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Luke 10: 38–42
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Lord, may we hear your voice in the words spoken in your Name. Amen.
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As many of you know, for the last few months I have been putting a
quote – often one by an Episcopalian or Anglican writer – into
our church’s weekly ad in The Eatonton Messenger. And
this week I chose a quote by G. K. Chesterton, the witty 20th
century Christian apologist. “The way to love
anything,” he wrote, “is to realize that it might be
lost.” When I chose that quote this week for the paper, I
realized it could apply to any number of issues we are facing these
days. We could lose “this fragile earth, our island
home” to climate change if we don’t find a way to curb
fossil fuels. We could lose our democracy, if we don’t enact
laws to safeguard it. And, more and more, every parent and
grandparent begins to realize we could lose our dear children to gun
violence if we don’t find a way to protect them in their
schools. So – yes — we are thinking hard about all
these issues these days. We are looking for ways to save what we
love.
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Now I don’t know how much Mary and Martha knew of the dangers
Jesus was facing as he approached Jerusalem. But Jesus had already
begun to tell his disciples – not just once but several
times – that when they reached Jerusalem, he would be seized by
the Temple authorities, and would suffer greatly at their
hands. And now, of course, as they approach the home of Mary and
Martha in Bethany – they are right on the doorstep of Jerusalem,
just a mile or two outside the city limits. If there was ever a
time for the two sisters to show their love it was now.
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But these two sisters showed their love in very different
ways. Martha decided to toil in the kitchen, cooking up a storm,
so she could give her guests the best meal she could possibly
provide. But Mary chose a different path. Not wanting to
miss a single word Jesus had to say, she sat down at Jesus’ feet
and hung on his every word. No matter that this was the traditional
position of a disciple, a role usually reserved for men. Mary had
realized what was most important in her life. And she wasn’t
about to miss it.
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Mary’s example that evening in Bethany reminds me of a time in my
own life when I finally realized how important my faith was to
me. When our two elder children were still quite small, my husband
Walt and I moved to London for a sabbatical year. And while we
loved many aspects of living there, still, I began to realize that
something was missing. . . and that something
was any kind of church life.
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Now, there was a small stone Anglican church just two blocks from our
flat, but most Sunday mornings its doors were locked. Evidently
there weren’t enough parishioners – or maybe enough
money – to keep the doors open on any kind of regular
basis. In fact, the only notice I ever had that a service was
about to begin in that church was hearing the bell toll – usually
late on a Sunday afternoon. Hearing that bell, I would quickly
hand the children off to Walt, throw on a coat, and dash out the
door – across Hemingford Road, past the pub, down the hill past
the park and the library, and finally, would run breathlessly into the
church narthex. As if my life depended on it. Which it
probably did.
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Invariably, some kind–faced lady would greet me – “May
we help you, dear? Are you all right?” Well, yes
and no. I was and I wasn’t. But I was finally where
I needed to be, and by the end of the service I had usually received
what I’d been missing.
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What I’d been missing was Jesus, a vital connection with
Jesus. And in those services, I began to receive him. In
scriptures and hymns and prayers, I was fed with his Word – maybe
just as Mary was fed as she listened to Jesus teaching that evening in
Bethany. And what she received, I venture to say, wasn’t just
head knowledge – any more than what we are getting here in this
church this morning is just head knowledge. No, I think what she
was receiving was his holy love. Even as she was offering her own
love to Him as she sat at his feet. In fact, that’s what
we’re doing here this morning. Like some great ocean current,
flowing back and forth, the love is flowing back and forth between
us. We are being bathed in our Lord’s love for us – even
as we offer our love to Him – in our prayers, in our praise and
in our willingness to listen.
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Now, that’s not to say that Jesus disparaged the hospitality that
Martha was offering as she toiled away in the kitchen, cooking for him
and his disciples. But he saw what all that work cost
her – and he didn’t want her to miss what Mary was
receiving. And it really is possible to do both. In fact,
Jesus was always offering people “both/and” rather
than “either/or.”
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“Lord, what is the most important law in all the Law of
Moses?” someone asked him.
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“Love the Lord your God with all your
heart . . . and with all your
mind . . . and with all your
strength,” Jesus said. “And the second is like unto
it: love your neighbor as yourself.”
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“Which one, Jesus? Which one are we supposed to
do?” we ask.
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“Do them both,” he says. For the way you love your
neighbor will show how you love God. And vice versa. But it
helps if you put loving God first – first in your week as you
take time out for God and worship him with others who love
him. Maybe that is why the Sabbath came on the first day of the
week. But also — first in your day as you pray, as you
praise, as you listen. Then and only then you have received what
you need to serve him.
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And that’s what we come here for – to be reminded of the
one important thing – God’s love for
us . . . and our love in return for
him. For in that love, flowing back and forth between us, we
begin to catch glimpses of the way God sees things. In that love,
flowing back and forth between us we begin to find the peace that
passes all understanding. In that love, flowing back and forth
between us we can let go of the things that have worried us, the
things that have been distracting us.
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Somehow, things work better when we take the time to sit at
Jesus’ feet.
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Amen
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