A Different Way of Being

Luke 10:38-42

Most of the time, we read the bible wrong. 

By that I mean, we read the bible like its purpose is to tell us how to act, and what we should be doing.  Really the bible is here to show us glimpses of how God acts, and what God is doing.  But we forget that most of the time. And almost nowhere as much as the story of Mary and Martha. Weird we even call it that, though. Because this isn’t a story about two sisters, pitted against each other, Mary the thinker and Martha the doer, Mary the serene vs. Martha the preoccupied.  This isn’t designed to help us divide the world into Marys and Marthas and decide which one is better (Mary), because Jesus says so.  And it’s certainly not meant to send us home striving to be Marys, while secretly thinking, dear God, everything would fall apart without the Marthas.

 

This is not a story to tell us how to be and what to do. This is a story about an encounter Jesus had with a woman named Martha. It begins, A woman named Martha welcomed Jesus into her home. Let’s start there. She wasn’t wife of so and so, or daughter of who’s its.  A powerful, capable, head of the household woman named Martha welcomed Jesus into her home.  

 

Martha and her sister Mary and brother Lazarus were Jesus’s friends. Martha’s house is where Jesus went when he needed a break from the road, needed to feel like he was going home to his people. It’s where he rested. Where he found solace.  Where he felt known. So let’s get that clear: Martha was arguably the savior’s favorite host. She regularly ministered hospitality to God incarnate. 

And they were all close. They told it like it was to each other, these siblings and Jesus. Martha is the one who reminds Jesus of his power to heal when Lazarus dies, and demands to know, Where were you, Lord?

Martha is a strong, competent person.  And good grief, who knows, she might have been a terrific storyteller or a fantastic card player. I’m just saying, she was possibly really fun to be around, or at least had all sorts of great character qualities that made her an excellent friend to Jesus.  But how would we know that?

We’ve boiled her down to not her best moment.  We’ve made being overwhelmed and stressed out her entire personality.  

 

Sometimes, in my not best moments, I wonder if being overwhelmed and stressed is my entire personality.  It sure feels right now like being overwhelmed and stressed has become our national personality.

 

I could begin to name why it’s our not best moment, and why we are collectively overwhelmed and stressed out, worried and distracted, but I don’t even have to list all the things– because it’s all the things.  It feels like most of us are carrying an internal list all the time.  We’re tense and clenched. Panic-level anxiety is at the ready. All we have to do is reach for it.  And not even that, really, it’s being dropped right into our laps at every turn. For most people right now, it would be hard to name an area of life that doesn’t feel a tad precarious. 

 

So our prayers start to sound a little like Martha when she’s had it, and like the disciples in the boat, being tossed about in the flashing darkness by the loud and terrible storm while Jesus sleeps soundly in the stern, because they say the same exact thing. Lord, don’t you even care? Don’t you even care that we are drowning? 

 

And when I am in a state, what I want is for the person I am dumping my anxiety onto, to join me in the deep end of despair. I want them to say, Oh my goodness, yes! This is terrible! This is, in fact, worse than you even thought!  No wonder you are overwhelmed!  Your panic is totally justified! This ship is going down, no doubt about it! 

At least, that’s what I think I want. That’s what I believe would feel good to hear in the moment. 

 

But here’s the thing about our God, who came into this whole storm of a life with and for us all  – God doesn’t necessarily see things the same way we do.  And even better, God can’t get pulled into our flawed interpretation of reality.

 

Jesus sees Martha for real. He listens past her desperation, and what she thinks should happen to make her feel better, how she thinks things could be put right (Make Mary help me!). He doesn’t sign on to her strategy because he doesn’t buy her interpretation of reality.  Instead he hears her need. He listens to the heart of her. He sees and upholds her humanity.  

 

Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.  There is need of only one thing.  Mary has chosen the good, and it will not be taken away from her.

 

At first this might have sounded super annoying to her. Maybe she didn’t want to give up her strategy. Make her help me.  Maybe her righteous anger felt too hot to let go just yet. But I suspect it had a different effect. There is something so powerful about being seen. Martha. I see you, Martha. You are worried. You have so much weighing on you.  I see your distress, and I see that you are pulled in many directions.  

And then he says, There is need of only one thing.

 

And oh, I wish he had expounded on this! But he goes on to say, Mary has chosen the good part. And it will not be taken away from her.

 

Jesus will not participate in the lie that we are drowning, that things are urgent, that we are alone, no matter how real or overwhelming it all feels to us. Instead, the one with the power to quiet the storm reminds us again, I care about you.  And I care about your sister. And I am right here.  You are not alone. You have a choice. And so does everyone else.  I won’t take that choice away. 

 

We don’t have to live as though we are alone, as though it is all up to us, as though we are against one another instead of in it together.  Whatever the storms around us, between us or inside us, they are never more powerful or more real than God.  We are not drowning.  The one who made and loves us all is right here in our midst, we cannot be destroyed. We can feel overwhelmed, terrified, worried, anxious and afraid. We will even die.  But however bad it feels, or even gets, we are held in the love that does not waver or falter or fail.  Love does and will prevail.

 

When Martha is feeling at the end of her rope, she actually comes to Jesus with her panic and her stress, her demand that he change someone else’s behavior, and her accusation, Lord, don’t you even care? That is courageous and faithful and honest.  And Jesus meets her right there - in her misunderstanding of reality and her misguided strategy, and her bold trust, and he invites her to freedom. He invites her into a different way of being, a deeper way of trusting.

 

And I am not going to praise Mary for ditching out on her part of the work. But I am going to listen when Jesus says Mary has chosen the good.  Maybe choosing the good has nothing to do with ignoring what can or should be done. Maybe choosing the good is about turning our hearts toward the presence of God in the midst of whatever we are in.  Maybe it’s about receiving Christ more than doing things for him. Maybe the good has something to do with letting ourselves long for the one needful thing.

 

There is need of only one thing. I want it explained. I want, if I am honest, to be told what to do and think and how to act. I keep repeating that tantalizing, exasperating phrase to myself, turning it over in my mind, There is need of only one thing. It’s mysterious, and feels deeply true, and I don’t know how to grab hold of it, and I want to grab hold of it to make myself feel better. I want to wield it like a strategy.

Instead, I suspect, that very sensation of not knowing what to do with it, of instead letting it grab hold of us like an irritating invitation, that is what we’re nudged toward today. There is need of only one thing. Only one thing is necessary.

 

Sometimes our not best moments become a gateway into a different way of being, an invitation to find a new freedom.  Sometimes dumping our anxiety and our misguided strategies onto God can result in a whole new possibility opening up before us. This is what God does.  God is with us. God is right here. We are worried and distracted by many things.  But there is need of only one thing. 

 

Amen.

 

____________________

Prayer Practice: 

Take an index card or post-it note. Write on it your name, and these words from Jesus.

Put it somewhere you will see it often this week. When you see it, let it stop you. Breathe. Imagine Jesus asking speaking the words to you. 

 

___________, ___________ you are worried and distracted by many things.  There is need of only one thing.  

Drowning, deep breaths, and who defines reality

 Luke 10:38-42

The story of Mary and Martha almost always leads to some kind of polarizing assumptions about how we should be and what we should do, that tend to begin with, So, are you a Mary or a Martha? In other words, Are you a doer? Or a thinker? – (and before you answer, serene thinkers are clearly better than busy doers). 

EXCEPT that nothing gets done without the doers, so don’t say it too loudly.  Who’s going to get the food on the table if everyone is sitting around at the feet of Jesus? What would happen if we all stopped doing? Nothing. That’s what would happen. A whole lot of nothing would get done.  And then where would we be? 

Martha is muttering all of this to herself while she slams the pots down on the stove and glares into the living room, trying to catch Mary’s eye, while Mary is apparently casually on purpose ignoring her.  And the dinner starts to burn and the table isn’t set and the other guests are approaching, finally, driven to desperation, Martha tattles.

 And you know it has to be bad when the quintessential host of a welcoming home tattles to the guest.  Her stress is through the roof and she has blown a gasket.

Lord, don’t you even care that she’s left me to do all the work alone?  Tell her to help me!

But before we judge her too harshly, or, as has always been the case with me, sympathize with her too completely, before we try to make this some kind of lesson in how to be better at whatever, I want to notice the way she says this.  It’s urgent. It’s panicked.  This woman is overwhelmed.

And, while it couldn’t be a more different story, still, it reminds me of another time friends of Jesus said, “Lord, don’t you even care… that we are dying! It was when the disciples were caught in the middle of a terrible storm, and the boat was going under, and Jesus was asleep ASLEEP in the stern.  And they shook him awake in terrified panic and said these same words, Lord, don’t you even care… Don’t you even care that we are drowning here?

And for as much as that is NOT where Martha is, it is where she feels like she is. I am drowning here! Tell her to help me!  I am alone! Do something!  Jesus, don’t you even care?

It is said that in this day and age we live in this heightened flight or fight state of stress much of the time.  And from time to time, on an otherwise ordinary day, I find myself here – when the chaos and noise start to build, drama is escalating, little people are arguing, the house is messy, the dogs are barking, and I look around and notice that my husband is off somewhere minding his own business, blissfully relaxing or something, and I suddenly feel desperate and alone. I get more and more worked up until I yell out- Hey, don’t you even care - ?

That I am drowning! That I can’t take it anymore? Do something!

And when he hears me and wanders into the situation, one of two things happens.  Either he calmly speaks normal voice words into my chaos, Kara, this is you.  You’re pretty stressed right now.  Take a deep breath.   And I’ll be honest, at first this is annoying, but just a single deep breath later and I gradually realize that I am not really drowning after all, and it’s mostly in my interpretation of things, and we all calm down and approach things differently. 

Or more likely, the alternative happens, which is that he buys my interpretation of things and jumps into the chaos along with me, which at first feels satisfying, but quickly becomes unhelpful because now we are both drowning, yelling, overwhelmed and out of sorts, ratcheting up the stress for everyone.

Jesus doesn’t get sucked into Martha’s interpretation of things.

She is not drowning.

And just like the disciples, tossed about in the little boat in the big storm, Martha has lost sight of who is sitting in her midst.  She has allowed the elements, the demands she feels and the situation around her to tell her what reality is.   

But again and again, in every moment with every person, Jesus is inviting us to interpret reality differently.

Jesus is inviting us to live in the truth that in life or in death we are held in the love of God. To take a deep breath and set it all down once in a while to come back to that truth. 

That nothing can separate us from the love of God.

That life is a gift. 

That God made this whole thing in all it complexity so that we could enjoy it together with God, together with each other, together with all that lives and breathes and grows and dies and buzzes and chirps and flows and rumbles and sits silent and majestic and unmoving in the background and crawling and bawling and snoozing and snorting in the foreground.

People keep forgetting this, in every time and place and every way imaginable. People keep finding all sorts of new and creative ways of cutting ourselves off from each other and from God, defining reality by all sorts of false and demanding standards.  Acting as though we are alone, as though it is all up to us, as though we are against one another instead of in it together.

And so God comes right among us to remind us again, in walking alongside, talking alongside, living alongside, suffering alongside.  But even with Godwithus in the living room, we still slip into worry and distraction and forgetting.

The saddest thing ever said to me by my children, the most poignant and piercing moment I’ve had as a mom so far, which felt like a kick in the gut, was when my three year old daughter said to me one day, “Mommy, play with me!  Please play with me, Mommy. You can bring your computer.”

And I looked up from the screen into her pleading little face and I began to cry.  How could I have so lost what’s real? 

Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.  There is need of only one thing.  Mary has chosen the good, and it will not be taken away from her.

What would it look like to let Jesus define reality instead of the relentless demands and overwhelming threats of the world?  Those messages that tell us who to be, and who to fear, who to hate, and who to admire, and what to do to make ourselves worthy, important, good enough, what to avoid to keep ourselves righteous, what is powerful and what is weak and how threatened we are at any given urgent moment.

The word for distracted in the Greek has a sense of being pulled in many different directions.  We are pulled in so many different directions that we miss the meaning; we lose what’s real.

We worry so much about the hypothetical and the correct, get so distracted by the urgent and the important, become so focused on the job to be done and the cause to be fought and the service to be offered and the duty to be done that we sometimes miss the human beings right in front of us, and we sometimes miss the opportunity to be a human being ourselves.

It is here that we meet Jesus, always here, with and for each other.  God is present in our lives. Participating in life.  We can be too!

Come to me all you who are weary and heavy-burdened and I will give you rest, Jesus said. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and I will give you rest for your souls.

Whether the storms are around us, between us or inside us, they are never bigger or more powerful or more real than the God who enters in and calls us to do likewise. 

We’ll forget a lot, and we will need reminding, like Martha did, that we aren’t really drowning.  That the one who made and loves us all is right here in our midst. That there might be a different, more real way to see and exist in reality than the one that we’re buckling under at the moment.

We don’t have to live as though we are alone, as though it is all up to us, as though we are against one another instead of in it together.

And the promise is that we will be reminded, when we get brave enough or desperate enough, frustrated enough, or scared enough to ask the question Martha burst out and the disciples cried out, Lord, don’t you even care?

Because Jesus can’t get sucked into our interpretation of it all, no matter how real or overwhelming it feels to us.

Instead, the one with the power to quiet the storm reminds us again, I care about you.  And I care about your sister.  And I am right here.  You are not alone.

So come, weary ones, heavy burdened ones. Come workaholics and worriers.  Come thinkers and doers and fighters and doubters, and bring your own real self and your own real versions of the question, whatever they may be.

Lord, don’t you even care?

Lord, don’t you even care– about a teenage boy being shot and his killer going free?  We’re broken, it’s bigger and deeper and sadder than we can grasp. 

Lord, don’t you even care that the church is so messed up? That people get hurt and lies get spread and judgment and hatred define us instead of love and mercy? 

Lord, don’t you even care that the cancer is back?  And it is winning?

That the gulf between us is widening? And I can’t seem to find forgiveness or even words?

That there doesn’t seem to be a way out of this situation, and I am not sure how we’re going to make it?

That I am overwhelmed and sleep-deprived? That my stress is through the roof?

 

Lord, don’t you even care that we are drowning here?

And then, may the one whose love holds us all, in life and in death, God incarnate in our midst, raise gentle eyes to your anxious face, and in compassion and understanding, speak the voice of calm into your storm, My child, you are pulled in many directions and worried about many things. But there is need of only one thing. 

And at first it’s annoying – because we’d prefer he jump in and agree with us that it’s all too much.  

But after one deep breath it becomes hope, peace, a lifeline, as we are invited to set down our many worries and sit, for a time, at the feet of Jesus, and find rest for our souls.

Jesus, draw us into the one thing, bring us into your love, that we may know we are not alone, and that as real as our troubles are, and as necessary as our work may be, chaos and fear, anger and hopelessness, worry and distraction may not define our reality.

Jesus, speak peace to our turbulent hearts and awaken our joy, that we may recognize you and join you where you are, right here in this holy life with us, right here in this ordinary life with each other.

Amen.