6th Sunday after Pentecost (Year C) - July 21, 2019

6th Sunday after Pentecost
Year C
July 21, 2019
Luke 10:38-42

Encountering a text (especially a familiar text) anew is a difficult task. One that we wrestled with last week with the parable of the Good Samaritan. While we have the gift of having a text in front of us that we can pick up and read anytime, again and again, a piece of me wishes that I could hear these stories like it was the first time I had ever heard them. Those of you who were drawn into the Gospel later in life may remember the first time you’ve heard these texts or maybe today is the first time hearing it. I was a cradle Lutheran; these stories have been part of the waters that I grew up in. Neither is better or worse, but when we hear stories again and again, it is easy to forget or miss the power of them. Or to just take them for granted. They become sanitized. And we can stop listening, really listening to the text, thinking, well, we’ve heard this all before.

One way we can encounter a text in new ways is to put ourselves in the story. Where do you see yourself in this story today? Do you see yourself as Mary, content sitting at the feet of Jesus? Or do you see yourself as Martha, working hard, trying to do everything “right”, being the best host, the best disciple you can be, frustrated and maybe a bit tired? Do you see yourself as a bit of both? Or neither?

Earlier this month, I celebrated my birthday. For the first time in my adult life, I was near friends on my birthday. So I threw myself a bit of a party. I like to host. And I go into full host mode. Those of you who like hosting probably know what I’m talking about. Earlier in the week, I cleaned - like deep cleaned - my apartment top to bottom, making sure that it was not just presentable but at its best for guests. I even vacuumed my couches (which, if I’m honest, usually isn’t a part of my ‘normal’ cleaning routine - at least not as it should be). With the help of a friend who was visiting, I baked my own cake the night before - vanilla with strawberry buttercream icing. The day of, I put the chicken in the crockpot, so it could be shredded. I made the lasagna. Made sure we had bread. And side dishes. And drinks - red and white wine, cocktails, non-alcoholic drinks, soda - diet and regular (just in case). I put out the good napkins and used the good wine glasses. At least, when it comes to hosting, I get Martha. I really do.

When I host, I want my guests to feel welcome. I learned hospitality from the best of the best of them - my Tanzanian friends. These friends who once welcomed this stranger into their homes, gave her plenty of food and drink, who made a place so far from home feel like home. I feel this sense of duty in hospitality. Doing for others what I once experienced myself. I want to be sure that there’s enough to eat - and that it is good food. Enough to drink. Plenty of games and things to do. I want my home to feel like home. So I tend to go over the top with hospitality. Sometimes to the point that I stop experiencing the moment. I fail to experience the sacredness found in relationship and community because I’m too busy “hosting” and ensuring that everything is “perfect.” (I will say that, for my birthday, once everyone arrived, a friend took over the “hosting” so I could just be in the moment - but so often when I host, that’s not the case).

I think for most of us, we have varying degrees of Martha and varying degrees of Mary in us. We tend to use this story to chastize the Marthas and praise the Marys - as if we are all only one or the other (though we may at any given time identify more with one or the other). We hear, “Martha, Martha” as a rebuke or in a tone of disappointment. Perhaps almost like the Brady Bunch’s, “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha” - today, “Martha, Martha, Martha.” We tend to, using this passage make Martha into a caricature. She becomes someone who is frantic, distracted, who is too concerned with the things of this world, not concerned enough with the things of the Kingdom, missing what seems to be right in front of her face. She becomes almost cartoonish, in the words of one commentator this week, too concerned with “silly womanly things” (Brian Peterson, Commentary on Luke 10:38-42).

But the simple truth is: We need Marthas. Think of all the wonderful things this congregation does. Motel ministry. Casserole caravan. Route 66 night. Lenten community meals. Spaghetti dinners. Council and committee meetings. Clean-up days. And so much more. The Marthas in and around us get things done. Hospitality is an important part of discipleship. We just talked about the radical hospitality of the Good Samaritan last week. And that’s important. We need Marys. The Marys in and around us are the ones that remind us that - in the busy-ness of life and of ministry - we are centered by Jesus and centered in the Gospel. They remind us that sometimes we need to take a moment to breathe. To sit and to dwell in that relationship with the one that created us, that forms us, that calls us. And I would imagine that most of us have a bit of both Mary and Martha in us. And this community has plenty of both Marys and Marthas around us. And for that I’m incredibly grateful.
What if Jesus today isn’t rebuking Martha? Greek language *works* differently than English. Just for an example, in English, a double negative reverses the negative. So if I say, “I don’t not want ice cream,” I’m saying “I want ice cream.” In Greek, the double negative intensifies the negative, so “I don’t not want ice cream” becomes “I really don’t want ice cream” (and that’s how translators will translate something along those lines).

Those of us who use and work with the Greek text expect Greek to sometimes *work* a bit differently than English. Yet, sometimes we put our English expectations on the Greek language. We expect, when a name is repeated in this way, it is a gentle way of rebuking and admonishing - perhaps with a gentle shake of the head. It can, in English, indicate a deep disappointment. But when Jesus says, “Martha, Martha,” in Greek, it isn’t a gentle rebuke. There’s a fancy name for the construction (that we don’t need to know and one that I can’t pronounce), but by repeating her name, Jesus, instead of indicating that disappointment, is indicating a deep compassion for her. Jesus sees how frantic she is. Jesus sees her anxiety. Jesus sees her need to be perfect - to have everything “just so.” Jesus sees her frustration. Jesus sees her distraction. In that moment, Jesus sees her. He sees that a thing that can be so life-giving becoming something that is tearing her apart.

And in that moment, Jesus frees her. He frees her from society’s expectations of hospitality. He frees her from the need to be perfect, to get it right. He frees her from her anxiety. In the words of a colleague, Pastor Kari Foss, it is as if Jesus is saying “what you’ve done is enough. Don’t worry about being the perfect hostess or how people perceive you or Mary… Be at peace.” In other words, you are loved exactly as you are. And Jesus invites her into the Kingdom of God that has come near to her in himself. He invites her into relationship. Into sitting with the one who forms her and calls her.

Whether you identify more strongly today with Mary or with Martha, I think we all have anxieties and distractions that can get in the way of dwelling with the one who creates us, who forms us, who calls us. I know I do. It is easy to feel the weight of what we feel like we “should” be doing. We can feel the weight of feeling like we need to be perfect before God, that we need to put the best version of ourselves forward. Doing all the “right things” and being “the right way.” Luther felt this struggle his whole life, feeling like he could never live up to who God called him to be. And early in his life, he literally beat himself up over it.

Today, whether you feel more like Martha or Mary, Jesus sees you as you are - with the joys, the celebrations, the struggles, the distractions, and anxieties that come with you. Today, Jesus invites you into the Gospel - that you can’t work our way into the Kingdom of God. We can’t earn Jesus love. It is a free gift. And nothing can separate you - or any of us - not our anxieties nor our frustrations, not our need to be perfect nor our desire to get it right - from that love we’ve found in Jesus. Today. Jesus reminds us that we are enough. We are loved as we are. Today, Jesus reminds us that we have done enough and are worthy of sitting at his feet. Yes, we’re called to discipleship, but not in an attempt to make us worthy or to earn love, but our call to discipleship is a response to the love that we’ve already been given. Today, Jesus is our host and the Kingdom has come near. And today, Jesus invites us into relationship with him, invites us to dwell deeply with him, and to center ourselves in that love.

Amen.