October 13, 2013
Luke 10:38-42
I was reading about a technology conference recently where the speaker
of the day was talking about something called “Continuous Partial Attention
Syndrome.” I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of that one, but it means if you get
stuck speaking at a conference nowadays, you will compete with every manner
of distraction in your listeners--e-mail, text messaging, Web surfing, online bill
paying--even an Internet chat "back channel" where the audience can supply
snarky commentary on the speaker. The result is that the world has turned into a
never-ending cocktail party where everybody’s looking over their virtual shoulder
for a better conversation partner. And it creates an anxiety in us when we’re
trying to communicate--an anxiety that’s contagious: anybody who winds up
talking to somebody infected with CPA feels like he or she is up on stage
accepting an Oscar, yet at any moment the music might stop the speech. And so
we race along as fast as we can hoping at least something gets through…
Of course, the reason this sort of thing is being documented is not just
because it’s a reality in the homes of those with teenagers; no, the reason it’s a
big deal is because it’s beginning to affect the bottom line in corporate America
(which is usually what it takes to really get our attention in this culture).
Employers are finding that productivity is down. Our inability to give our full
attention to the task at hand (or to one another, for that matter) means we do not
do our work as well as we might. And so companies have actually begun taking
their work force on retreats in an effort to teach them the art of centering, of
training their employees’ minds to give one’s undivided attention to people and to
1
tasks. It’s something older people often tell me confuses them about the younger
generation—why’s everybody in such a hurry?
And, of course, this has been yet another week when the dark side of
partial attentiveness has saddened and grieved us, as a 19 year-old British girl
has been found guilty of causing the death of a 64 year-old grandmother by rearending her in a traffic accident because she was text-messaging from her phone
while driving.
(And I have a theory about why we become so venomous in our
condemnation of those involved in tragedies like this. My theory is that we lash
out the fiercest at those sins we fear most in ourselves. Because most of us
know, don’t we—in our heart of hearts we know—that our own inattentiveness
has left us so very close to causing harm to someone else, too…) Yes indeed…
Well, we come, this morning, to a story about attentiveness, about who
and what gets ours, and to what degree. Jesus decided to pay a visit to a friend
of his, a woman by the name of Martha. And during the course of his visit,
Martha is found toiling away in the kitchen while her sister Mary is off in the parlor
listening to Jesus. And, suffice it to say, this sitteth not well with Martha. In fact,
so wound up does she become over her sister’s unhelpful behavior that she goes
up Jesus and complains—asks him to please send Mary into the kitchen to get
busy. And Jesus says to Martha, “Martha, Martha, Martha, Martha; Mary has
chosen the better part.”
Now most interpretations of this story follow pretty much the same line of
thinking. Jesus is telling us, here, to be mindful of our need to feed on the word
of God. We’re not to become preoccupied with earthly bread to the detriment of
2
our receiving the Bread of Heaven. Mary had chosen the better way because
what she chose was eternal, not temporal. Martha got too caught up in the
details, too caught up in in getting everything just right, meaning she lost sight,
not of what was good, but of what was best. You ever heard a sermon on this
story that sounds something like that? It’s what we usually hear…
And I can imagine the Marthas among us getting a bit defensive when this
story is told, right? Being the host/hostess is such a thankless job, most times.
There are the details of preparing the meal, seeing to it that all the parts of the
meal get done at the same time; there’s worry about the bedding and picking up
the house and kenneling the pets and making sure there are clean towels;
there’s the question of what to do if your guests show up earlier than planned, or
if they stay too long, or if they bring more mouths to feed than you planned for;
now you have to borrow some stuff from your neighbors and there’s only so
much that can get done ahead of time. No matter how much advance planning
happens, there will inevitably be that mad dash at the buzzer when you’re gonna
need a little help, the time when you simply cannot afford to have the other
people in your household not pitch in. That’s the reality of being hospitable, and
unless you’ve carried out that responsibility a time or two, you simply cannot
appreciate what it takes. Amen? (Where are the Marthas this morning?)
But before we go pitting Mary against her sister, here (and miss the point
Jesus is trying to make), I sometimes think we too often set up a false dilemma
when we approach this story. Because I really can’t imagine Jesus advocating a
way of life that never lifts a finger to maintain a household. That is in no way
3
consistent with the rest of what he taught. What I’m suggesting is that Mary had
already done her part in the kitchen—already helped her sister with preparations
before Jesus showed up at the door—she’d vacuumed the living room, swept out
the porch, kneaded the bread, stoked the fire; but what was different about Mary
was that when the guest arrived, she knew it was time to stop; she knew it was
time to not miss out on this amazing, life-changing opportunity to spend every
available moment with her Messiah; she knew that now was time that required
her undivided attention.
Martha, on the other hand, couldn’t let it go. Nothing was ever just right.
The presentation had to be perfect, and when Mary does not share her
obsessive-compulsive behavior, why Martha (the patron saint of multi-tasking)
convulses in a fit of Marthaplexy, that condition that develops when we feel
overworked and underpaid and misunderstood. In other words, it’s a question of
balance--Mary had it, and Martha did not. And the real question is, do we? Do
we have balance?
You see, the deeper message of this story is that Martha’s dizzying pace
caused her to cross a subtle but crucial line in her life. Somewhere in the frenzy
of the day she made a choice about what was more important to her, and when
she did the focus shifted, ever so slightly at first, from her guest to herself. Do
you know that moment? Ever been there—the moment when sin is conceived in
your heart?
Here, it’s breaking that cardinal rule of what the Bible calls
“hospitality”—the setting aside of one’s guest and the movement to the center of
attention one’s self.
It is so subtle, and rooted in our prideful need to be
4
recognized (recognized as being indispensable, usually).
And the sad
consequence of that choice is that right on its heels comes self-righteousness. In
a heartbeat. So much so that we even find ourselves wanting Jesus on our side:
Why isn’t he demanding that Mary get off her knees and help her sister?
Jesus says Mary is the model. But we know, of course, that Martha’s the
norm, right? Make no mistake about it; we live in a Martha world. People are
rewarded in this culture not for who they are but for what they can produce. And
our sense of value gets tied in to that system of reward, even in the church. The
church tells us to volunteer in the nursery and attend next week’s potluck dinner
and donate nonperishable canned goods and take our turn advising the middle
school youth group; in other words, be a Martha. And then along comes Jesus,
and rather than validating that model, he calls it into question--tells us about
another way, a better way, a way of balance--calls us to stop talking and start
listening, calls us to focus on something other than ourselves, something other
than our own productivity. He is even so radical as to suggest that we can rest
assured in our deep value that we get to sit at his feet and be fed with the very
Bread of Heaven.
We don’t know, because we’re not told, how Martha chose to respond to
Jesus’ words to her that day. I’ll tell you what I want to believe. I want to believe
that she somehow became able to measure the distance between where she
was and where God invited her to be. I want to believe she was able to suffer
that distance, but then to name it and decide not to live with that distance any
longer. It’s the moment when we know we’re dead and begin to decide who we’ll
5
be tomorrow. Because it doesn’t really matter what our sin is (whether it’s the sin
of Martha or not)—deep down inside our sin creates the experience of being cut
off from life. Deep down inside we know the experience of seeing the light and
turning away from it, either because it’s too beautiful or because it spoils the
familiar darkness. Deep down inside we know the experience of having reached
for forbidden fruit, of pushing away loving arms, of breaking something on
purpose just to prove we can. Deep down inside we know the experience of
doing whatever is necessary to feed and comfort the self, because there’s no one
else to trust, no other purpose to serve, no other “god” to follow. And I want to
believe that Martha saw that distance, that deep-down-inside distance between
herself and God, and that she made the decision to turn around, to step into the
embrace of a God who wanted nothing more than to be in relationship with her,
to let go of that insatiable need to prove herself worthy of being loved, and to
accept instead a love without condition. This was such a wonderful opportunity
for Martha, just like it is for us, and I want to believe she did not miss it. Well?
6