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gracewithducks · 5 years ago

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Martha and Mary (Luke 10:38-42; preached 7/21/19)

I’ve heard plenty of couples bragging about who “wears the pants” in the family… but I’m much more interested in knowing who does the dishes.

I still remember, when I was younger, helping my mom put away another kitchen full of dishes, and I said, “Mom, when I grow up, I want to be a dad – because dads never have to do the dishes.” I was only half-joking. And I know every family is different, and truly, my dad was amazing – he was kind and funny and affectionate and compassionate, and some of my favorite memories are of being curled up next to dad to hear the next chapter of the “Superfudge” book.

My dad was great. But he never did the dishes. And over the years, all that time spent in the kitchen washing and drying and putting away and doing it all over again – all those years of dishwashing can take their toll.

My mom is one of the strongest people I know – but she’s also a peacemaker, someone who avoids conflict at all cost. And she’s a giver, the kind of person who will give and give and give until she’s got nothing left… which means there were plenty of nights of sullen dish washing and slamming cupboard doors, with the hope that someone would finally take the hint and come in to help.

There are few things in life as frustrating as being the Martha in the story – being unappreciated, doing all the most important work, behind the scenes, without so much as a nod or a word of thanks. I’ve known plenty of Marthas – I’ve even sometimes been Martha myself, spending hours of cutting vegetables and stirring sauces and setting tables and soaking pans and slamming cupboard doors, and just when you finally get to sit at the table with everyone else, another timer goes off, or a kid needs help in the bathroom, or someone asks for another drink, or the biscuits start to burn…

And you just keep waiting for someone to notice that you’re falling apart, that you’d like a chance to catch your breath and enjoy your company, too. It’s so heartbreaking to be Martha, quietly soldiering on; yes, you’re strong and you’re capable, but you’d still love for someone to look you in the eyes and say, “I’ll get it” or “How can I help?”

Instead they say, “Isn’t this fun?” And, “Why don’t you stop worrying? Just sit down and enjoy the party!” But they don’t realize that, without your constant work, everything will come crashing down, and there won’t be any party at all.

Martha gets the short straw again in this story, every time we turn her into the villain, the crazy distracted hysterical woman, while her sister, the calm strong smart one, makes the better choice. But I can relate with Martha. I get Martha. And I’m right there with her when she snaps – when this poor long-suffering woman finally blows her lid.

“Don’t you care?” she asks Jesus. “Don’t you even care that I have to do everything myself? This food doesn’t prepare itself. The table didn’t set itself. The meal doesn’t serve itself. Tell my sister to help me. She will listen to you.”

Martha’s bitterness and resentment have simmered for too long; they finally boil over. And then Jesus weighs in – and he does scold a sister, but it’s not Mary, not Mary whose lazy butt has been sitting at the table while Martha does all the heavy lifting. No, Jesus shakes his head, and he says, “Martha, Martha. Your sister has chosen the better part.”

And don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of Jesus. But who in their right mind thinks that it’s a good idea, when someone is distraught, angry, bitter, upset – who thinks it’s a good idea to wade right into those messy family dynamics and make it worse? Jesus decides to bring some sibling rivalry into this: “Martha, you’re great, and the food is amazing, but why can’t you just be more like your sister?” Because that always helps soothe hurt feelings and end a fight.

This story frustrates me. It always has. Sure, maybe we’d all love to just sit around gazing into heaven and thinking about Jesus all day long – but in the real world, there’s work to do and bills to pay. Does Jesus really mean that the world would be better if we all just let the dirty dishes keep piling up forever?

I don’t think so. For one thing, it helps to remember where this encounter with Mary and Martha falls in Luke’s Gospel. Looking back, the last thing that happens – the last thing we hear about before Jesus visits the sisters’ home – the last thing that happened was that a lawyer stood up to test Jesus, and said, “What must I do to gain eternal life?” And when the answer – love God and love your neighbor – isn’t enough, he asks, “But who is my neighbor?” And Jesus tells the story of a man who is attacked and left for dead by the side of the road.

Right before Jesus ate with Mary and Martha, he told the story of the Good Samaritan: the story of a man in need, who is ignored by religious leaders caught up in their holy concerns, but who is helped by an outsider who’s willing to do what needs to be done. Jesus has just finished teaching the crowds that thinking good thoughts isn’t enough, not if we never do anything about it. The Samaritan doesn’t stop by the roadside to offer a theological response to the problem of suffering and evil; the Samaritan doesn’t stop to spend time praying Psalms of Lament, or to preach a sermon to this dying man about how good it is that God shares and joins with us in our suffering. No, the Samaritan helps. The hero of the story goes into Martha mode. The Samaritan wins Jesus’ praise by actually doing something.

So maybe what we need is to hold both stories together. And maybe the story of Mary and Martha isn’t about which sister is best; maybe it’s not a competition at all.

Let’s just stop for a moment and recognize the fact that this is a story about two women – their famous brother, the one Jesus raises from the dead, isn’t even mentioned. This isn’t a story about how Jesus went to visit Lazarus, and the sisters of Lazarus just happened to be there. No, this is a story about two women. This is a story about two women with names, two independent women, two women who aren’t just stage dressing or bit players, but two women who are people in their own right.

When Jesus reaches the village, we are told that Martha “opens her home to him.” Let’s not gloss over the fact that Jesus is a guest in Martha’s home. It’s pretty much unheard of for a woman to have her own home, to be the head of her own household, but here is Martha: no backstory, no explanation, no apologies – just an independent woman who serves as the gracious host to a very important guest in her own home.

This isn’t a story about a sister who’s in the background doing “women’s work” – but this is the story of a woman who breaks the rules and breaks the mold, a woman who is, against all odds, running a household all by herself – and succeeding, welcoming an honored guest to her own well-appointed table.

And then there’s her sister, Mary. Mary does the unthinkable by taking a seat at Jesus’ feet. Sitting at the feet of a rabbi was a sign of discipleship, a place of honor and learning – it was a place reserved for men, a place where women absolutely are not allowed to be. But Mary does it anyway. She breaks the rules, she defies expectations, and she takes her place as a disciple learning at Jesus’ feet.

These are two women who break every stereotype and defy every limitation society places on their work, their roles, their lives. These are two women who are, in their own different ways, breaking the rules – Martha by running her own home, and Mary, by taking the disciple’s seat.

And when Martha, distracted and distressed by her own work, tells Jesus to order her sister to help her – Jesus refuses to send Mary away.

And maybe that’s what this story is really about.[1] It’s not about whose work is better – because both sisters are offering hospitality, by serving their guest and also by sitting and listening to what he has to say.[2]

There have been plenty of times when I could relate to Martha; the work she does is absolutely important, no matter how little she’s thanked or how much it’s taken for granted. The work she does is a labor of love. Martha’s problem isn’t what she’s doing, but what what she’s doing is doing to her. She’s overworked, exhausted, angry and bitter – this word Luke uses, “distracted,” it literally means Martha is being pulled in different directions, being pulled apart… until she feels like she’s coming apart herself, she doesn’t know which way to turn, and she can’t even catch her breath.[3] She’s worried and upset about so many things that she’s lost sight of the big picture; she’s forgotten what it’s all about. She needs to remember why she’s doing it all, and who she’s doing it for: for the love of the guest at her table, to honor this divine presence in her midst. Martha works to show her love for the one who loved her first and loves her still.

We can easily get lost in the debate of whether service or study is better, but really, we need both. We remember the lesson of the Samaritan: without works, all our pious words and holy posturing are nothing. But at the same time, if we never return to sit at the feet of the one who loves us, no matter what we’ve done or failed to do – without returning to the well that fills our own cups, without first putting on our own oxygen masks, we will soon find ourselves running dry, pulled apart, struggling to breathe, and unable to truly show love by helping anyone else at all.

We need to follow the example of both Mary and of Martha. And I say again, at its heart, this isn’t a story about whose way is better – but this is a story about who is welcome, about who is welcome in the household of God, and who is welcome at the table of Christ.

The rules say the Martha shouldn’t be in charge, but she is. The rules say Mary shouldn’t sit with the disciples, but she does. And even when she’s criticized, Jesus refuses to send her away. It’s easy to compare ourselves to each other, to criticize each other; families are hard, and the family of God is no different – and we can easily work to undermine each other, to resent each other and tear one another down. But Jesus welcomes us all. Jesus welcomes us, and reminds us that we all have a role to play – and we all are called both to study and to serve, to love God and to love our neighbors in turn. Martha and Mary, work and worship, study and service, love for God and love for people – they’re just two sides of the same coin, as inherently linked as breathing out and then breathing in, then out and in all over again.

Jesus welcomes us all to come and learn, to become his disciples and learn at his feet. And no matter what others may have to say, in the end, Jesus refuses to send anyone away.

It’s a message we need to hear, again and again. Especially in these days, when we are so divided, when people in power afraid of losing their power use their power to make us fear each other, criticize and undermine each other as we are driven farther and farther apart – when racism walks around boldfaced, wrapped up in religious language – when we are told that some are more equal, and some are more welcome than others – in these days, we desperately need to be reminded that ALL are welcome at the table of Christ. It’s a table we ourselves have a place at, not because of who we are, what we look like, what we’ve done or where we were born – but a table where we find ourselves by God’s grace alone. And it’s a table where we keep discovering, keep being reminded, that there is room and grace enough for us all.

In our baptism, in our confirmation, every time we welcome a new member or reaffirm our own baptism, we are asked a question: “Do you confess Jesus Christ as your savior, put your whole trust in his grace, and promise to serve him as your Lord, in union with the Church which Christ has opened to people of all ages, nations, and races?”

And it’s a question we need to keep before us: will we keep our whole trust, not in our busy-ness, but in God’s grace? Will we sit together at the big, messy, beautiful table of Christ? Will we serve our neighbors, without first stopping to check that they are worthy? Will we love one another, with the same generous and gracious spirit of our rabbi, who defies the rules and refuses to send anyone away?

The world needs us to be Martha and Mary: to offer hospitality and compassion, to work with dedication and persistence – and to return to the well of grace, to drink deeply from the teachings and the example of our Lord and our Savior – and then to return to the world, to offer hospitality and compassion all over again.

May we be Mary. May we be Martha. And may we live as those who really do believe that there is room at the table for us all.

God, we thank you for inviting us to your table. We thank you for allowing us to sit at your feet, to be called your disciples, to learn your ways. And we thank you for sending us to serve, humbly and patiently, to love others the same way you have loved us. Help us to be faithful, always, to your grace. In Christ’s name we pray; amen.

[1] I am grateful for Karoline Lewis’ reflections on this scripture, especially this question, which resonated and shaped the resulting message: “In other words, what if this story has nothing to do with who is better and everything to do with who matters?” (No Comparison by Karoline Lewis, 7/10/2016. http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4686)

[2] Martha “has missed out on the ‘one thing needed’ for true hospitality. There is no greater hospitality than listening to your guest.” (Elisabeth Johnson, Commentary on Luke 10:38-42, 2013. http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1723)

[3] D. Mark Davis’ reflections also shaped this week’s message. Davis digs into the original Greek and offers these notes: “For περισπάω , the prefix περι (“peri”) means around; the stem σπάω (“spao”) means to break, according to one modern dictionary. It is the stem for the English words ‘spasm’ and ‘spastic,’ which may be suggestive here… The emphasis would not be on the industry or Martha’s work itself, but on how it has discombobulated her.” Davis also writes, “[Martha] really is panicking about many things. Jesus does not say that she is irrational or wrong-headed. He merely says that he will not stop Mary from sitting and hearing.” (Martha’s Anxiety: Struggling alone against many things by D. Mark Davis, 7/11/2016. http://leftbehindandlovingit.blogspot.com/2013/07/marthas-anxiety-struggling-alone.html)

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