Sunday: 8th Sunday after Pentecost 11C
Reading: Luke 10:38-42
Preacher: D. Maurice Charles

The Rev. D. Maurice Charles Pentecost VIII, Proper 11, Year C
St. Paul and the Redeemer, Chicago 22 July 2007

"Martha, Martha, you are troubled and distracted by many things. One thing is needful. Mary has chosen the good portion which shall not be taken away."
- Luke 10.41-42

+In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit: One God, Mother of us all. Amen.

What a delightful story of sibling rivalry confronts us in today's Gospel reading. Now, having been a perfect child (or at least a very good boy), I do not find it terribly difficult to identify with the hard working Martha who does what propriety required her to do. And given what I know about many of you at St. Paul and the Redeemer, a very busy people, I'm willing to bet that Martha appeals to you as well. We strive to be a parish that emulates God's gift of hospitality. And, as we know, hospitality is a lot of work. It is even harder work when hospitality becomes so broad that it dares to reach people who supposedly live beyond the bounds of charity.

The fact of the matter is, this reading from Luke, the Gospel writer who just loves to turn things upside down, would make far more sense as it is found in Charles' More Interesting Version of the New Testament. That's what my Classics professor used to call some of my less-than-accurate translations of Greek when we sat at table together in Mather Hall, there amid the sound of hissing radiators and snow pelted windows. One fumble on my part, like mistaking "ichtus" for "ischus," hence, "My fish is made perfect in weakness" and Mr. Long would rear back, let out a hearty "ha!" and exclaim, "that must be from Charles' More Interesting Version of the New Testament."

Now, the reading of today's Gospel from said version goes something like this: "Martha did her duty as a gracious host as her sister Mary lounged at the feet of Jesus. With due indignation Martha turned to Jesus and said, "Good teacher, wist ye not that I must busy myself with my duties whilst Mary doth lounge at thy most blessed feet?" Jesus saith, "Daughter, thou hast spoken well, for this thy sister Mary is a lazy buzzard. Heigh thee to the hills thou lazy buzzard, etc. etc." Here endeth the lesson.

On the surface, the more excellent translation would make better sense, especially since in Luke's narrative this little vignette follows on the heels of the Good Samaritan story, a story of hospitality with its own little twist. Jesus had just told his audience to stretch the bounds of hospitality like the despised Samaritan. So when the reader encounters the very next tale, we fully expect Jesus to side with Martha. That expectation is only heightened in our liturgy, where Mary and Martha are placed next to Abraham and Sarah and their encounter with the divine. The couple's response to the divine presence is to offer hospitality and thereafter follows the blessing.

The Jesus of Luke reverses the roles. Martha is invited to refrain from doing good. Mary, who says nothing during the whole encounter, is held up as an example, the one who has chosen "the better portion." And Jesus, who is supposed to be a guest, shows himself a most gracious host.

This story may seem jarring to the twenty-first century ear, to us who have inherited a nineteenth century liberal emphasis on the social elements of the gospel and a mid twentieth century insistence on relevant and world changing religion. But our ancient and medieval forebears found great inspiration in this story. They saw beyond its earthiness as a tale of sibling rivalry to an allegory of the Christian life. Martha became for many medieval thinkers the archetype of action, of Christian charity toward the neighbor. Mary, in turn, became the archetype of contemplation-the life of prayer, study, and theoria, literally a "gazing" on the majesty and grandeur of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

One such interpreter, Pope Gregory I, known as "The Great," who lived from approximately 540-604 maintained that yes, Mary had chosen the best part of the Christian life, the life of quiet contemplation. Martha's charity, though important, was only temporal. In heaven only contemplation would remain.

Pope Gregory knew the life of contemplation well, having been a monk before his elevation to such a demanding office. The life of the papacy demanded that he be a Martha. At a time when the church owned a great portion of Europe's wealth, Gregory took over the function of the state and saw to it that he hungry were fed. He launched a missionary effort to England, sending Augustine (not to be confused with Augustine of Hippo) to convert the populace while remaining pastorally sensitive to their needs. When Augustine of Canterbury wrote and asked whether he should impose the Roman Rite of Worship on the Angles or choose the Gallican Rite, or incorporate Irish customs, Gregory replied, "use whatever liturgy will work best for them." Gregory wrote a manual of pastoral care for his clergy while simultaneously attending to the political situation around him, setting aside some of the churches wealth to bribe the Arian Lombard rulers in Italy so that the Church could maintain its activities in relative peace. Gregory was troubled and distracted by many things.

How often he complained that he was unsuited for his office, that he longed to return to a quiet life. Between feeding the hungry, playing politics, growing the Church, his soul ached for that first glimpse of the graciousness of God, those quiet moments when his heart was pierced with divine love. Yet, even as he longed for the vocation of Mary he acknowledged the call of Martha.

You see, Mary and Martha were sisters. They were bound together by blood. Charity and contemplation are inseparable aspects of the Christian life: charity and contemplation, hospitality and prayer, praying for mercy and demanding justice. Could it be that Jesus' words to Martha contain the Word for us today, for we who have inherited a 19th century social Gospel and a mid-twentieth call for world changing religion?
"Martha, Martha, you are troubled and distracted by many things . . ."

I believe so. You see, I believe that even the most generous host who is motivated solely by the world's inexhaustable hunger will soon grow weary of doing good. And I have met many sincere activists who were driven by righteous indignation alone. But when change was not forthcoming and systemic injustice remained entrenched, righteous anger, however appropriate, turned to bitterness and I found myself wondering "How is it that this activist can so love justice while despising people?"
Jesus' words are an invitation to all us Marthas to allow the tables to be turned if but for a moment, so that our deepest longings may be fed.

Now I suspect that few, if any of you will leave this place and join a monastic community in search of contemplation. In fact I hope that you return to your busy lives refreshed. But I invite you, today, to hear the Word that speaks to you. If you do not have a daily discipline of prayer, or find it difficult to maintain a rule of life, why not start simply, right here?

Let this place be your place of refreshment and contemplation. If you do not know the words to the hymns do not let your perfectionism beguile you: Listen if you cannot sing. Let this community of hope sing to you of God's majesty, goodness, and radically transforming love.

When you hear words of Scripture that seem foreign to you, perhaps even offensive to your sensibilities, treat the Word as you would another human being. Instead of dismissing the stranger straightaway, take the time to go deeper, to gain greater understanding that you may learn what this stranger has to teach you.
As you have forgiven others' wrongs, time and time again, hear and believe the words of forgiveness to you. Let the light of Christ penetrate those dark places where you refuse to forgive even yourself so that you may be set free.

You who have labored long to put food on the table. You whose hearts have been moved by other's hunger. You who have taken incredible risks to ensure that all are invited to the feast. And especially you who question your worthiness to respond to any invitation, let alone God's. Come to Christ's table. Bring with you your highest hopes, your deepest longings, your triumphs, your fears, your disappointments. Receive the invitation. Behold the One who is given for you. Contemplate Christ not only in the Sacrament of the Altar, but in the sacrament of this community, the Body of Christ, drawn from so many corners of the world. Look. Listen. And be fed by the dream of the world to come. Amen.

© 2007 D. Maurice Charles

For further reading on Gregory I, I commend to you Bernard McGinn's history of Western Christian Mysticism, especially the second volume: The Growth of Mysticism: Gregory the Great through the 12th Century (Crossroads, 1994).