En el nombre de Dios, quien es nuestro creador, redentor y santificador...
In the name of God, who is our Creator, Red
I often remind people what seems obvious: we are the church, people of God, which means we are a people of prayer. Prayer, as we know, often uses words and symbols, but these are signs that point to something bigger. They always point to God’s plan of love being actualized.
For example, when we see a cross, it means so much more than two planks of wood fastened together. It’s more than an ancient Roman tool of execution. For us, the cross points to Jesus’ sacrifice of himself for our salvation. It is the symbol of Jesus’ victory over the power of sin and death. While it looked like the death of hope, it was actually the divine doorway to new life.
People of God look for the larger meaning behind the words, symbols, and events of our time. We know they point to something bigger, for in them God is continually revealing how God’s ultimate plan of love is being actualized.
Our Old Testament story begins with God showing Amos a basket of fruit, asking, ‘What do you see, Amos? What do you perceive from this?’ Amos replies, “I see a basket of summer fruit.”
It might be helpful to know that the “basket of fruit” reference is a wordplay in Hebrew. The word that translates as basket of fruit sounds like the word that translates as “the end.” God asks Amos, ‘What do you see?’ and Amos says, “the end.”
Today’s story continues from the reading from last week when Amos was prophesying against the way the people in the northern city of Bethel (which means house of God), so how the people of God were living. In response, the king, Jeroboam, told Amos to leave and never return. As Amos left, he shook the dust from his feet, saying, 'The worst things you can think of will happen to you unless you change your ways and get back in line with God’s will for all,' which is what the plumbline meant. God set the plumb line, the way of living, among them, and the prophet declared that God would never again ignore the people’s errancy. The high places, including their altars, will be destroyed, the rulers will die in the violence they have precipitated, and every bad seed they planted will destroy all who follow their ways instead of God’s way.
Hear this, God says: I see you trampling on the vulnerable, and oppressing the powerless. I see you practicing financial deceit so that you can build your own wealth. I see you snatching suckling babies from their mothers and putting my beloved ones in cages. I see all of what you are doing, God says, but you don’t see me.
You are bringing yourselves to the only end you’ve made available to you: your own undoing. When that starts happening, you’ll realize how wrong you’ve been, and you’ll look for me to save you, but you still won’t see me. You have so perverted my Word to support your evil schemes that I have been made irrelevant, invisible, and unavailable to you.
The psalm picks up the theme of calling out the tyrants for their cruelty. “You love lying more than speaking truth. You love all words that hurt.” Now, I am not God, but I can see the very issues discussed in the psalm playing out in our world today, and if social media and the many requests I’ve had for pastoral conversations are any indicator, I’m not alone in this.
That’s why I love the Psalms. They speak so truthfully to our frustration, our sense of powerlessness, and desperation for justice. The author cries out, ‘O that God would hear our prayer and utterly demolish you wicked tyrants, topple you, and root you out of the land of the living.’
The desire for justice, as frustrating as it is, reflects God’s own desire burning in us. How blessed we are to be so frustrated, for it is evidence that we are sharing God’s heart of love. So then, what is our recourse until the justice we desire is actualized? To go prayerfully into the presence of God, where our hearts can be moved from “demolish them utterly” to “I trust in the mercy of God for ever,” as we see in the Psalm. Only then will our responsive actions be faithful.
The news has been so disruptive to my peace lately. In my busy-ness, I’ve had to be intentional about stopping to pray and rest in the love of God, to listen for my Savior’s voice of comfort, to be strengthened by it and led back into peace – into Christ’s peace. I’ve had to make time to sit at the feet of my Redeemer, like Mary did in our gospel story, or risk being sucked down into the whirlpool of the chaos of the world.
This story of Martha and Mary from the gospel of Luke is often discussed in ways that pit Martha against Mary in a competition for holiness. I often hear people say, “I’m a Martha” or “I’m a Mary.” The truth is, we’re all both.
Why our translators changed the word here from ‘the good part’ to ‘the better part’ escapes me and is part of the reason we hear this as a competition. Mary didn’t choose a better part than Martha. When Jesus called Mary’s choice good, he was saying it was admirable, deserving of respect and approval, and he gave it all of that.
Martha’s frustration in this story is that her ministry teammate, Mary, isn’t doing her usual part as they offer their gift of hospitality to Jesus and the disciples. The burden of their whole ministry falls to Martha who tries to go it alone but finds herself bitter and resentful about it.Note to church leadership: this is such a great description of a potential trap regarding ministries in our churches.
Jesus responds with a soothing: Martha, Martha… you are worried and distracted by many things, but there is only one thing that really matters. Look, Mary has chosen the admirable part and it will not be taken from her.
Choice is a sign of our freedom. Jesus affirms this for Mary, a woman of her time who wouldn’t have been allowed in the inner sanctum of the temple to worship, but had the right to choose for herself, and she chose to listen to and be with Jesus.
To all of us who are worried and distracted by many things, Jesus assures the Martha within us, and it sounds something like this: Be still sometimes, all you Marthas. Just be with me. You have no praise to earn, no expectations to meet. You are already beloved. Come and be with me. I will fill your emptiness, restore your hope, and prepare you for your work in ministry.
I often say this is like breathing. We can’t just breathe in or just breathe out without passing out. We must have a rhythm of both. Likewise, we can’t breathe out our ministries until we have breathed in Jesus.
One of the things I love about our diocese is that there are deeply spiritual, prayerful people, and also passionate advocates for justice and peace. While all of us have both qualities, some among us may be more inclined to advocacy than to prayer, others to prayer over action, but as a whole community, we have it all. Our task is to keep a balance of inward forming and strengthening of our souls and outward actualizing through service.
The church, like the house of Martha and Mary, is a center of holy hospitality. Each week, we breathe Jesus in together. We make and share the holy food of Communion with our friends and ministry teammates. Then, strengthened and restored by Word and Sacrament, we are sent into the world to love and serve in the holy name and loving way of Jesus.
There is so much injustice, insult, and damage to life out there, but if we try to serve without first making time to sit in God’s presence, we may end up doing more harm than good.
So, for this moment, let us rest at the feet of our Redeemer, where we will receive the only thing that really matters. Amen.
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