Sermons

New Ears, New Eyes: Reopening Familiar Stories

“She had a sister named Mary, who sat at Jesus‘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, but few things are needed—indeed only one. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

Mary and Martha are known. Like the prodigal son, the feeding of the 20,000,  the good Samaritan, and the raising of Lazarus, they are a part of even popular cultures. So, we again ask: what is the better part? A gospel narrative, a gospel truth, can become our place to park rather than something we return to again and again, allowing us to be broken open and changed. There are pieces of Jesus’s work that people know and feel, because they heard it once years ago, and it made sense. When it comes to scripture, we are continually called to hear with new ears, to see with new eyes, and to reassess our position again and again.

Many people are familiar with the story of Martha and Mary, and it is easy to see why these two sisters are viewed through the lens of our culture, our families, and, for some of us, our own relationships with our sisters. We are primed by our culture to see this as women fighting, and then Jesus assigning two roles to women. Host or worst yet, the help and the one who takes time to listen, learn, and be a disciple.

The Reverend Kim Jackson, an Episcopal priest, claims that bad theology can “stick deep”. As preachers, as communities gathered around altars, or attending retreats, we need to break open it and find our way to the part that will shake us up and help us get to the better part. We know that we are never done picking these narratives up again and again and seeing what they shake loose for us, teach us and even heal us.

As called people, our task is to listen even when Jesus is making us uncomfortable, and we need to stick together, we need to be resolved not to be broken apart. If we hear Martha and Mary as a binary, we get divided. As God’s people, we must resist that division. Let us this try to hear it in new ways that open us up to be changed as we meet the living God here and now.

Jesus says to Martha, It is your worry and distraction that is the lesser part, not that she is hosting the people gathered. The hosting is important, letting your anxiety rule the moment is not. Jesus is asked to be the arbitrator for Martha and Mary, and in a scant two chapters, Jesus again will be asked, by someone in the crowd, to tell their brother to split the inheritance. Jesus does not take sides in either case, a message we need to hear in this divided world. Importantly, Jesus does not want either set of siblings to become stuck in dispute. The trap we seem to fall into is having Jesus look more and more like us if we do not reopen scripture and ourselves again and again.

In Mary and Martha, we are offered not a binary, but a dynamic tension within the life of discipleship. Martha is not rebuked for her hospitality—indeed, hospitality is a deeply honored virtue throughout Scripture and Christian tradition. It is not her work, but the worry that defines it, which Jesus calls into question.

Mary, on the other hand, assumes the posture of a disciple—sitting at the feet of the teacher, receiving instruction. In doing so, she claims a space that has traditionally been reserved for men. And Jesus affirms her place without reservation. This is not a mere domestic scene—it is a radical moment of inclusion, where the boundary of who may learn, who may be called, is expanded.

In these really well-known stories of the gospel, I often wonder where the rest of the conversation went. Jesus finished up saying that Mary has chosen the better part. What if he continued? Saying Martha, what you are doing is what allows her to do that. Thank you for the work. We all have gifts to bring, and because you created the opportunity to eat together, we will all get to eat and talk about what I want you to hear with new ears. Perhaps Jesus then looks around and says, ‘John, Peter, you know this lesson, so get up and go and help Martha.’

Martha is incredibly significant as a disciple, too. She is not just the hostess. Jesus looks at her and says Martha, Martha. Theologian Lucy Pippiatt tells us that “there are only seven times in the Bible when God uses a name twice – and they are all profoundly significant moments of calling: Abraham, Abraham and Jacob, Jacob both in Genesis , Exodus ~ Moses, Moses. Samuel, (1Samuel) Simon (Luke), and Saul in Acts. Martha is the only woman on the list. Pippiatt believes she held a special place in Jesus’ life, because Jesus knew her potential.

This is not about two sisters having an argument, but about Jesus empowering women and calling them to follow him, pointing out that agitation and anxiety will only get in the way. It is an invitation to live into your gifts, and let me be clear, Martha has more gifts than setting a table or cleaning up. It is a furthering of not letting worry get in the way of a life in Jesus. This message still applies to all of Jesus ‘ disciples, to all of us, 2,000 years later.

It is apparent in both John’s and Luke’s Gospels that this family of siblings —Martha, Mary, and Lazarus —is deeply important to Jesus. He continues to circle back to be with them. There is a sense of home, a sense of place. I often wonder what drew Jesus. They were a family of strong beliefs, people struggling with their identity as followers. Perhaps the home was a place where he could go that was near Jerusalem, with a bed and a quiet space. Home might have been Nazareth, and this was a place of rest. It makes me wonder what my Bethany is, and perhaps you could consider this what yours might be.

Home is a deeply embedded thing. My mum, as an indigenous Haida, was taken at age five to a residential school. Twenty-three hours by tramp steamer away from everything she knew, she never went back to Haida Gwaii. Yet, some 40 years later, she bought a cabin in the Kootenay mountains, and almost 90 years to the day, three of her four daughters got off the ferry, stepped back on Haida land, and with two of my sisters. We looked around and realized we could have been near Kootney Lake, in my awas cabin. My mum had found a home that was deeply embedded in her, yet unknown.

For all of us gathered, we need to continue to weigh where we are called and how we invite others in, what is our Bethany and what gives us our strength. What knits us together.

We must be wary of theologies that divide, that pit listening against serving, or that reduce discipleship to narrow roles. In the Anglican tradition, we are shaped by Word and Sacrament, by Scripture, tradition, and reason. We gather at altars and around tables, not only to do, but to be formed. This gospel challenges us to reexamine what it means to follow Jesus—to ask whether our worry prevents us from serving the kin-dom.

May, we hear this gospel as a community, to listen to it not with anxiety but with Joy, that we hear of home, and let us remain present to Christ in our midst.

May it be so.

Amen.