Sermon on November 7, 2010
Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”
Daylight Savings Time has ended. You know this either because you remembered to set your clocks back last night, or because you showed up at church an hour early this morning and sat around waiting for the coffee to get done. That extra hour of sleep is always something to look forward to. Of course, if your family is like ours right now, you know that while you can set a clock back 60 minutes, you’ll have no such luck with a toddler, who cares nothing for daylight saved or spent.
We tried explaining all of this to Ezzy at bedtime last night, but to no avail. She is our consistent early riser, and Daylight Savings Time to her does not mean an extra hour of sleep, but rather an extra hour to run around the house at 4:30 in the morning. So she was up five hours ago, ready to get busy with her day—ready to keep us busy with her day…
I want to talk about being busy this morning. Are you busy? Have you been busy lately? Is that a good thing in your mind?
Maybe you’ve heard this one before. A man grows up in a small town, heads off to college and then to law school. He passes the bar, and then returns home, a new lawyer. He’s eager to get going, and perhaps to be a man of importance in this small town where he grew up. He opens a new law practice, but business is slow at first. In fact, he doesn’t have a single client yet.
But then one day, he sees a man coming up the sidewalk, and figures he should probably try to make a big impression on this prospective client. So as the man comes to the door, the young lawyer picks up the phone. He motions for the man to come in and sit down, all the while talking on the phone: “No. Absolutely not. You tell those clowns in New York that I won't settle this case for less than one million. Yes. Tell the DA that I'll meet with him next week to discuss the details.”
He goes on like this for almost five minutes, while the man sits there patiently. Finally, the lawyer puts down the phone and turns to the man. “I'm sorry for the delay, but as you can see, I'm very busy. What can I do for you?”
The man replies, “I'm from the phone company. I came to hook up your phone.”
We like being thought of as busy people.
On Wednesday night we had our monthly Taizé worship service here in the sanctuary. One of the things I’ve come to love about that service is its quiet, reflective mood. There’s no sermon at our Taizé service—instead we share ten minutes of absolute silence, sitting here in the dark with some candles burning up front. It’s a beautiful time to be mindful and prayerful with God.
This past Wednesday, though, I caught myself during that silent time struggling to actually be quiet. I was sitting still in one of the pews back there, and though I wasn’t making any noise, I certainly wasn’t “quiet.” My mind was racing with the things I still needed to get done—lists to take care of, issues to think about, phone calls to make… I think I spent five of my ten silent minutes just trying to be silent.
Maybe you’ve been there too. If not at Taizé worship, then perhaps here, on Sunday morning. It takes intentional time to shrug off the busy-ness of the week—the scheduling and rescheduling, mental notes and unfinished lists, and the weekly scrum of work, school, soccer practice, piano lessons, doctors’ visits, birthday parties, board meetings, and fundraisers—not to mention all the church stuff going on.
As a pastor, one thing I know for sure is that no one needs more stuff to do. Nobody shows up at church these days saying, “Please, help me max out my schedule this week—I’m not busy enough.”
If anything, we come to worship on Sunday morning looking for some shelter from it all—a chance to step away from the rush and the clutter—to be, perhaps, in one agenda-less moment with God and with our faith family.
And yet church life itself brings its own kind of busy into our lives. Let me remind you that none of you go to church; rather, you are the church. And being the church means more than the confines of a Sunday morning worship service.
In his gospel, Luke tells the story of two women, Mary and Martha, who welcome Jesus into their home. Martha does what a lot of us might do if the Son of God showed up at our place. She cleans, she sweeps, she fires up the stove and gets supper going. This isn’t just any houseguest, mind you, so she tackles that recipe she’s been saving, the one with the blanching and the braising and the mincing—the one that uses every pan in the kitchen.
She’s setting the table, getting the drinks ready, trying to keep the counter clean, thinking ahead to dessert, and wondering just where in God’s name her sister is! Mary is in the other room. She’s sitting at Jesus’ feet. Listening.
Can you hear what Martha is muttering under her breath? “Well, I guess in Mary’s world, food for Jesus just cooks itself!” She paces back and forth, getting more and more irritated with Mary for just sitting there, not helping out. Finally she can’t take it anymore, so she comes into the room. She doesn’t even talk to Mary—maybe she’s too mad. Instead she says to Jesus, “Don’t you care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself?”
I wonder what Martha wanted to hear. I wonder if she wanted Jesus to say, “Yes, Martha! You’re right! Mary, don’t you see how hard your sister is working? Are you going to leave her to do it all alone? Oh, poor Martha—you’ve been slaving away in that kitchen. How can we help?”
That’s not what Martha heard. I’m sure she didn’t expect Jesus to say what he did. “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”
That’s where the story ends. And we’re left to wonder what happened next. Did Martha literally throw in the towel and join Mary at Jesus’ feet? Did she keep cooking? Did anybody eat anything that afternoon?
This morning I’d like to use this story of Mary and Martha to help us think about the busy-ness of our own lives.
Being a Christian might make you busy, but being busy does not necessarily make you a Christian. I think most of us would accept this to be true, and yet when we’re asked to describe our presence in the Christian faith, most of us most of the time lead with those things that make us busy. Choir, Sunday school, the mission committee, bells, buildings and grounds, youth group, potlucks, senior gems, fellowship… The list goes on and on of all those things that can keep a church busy for years and years.
For many of us, our busy-ness in the church mirrors our busy-ness in the rest of our lives. High-functioning, sometimes over-functioning… Scheduled, sometimes over-scheduled… Often not a minute to spare, sometimes not a second to spare… We look forward to a vacation, to a weekend, even, when we can unplug and enjoy some free time, but then we find that we tend to over-program and over-schedule our free time, too.
Now, let’s not completely discount busy-ness. Much of the time, we’re busy with things that we love. And being busy, we get things done—things that we’re passionate about, things that give us life and energy. The problem, of course, is this: we tend to define ourselves by what we do, and not by who we are.
Right? You meet someone for the first time.“What do you do?” they ask. It’s not just a conversation piece. It’s a basic assumption in our society that what we do defines us.
Jesus says to Martha, “Martha, dear, this isn’t about what you do. It’s about who you are.” And this is where Luke’s gospel becomes clear. Mary is sitting at Jesus’ feet.This is where disciples sat—at their teacher’s feet. Sitting at Jesus’ feet, Mary isn’t shirking her responsibilities as a host; she’s claiming her identity as a follower of Jesus.
And Jesus says, “Martha, there is only need of one thing, and Mary has chosen it.”
This month we find ourselves in season of Stewardship. By now you’ve received a pledge card in mail. And for the last week, perhaps, you’ve been asking yourself, “What did we pledge this year?” “What can we afford to give next year?”
I want to warn you. Stewardship can become like all the other things that occupy our busy thoughts and anxieties and activities in the church. Filling out that pledge card may feel to you like “one more thing” to take care of in a busy week.
The first stewardship question I want to invite you all to ask is not, “How much can we spare?” or even “How much does the church need?”
The first question to consider is this: WHO AM I?
This was Mary’s first question when Jesus came into her home. Not “What should I do to get ready?” or even “What’s for supper?”
Her first question was this: WHO AM I? And answering that question, the busy-ness of the day faded away and she sat a Jesus’ feet to listen and learn.
I want to be clear about something this stewardship season. You are not a “giver.” You are not a “pledging unit.” You are a disciple of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. And everything, everything, EVERYTHING—stewardship included— begins there.
Amen
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