July 18, 2010 – Eighth Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 11
Year C
By the Rev. Giovan Venable King
(RCL) Amos 8:1-12 and Psalm 52 (Track 2: Genesis 18:1-10a and Psalm
15); Colossians 1:15-28; Luke 10:38-42
There is an old vaudeville joke about a man and woman dancing in the
Catskills, at a singles resort. “I’m only here for the weekend,” the man
says. “I’m dancing as fast as I can,” responds the woman.
Martha is that kind of a woman, dancing around her house as fast as
she can, trying to get things ready for her honored guest, and trying in
her own way to make the most of their time together.
Our natural sympathies are with Martha. We recognize her condition.
Were he expected, the visit of Jesus would probably have sent Martha
and Mary scurrying ahead of time in preparation. And that may have
been the case. But note also, this text does not give us reason to believe
that Jesus was expected when he came to call: “She received him,” it
says, which may mean little more than that she opened the door to his
knock, not necessarily expecting to see him standing there. If that were
the case, then there was much to be done post haste, as hospitality was
always the rule of the day and the more unexpected the guest, the more
lavish and bountiful the hospitality typically was. Such hospitality is the
hallmark of the Jewish home, where even at Passover a spare chair is
left for Elijah, should he come to call and partake of the family’s meal.
Martha is a sympathetic sister for our time because she is in the
business of activity and anxiety: two chief preoccupations of our age.
The Marthas of this world are intent upon doing the right and good
thing at the right and good time. We all recognize them because we all
have at least some of Martha in us.
Yet, look again, and you will see that Jesus does not deny the value of
what Martha is or of what she is doing. He does not say to her that
everything is all right and that there is nothing to do or to worry about.
He says to her, in essence, that she has her priorities wrong. He
recognizes that Mary knows that she has something to learn from Jesus.
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He would like Martha to know that as well. He seems to be saying to
Martha: “Don’t just do something, sit here, at least for a moment.
Listen to me.” He seems to want to slow her dance, to let her mind and
soul catch up with her body.
It is not that Martha’s work is unimportant, and it is not that Jesus does
not appreciate the work. But Jesus is about priorities; first things first.
And he is unambiguous about what comes first here. He said it once
before, in his sermon when he warned people about being anxious
regarding what they would eat and wear. Remember, he concluded that
remarkably practical address with the words “Therefore, do not be
anxious … But seek first God’s kingdom and righteousness, and all
these things shall be yours as well.”
What was so important about sitting at Jesus’ feet? It seems certain that
he had been a visitor before to the home of Martha and Mary. He was a
great friend of the family, and we know of his love for their brother,
Lazarus. The answer to the question comes in the words that introduce
the story, “Now, as they went on their way…” This is the crucial context
in which we understand not only this story but our own as well, for if we
read the paragraphs and chapters before this we will find that “they” –
Jesus and his followers – are on their way to Jerusalem and to the cross.
It was Jesus’ last journey, his final earthly pilgrimage, not a day’s
outing or excursion or Sunday drive, but a purposeful procession across
the pages of history to the sure and certain death on the cross, and into
the future which he would claim for God. Somehow, in some way, Mary
had caught on to the fact that Jesus’ message on his visit to their house
on this afternoon was of such significance, such urgency, that the
routine must be interrupted in order to hear it.
It seems doubtful that it was Mary’s regular custom to entertain visitors
by sitting at their feet while her sister did all the work. In fact, Martha’s
comments suggest that Mary’s behavior was not her typical behavior.
But perhaps, somehow, Mary sensed that this was not an ordinary visit.
The Lord was passing by, and after he went, things would never be the
same again. Mary sensed that the time he had with them was precious
and to be savored.
We learn an important lesson from this story in the example of Mary
and Martha. The mark of hospitality is the capacity to give. Martha was
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doubtless very good at that, and she was busy about that very work,
giving Jesus a pleasant time, providing for his needs and comforts,
organizing his stay under her roof. It is hard work and should be
rewarded, as it usually is, with appreciation and gratitude. But just as
Jesus interrupts the routine of the household in Bethany, he also
interrupts the role, for he is not “guest,” he is now “host.” He is the
Lord, and it is he who gives and others who are now invited to receive.
An ancient custom of hospitality in England holds that when a sovereign
comes to your house, while in your home, it is no longer yours but his –
or particularly at this point in English history, hers. A sovereign
becomes the host under any citizen’s roof. It is said that it is more
blessed to give than to receive, but it is infinitely more difficult to
receive than it is to give. It makes one beholden to the giver, and it
makes one, in some sense, dependent. Try to give someone something
and that person will insist upon returning something to you, wanting
things to be even, not wanting to feel obligated. Giving is power;
receiving implies need and weakness.
The Marthas of the world are so busy doing good and necessary things
that sometimes they don’t have time realize how deeply they themselves
stand in need. When Jesus comes, he reminds us that we need the grace
and peace he offers. Rather than be distracted by providing service, or
being anxious and troubled about many things, we would do well to
slow the dance we are doing, to stop, look, and listen.
This, then, is a parable about giving and receiving, doing and being, and
about the presence of Jesus in the midst of the ordinary that becomes
extraordinary. It is a parable about priorities, first things first, and it is
a parable about two women who in their lives and attitudes give our
Lord and his Church an opportunity to teach an important lesson for
our time. It is also a parable of our worship, for it reminds us that what
happens in our churches – our prayer, our praise, our instruction, and
our fellowship – is not what we do for Jesus, entertaining him and
busying ourselves with some sort of fast dance. But rather, we slow that
dance, we come to “sit at Jesus’ feet,” and we come to receive from him
the means of grace and hope of glory.
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— The Rev. Dr. Giovan Venable King serves at St. Edmund’s Episcopal
Church in San Marino, California, in the Diocese of Los Angeles. Among
her other ministries, she serves on the Program Group for World Mission
and as a judge on the Ecclesiastical Court.
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