lives, our fortress and our strength, the rock of our salvation.
Be our wisdom, O God, empowering us to discern rightly the important from that which is trivial, the just from the unjust, the faithful from the unfaithful, the ways of peace and right living from those ways that only lead us further along paths of fear and suspicion and hostility.
God of all creation, teach us to love with heart and soul and mind and strength. Guide us as we seek to walk in the footsteps of Jesus. Form us more fully into a community of your people, a people who embody your Spirit of compassion and grace, mercy and peace.
Loving God, hear us now as we hold before you those in special need of your healing touch. We pray for…
Thanks be to you, O God, for the gift of life with all its promise and all its possibilities. Guide us along paths of peace, that the violence and strife of warfare in our world might cease. Grant us the vision we need to join with you in beating swords into plowshares and transforming weapons of destruction into instruments of your healing grace.
God of us all, be the ruling vision of our lives, this day and all our days. In the name and spirit of Christ Jesus we pray. Amen.