Below, for your consideration and reflection, is the sermon from Bethel's July 18, 2004 Sunday Morning worship service.  If you would like to read sermons from previous services, please click HERE.

The latest sermon will be posted here as soon as it is received – usually by Tuesday or Wednesday following the Sunday that it was presented.

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Mary and Martha were not twins, and yet invariably we think of them together. It is impossible to think of one without the other, and yet one of the points of this remarkable and familiar story is that they are quite different. It is the difference between them that commends them to our attention, and just as it is difficult for us not to think of the two together, it is equally difficult not to choose between them and take sides, dividing the world, as it were, into the Marys and the Marthas.

Martha offers immediate hospitality, welcoming Jesus, and then busying herself with meal preparation, while Mary sits down with Jesus. She assumes the posture of the disciple at the feet of the master, a scandalous position for a female of her day. She keeps her gaze on Jesus even as her sister clatters dishes in the kitchen.

A commentator recalls hearing a woman in her parish say that she never liked hearing this text preached because she always came away with the sense that it is never possible to get things right in the church. If, like Martha, she works hard, she will be labeled “overfunctioning.” If, like Mary, she sits and listens too long, nothing gets done. A poem about this dinner at the home of Mary and Martha ends with Martha snapping back at Jesus when he tells her that Mary’s choice is more important: “So says you, but I know better. Listen, if I sat around on my salvation the way she does, who’d keep this house together? (Christian Century, Living with Martha, 7/13/04)

When I have studied this text before with others, more than one tired Martha has protested this unfair division of labor. And even though Jesus clearly pronounces who of the two sisters has “chosen the better part,” the preacher who attempts to minimize or trivialize Martha’s contribution to the evening is one who rushes in where angels fear to tread.

Our natural sympathies are with Martha. We relate to her condition. There’s no reason to suppose that she expected Jesus when he called at her home. That she welcomed him may mean little more than that she opened the door to his knock. If it is true that she hadn’t expected company, then there was indeed much to be done, for hospitality was expected for any and every guest, and the more unexpected the guest, the more lavish and bountiful should be the hospitality. Such hospitality is the hallmark of the Jewish home, where even at Passover a spare chair is left vacant for Elijah, should he come to call and partake of the family’s meal. Hospitality in the East is not a casual affair; it is the ultimate act of civility, and a house that did not show fitting hospitality would be ashamed and embarrassed.

Martha, knowing what needs to be done, sets about doing it, but she is left to do it alone. Hence, her annoyance with her sister who is sitting at the feet of Jesus, listening. Hence, although the text doesn’t quite say this, her annoyance with Jesus as well.

Jesus even mildly rebukes her after she complains that her sister isn’t helping out in the kitchen. “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things,” Jesus says to her.

What was wrong with Martha? Did she not have good reason to be “distracted with much serving,” and to be “anxious and troubled about many things?” Why didn’t she deserve some help from her dreamy sister?

Perhaps we should consider Martha as the patron saint of our own time, we, too, who always seem to be anxious and distracted by many things, but we also who want everyone to do his or her own fair share of the work.

We relate to Martha. We too have our obsessive-compulsive streak. The Marthas of this world are bright-eyed, practical-minded people. They ask the right questions, want the right answers, and are always informed and concerned. You know who they are for you are one of them. We may not be all that concerned about placing a good meal on the table for unexpected guests, but we are distracted by the need to feel necessary, to keep up social appearances, to be seen doing the right things, to do work that we think would please Jesus.

We are irritated when Jesus says to us, “RELAX!” We would rather be rewarded for our efforts, or at least we want a little sympathy for all the effort it takes to keep up this level of activity and anxiety. Doesn’t Jesus understand just how hard it is to be a Martha?

It is important to note in our text that Jesus does not deny the value of what Martha is or what she is doing. He says to her, in essence, the problem is, you have your priorities wrong. Your sister knows that she has something to learn from me.

It is not that work is unimportant, and it is not that Jesus does not appreciate work, for he knows, as do we, that society – not to mention the church -- would fall apart without the activity and anxiety of the Marthas of this world. Here, however, it is a matter of priorities, of first things first, and Jesus is absolutely unambiguous about what comes first here.

Just what could have been so important about sitting at the feet of Jesus that day? Surely he had been a visitor before to the house of Martha and Mary. He was a great friend of the family, and we know of his love for their brother, Lazarus. Why such commendation of Mary’s choice?

The answer to the question comes in the words that introduce the story, “Now, as they went on their way . . . .” It is not even a complete sentence, but it provides the crucial context in which we understand not only this story but our own story as well. Jesus and his followers are on their way to Jerusalem and to the cross. It was his last journey. It was no Sunday drive or holiday excursion.

Somehow, in some way, Mary had caught on to the fact that Jesus’ message on his visit to their house was of such significance, such urgency, that the household routine must be interrupted in order to hear it. Martha was irritated because normally, Mary helped out in the kitchen, but today, she wasn’t doing her usual or fair share of the domestic labors. Mary sensed that this was no ordinary visit. The Lord was passing by, and things would never be the same again. The visit of Jesus means that never again can it be hospitality as usual.

We can learn an important lesson from this story about Mary and Martha. We learn how important it is to receive. The mark of hospitality is the capacity to give. Martha was doubtless very good at that, and she was busy about that very work, giving Jesus a pleasant time, providing for his needs and comfort, organizing his stay under her roof. It is hard work and should be rewarded, as usually it is, with appreciation and gratitude. But just as Jesus interrupts the routine of the household that day in Bethany, he also comes to interrupt her role. For, he is not “guest,” he is now “host,” for he is the Lord, and it is he who gives and others who must receive.

Mary gets it. She understands that any hospitality that can be offered is little compared to what Jesus had to give them. The Marthas of the world have difficulty being receivers. 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; it cuts away autonomy, and it makes one, in some sense, dependent. Try to give someone something and they will insist upon returning something to you, not because they like you but because they want things to be even, they don’t want to be obligated. Giving is power; receiving implies need and weakness.

The Marthas of the world are so busy doing good and necessary things, so occupied in the giving, that they do not have time to realize how frequently and deeply they themselves stand in need. When Jesus comes he reminds us that we need that grace and peace he has to offer. Rather than be distracted with much service, anxious and troubled about many things, we would do well to stop, look, and listen.

This, then, is a parable about the way that Jesus can transform our divided attention by turning the ordinary into something extraordinary. When Jesus comes to call, things aren’t at all the way they used to be, and neither should we be.

The good news is that Jesus the host grants permission for all distracted, frantic people to sit down and eat their fill of word and promise. When we admit that we are one of them and sit down and nourish ourselves at the table, then we’ll be ready to put hands and feet, hearts and minds to work.

A student was telling about his summer working as a volunteer in a Jesuit home for the poor in the center of one of our nation’s most blighted cities. They worked all day, every day, handing out food, ministering to the human need as best they could. One particularly difficult, long day was drawing to a close. He and an old Jesuit finally took care of the last person in need and were pushing the big oak door closed for the night when they looked out and saw yet one more forlorn soul shuffling his way up the sidewalk toward the center. The student looked out at the man shuffling toward them, thought of how tired he was, and muttered, “Jesus Christ . . . .”

The old Jesuit said, “Could be, could be. We had better open the door.”

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Recognition of Carolyn Matthews The session, our governing body here at Bethel, wanted me to take a moment to give thanks for one of our members who will no longer be here among us after today. Following the funeral of a Bethel member here in the sanctuary last year, this individual came up to me and said she hoped that I could say similar things about her when it came time for her to depart this mortal life. Well, what I have to say today is not intended as a eulogy, although it might sound a bit like that! Carolyn Matthews and her husband Jack, having been bitten by the “grandchild bug,” are headed off on a sojourn to New Hampshire, new friendships, new opportunities, and, although it might not have sunk in as of yet, a new realization, come winter, of just how much it can snow in New England! Before we merged our food pantry with the ecumenical Hands of Mercy here in Kingston, Carolyn and Jack were the ones who made the Bethel connection with the Second Harvest Food Bank in Knoxville a reality. I can still see them outside in the parking lot unloading food for later distribution to those in need. Theirs has been a ministry of hospitality. Carolyn has been a volunteer teacher of creative writing to inmates at the Morgan County Correctional Facility, served faithfully as an elder, has been a leader in our small group initiative, and almost single handedly, in response to the Spirit’s leading, ignited our current ongoing emphasis on evangelism. Her familiarity with the literature on evangelism surpasses the knowledge of any minister I know, including my own. More than that, she is well-versed in all of the dynamics of ministry. Some of you have sat with her and under her leadership in small groups, Presbyterian Women, or adult education classes, and you know that here is a Mary who takes seriously a commitment to listening to the master. But then, too, many of us remember her tireless Martha-like commitment to making the details of our visioning process last year such a success, or we have experienced personally that she is a friend-maker for Christ in the welcome of Christ she has extended to those who are new in the community. I am glad that she is one who continues to search for truth and who seeks the spirit of the Spirit in all her relationships. And so, may God’s grace go with Carolyn and Jack as they move beyond the bend in this river to a new phase of their journey. May you both find fulfillment and purpose in being with children and grandchildren and in the pursuit of creative writing and the publication thereof, knowing, of course, that it is not the destination that finally really matters but the journey itself is what makes the music of life. More than once, I guess in response to some rumor they heard being whispered in the halls of Bethel, my children have inquired of me, “just what kind of books are those books so and so says that Carolyn Matthews once wrote? Do you think you could get me a copy? I, of course, plead the fifth, but I invite all of you, one last time, during the reception after worship, to try and get her to at least divulge her nom de plum. We, of course, will continue to know their names here, the names that God has always known. We trust that she and Jack will not forget our name, so it is with affection we want to present to them today this commemorative Bethel plate.

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Prayers of the People

Lord, the walk with you is not always easy. There are valleys, vast, dry places where the silence is deafening, where the way is hard, and we feel as if we are walking by ourselves. Give us the strength we need to stay with you, even when we cannot be sure of the way. Help us, in dry times and dark nights, to stay the course, confident that your grace is sufficient.

Teach us how to listen, and how to love as Christ loved. Enable us to hear your voice in the voices of the poor, the oppressed, those in bondage. In our acts of hospitality, help us to realize more fully that all persons are equal in your sight, that as we welcome strangers, and even as we entertain strange ideas, we welcome Jesus himself, the one who makes all things new.

Grant your mercy to those who mourn; comfort and heal the sick; befriend the lonely; support the weak and the troubled. You have heard the concerns voiced by your people.

Hear also our prayers that the earth may be freed from war, violence, famine and disease, that the air, soil, and waters would be cleansed of poison. We pray for the people of Africa and other lands so terribly affected the AIDS pandemic and related health care crises. We pray for healing amid the environmental crisis we have created through our abuse of your good earth. We pray for your church and aid workers everywhere who seek to feed the hungry and provide shelter, medicine, and educational opportunities.

Hear our prayers for those who govern the nations of the world, that they might pursue paths of peace and compassion, acts of mercy and deeds of love. Grant safety to those who go off to war, especially those who go out from our midst, but more importantly, we pray for wisdom that all would see the futility of war and your way of peace. In these days of relentless terror and fear, grant your mercy to the people of Iraq as they attempt to build a new nation. Still the storm of vengeance in the middle East and establish Jerusalem as a light to the nations, that Muslims, Christians, and Jews alike might come to know that we are all children of Abraham and Sarah.

Hear our prayers that you will strengthen this nation to pursue just priorities so that the races may be reconciled; the young educated; and the old cared for; the hungry filled, and the homeless housed; and the prisoner loved and respected.

As a potter fashions a vessel from humble clay, you form us into a new creation. Shape us, day by day, through the cross of Christ your Son, until we pray as continually as we breathe, and all our acts are prayer; through Jesus Christ, in the mystery of the Holy Spirit, hear us as we pray together . . . .