What Is Needed

 

Luke 10:38-42   

I served a church that had a board of deacons made up entirely of women. And so the first year I worked with the nominating committee I strongly encouraged them to consider some men who might be called to serve as a deacon.

Not too long after that I got a visit to my office from Doreen, the moderator of the Deacons. She was in a fit. She said, “I heard you all nominated Ty for deacon. Just tell me: what am I supposed to do with him? He can’t bake!”

I tried to argue that there was really much more to the ministry of the deacons than baking cookies, but Doreen was still doubtful. “Well, besides,” I said, “How do you know he can’t bake?”

I had no idea at all if Ty could bake a batch of cookies, but mostly I wanted to get beyond the ideas everyone had about women’s work and men’s work. There are some pretty resistant ideas about gender roles in the church, and when people step out of bounds, you never know what might happen.

You might be surprised that this little story about Mary and Marth and Jesus arouses as much passion as it does. In its own little domestic way, it is about as provocative as Jesus’ most shocking parables. Everybody has something to say about it.

Most people, based on my informal assessment, seem to disagree with Jesus. People feel very strongly that Mary really should have been in the kitchen with Martha. But not necessarily because they believe a woman’s place is in the kitchen. Most people seem to feel this way because they are sympathetic to Martha and the burden she is carrying.

When good church people look at Mary – let’s admit it – we think she is lazy. She should be helping her sister.

But that is not to say that Martha doesn’t have every right to sit at Jesus’ feet, too. Sitting at Jesus’ feet to learn is a very good thing, right? It’s not just for men, right?

It’s pretty easy to get tied up in knots with this story. Most of the women’s voices I have heard speaking about this – you can tell they’re tied up in knots – they will say, yes it would have been fabulous for Martha to go sit beside her sister at Jesus’ feet. But we just have one question: is anyone going to eat? Who will prepare the food?

I don’t know if anyone here needs to hear this, but here it is: food doesn’t just cook itself.

No one in the story seems at all concerned about what any of the male disciples were doing. Where were they? Hanging out in the yard smoking, telling stories, waiting for someone to call them in for dinner?

Not to say the men were useless. If Martha needed a jar opened, or if she needed something from the top shelf, they would have been right there. But they’re not going to be much help stuffing the little mushroom caps or putting the toothpicks in the bacon-wrapped water chestnuts.  For that she’s going to need Mary.

A story like this pushes our buttons. Because as much as things have changed, and they really have – I always thought my father would have starved to death if there wasn’t a woman around to put a plate of food in front of him – it is still true that women do the majority of the domestic work.

But, as Jesus said to Martha, let’s not get worried and distracted by these things. Because I don’t believe this story really has anything to do with gender roles or housework. It’s about figuring out what the one thing is that’s needed. At any particular time and place, what is needed?

Churches, maybe Presbyterian churches in particular, are full of Marthas. Both male and female Marthas. Because we know, what would happen otherwise? If it weren’t for Martha, how would the coffee get made, the candles get filled, the paraments get changed to the proper color for the season? How would we have music or sound or flowers? Would we just let the light bulbs all burn out until eventually we were sitting in darkness? On communion Sunday, would we just have to imagine we are eating the bread and drinking the cup because no one bothered to prepare the elements? Would we let the bulletins sit in the office and figure that if people want one, they can just go to the office and get one?

There are so many things that need to be done. What is this “one thing” Jesus speaks of?

I once took it upon myself to teach a small group of Presbyterians how to practice contemplative prayer. I told them this is what it is: a simple practice of sitting in a comfortable position, closing your eyes, and clearing your mind of all distracting thoughts. For about 20 minutes.

Go ahead and clear all that stuff out of the way and wait for God to speak to you. And if, while you’re waiting, your mind starts to run off chasing some thought, gently pull it back. Okay? So we gave it a try.

After about five minutes, one of the men in the group, Steve, let out an exasperated sigh. “O man, my mind was everywhere,” he said. “I was thinking about everything I have going on at work, at home, all the things I need to do.”

His wife Connie, sitting next to him, smiled. She said, “I just imagined myself sitting at Jesus’ feet. And whenever a thought or a worry came in my mind, I imagined taking it in my hands and laying it down at his feet. And it was easy to let it go.”

Such a showoff that Mary can be. But, really, answer me this: How is the church going to show love to our neighbors if all we ever do is sit at Jesus’ feet?

Who is going to collect the groceries and take them over to the food pantry for the poor? Who is going to pack up the backpacks and take them to the school so kids will have food in their homes over the weekend? Who is going to greet newcomers and let them know they are welcome here? Who is going to teach the children and let them know that God loves them, and we love them?

There are so many things that need to be done. What is this “one thing?”

I don’t think anyone seriously questions the idea that there are many things the church should be doing. There are many things Jesus told us we should be doing: feeding the hungry, healing the sick, clothing the naked and housing the homeless, comforting the afflicted and freeing the oppressed.

Jesus wants us to work for justice as well as for peace, to do God’s will on earth as it is in heaven. You know, not much.

I once participated in a program that was intended to revitalize congregations. The focus was on figuring out what the congregation’s particular gifts are, then figuring out what the community’s particular needs are, and then making a plan to do something. Just do something.

The consultants who led this program were so energetic and creative and just great at coming up with heaping handfuls of ideas that would help a congregation get moving, get working. But at a certain point I had to admit to myself that I felt something lacking. There was one thing, one thing needed, that was missing for me. To sit at the feet of Jesus.

And without that I felt empty. And tired. Anxious. And maybe a little cranky.

Connie, who was in that contemplative prayer group I led – you know Connie, who bears a very strong resemblance to Mary? It wasn’t surprising that she felt at ease with contemplative prayer. Connie was a powerful pray-er, everyone knew it. She walked around with something almost like an aura, she radiated spirituality.

But do you know what else Connie did? Connie ran a soup kitchen in the church every Saturday. This kitchen fed hundreds of people every week. There were dozens of volunteers. Every church in the community, and other organizations, too, contributed to the soup kitchen in some way.

The people came to this soup kitchen to have their bodies fed with good food, and their souls fed with love and joy. There was no one, no matter how difficult, who did not get loved and fed. Connie was the heart and the energy behind this. And Connie could not have done it if she did not, regularly, spend time at Jesus’ feet.

You know, I have been to other soup kitchens that aren’t like that. Places where you see people bustling around the kitchen, tired and short-tempered, resentful. Maybe a little bit like Martha was that day when she came storming out of the kitchen complaining. The people I see at those places, I think maybe they have forgotten why they are doing it.

Because it turns out there really is just one thing that is needed. To stay close to Jesus, to listen to Jesus.

All good things will flow from that.

Photo:  Yes, I can bake.

A Plumb Line

 

Amos7:1-17     

Luke 10:25-37   

Kim told me recently that I am about due for a lighthearted sermon. I told him I would certainly keep that in mind. Honestly, I would like nothing more than to make you smile and even laugh. Even though the world keeps lobbing grenades at us.

There is a film I love called Four Weddings and a Funeral. It is a comedy that follows a group of friends as they attend weddings together. Hilarious things happen – disastrous best man speech, lost wedding rings, a very nervous and stuttering priest, and so on. Then at one of the weddings they attend, someone dies, which is not funny at all. The funeral follows, a very tender scene. Then the comedy resumes, but now they are all, somehow, changed. Life does that to a person. We wear the hardships in our bodies. All of us do.

You don’t forget the traumas you have been through; they live somewhere within you. You don’t slough off the weight of grief. These things simply become a part of who you are, they change the way you see and how you live.

And so I spent some time this past week thinking about how changed the people of Highland Park are now from one week ago. Last Sunday they were enjoying a holiday weekend, like we all were. And the next day their world changed.

This one is personal for me because I have family in Highland Park. I have spent many beautiful summer days on the very same streets that were covered in blood last Monday. My cousin and her family were planning to be at the parade – her son was supposed to be in the parade – until her husband came down with COVID. The realization that COVID might have saved their lives gave me a feeling I can’t describe.

No one who was there on that day will be the same again. But even the people who did not attend the parade will be changed by this. Because random acts of mass gun violence have come to their hometown.

And we who are watching this from a distance, once again, are sad and angry and bewildered, because it’s just not the way it is supposed to be. We would all like to shout out in protest: This is not the way it is supposed to be!

Every third year in our Common Lectionary we have the summer of the prophets, and this is that summer. And every time it comes up I think, really? Does that feel appropriate to you? These guys, they lack a summery vibe – they’re so heavy, no lightheartedness in them at all. Over the years, I have become pretty good at ignoring the prophets. 

But this may be the time to listen to them. Because the prophets come bearing the message that things are not the way they are supposed to be.

And here we have Amos, the man who rejects the title altogether but still bears the prophetic message: Things are not the way they are supposed to be.

Amos was, in his own description, a herdsman and a dresser of sycamore trees. He had plenty at home to keep him busy, but apparently out of the clear blue sky, like a random bolt of lightning, God called him to deliver a message to the kingdom of Israel. A message that put in the strongest terms possible: This is not the way it is supposed to be.

He shared it using the image of the plumb line. The Lord would set a plumb line in the midst of Israel to show how far the people had strayed from God’s way.

And truly they had strayed far off course. Things were not the way they were supposed to be in Israel. The rich were unspeakably rich; the poor were devastatingly poor. And the rich and powerful were more than willing to sacrifice the lives of the poor for the sake of increasing their riches.

They paid lip service to God’s law, but their actions betrayed what was in their hearts. They observed the sabbath, but anxiously waited for the day to be over so they could get back to cheating and exploiting their neighbors. You don't have to take my word for it. It’s all there, written in Amos’s book.

Amos said, “They trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth and push the afflicted out of the way.” (See what I mean about heavy?) They would abuse their brothers and sisters to the max, even to death. No, this is not the way it is supposed to be in the world God created.

See how the plumb line reveals the truth: Amos, the herdsman, the reluctant prophet, the plumb line who shows us how things are supposed to be.

Don’t we need a plumb line in this world of ours! We have the scriptures, and we have the ability to read them. But the truth is we are tempted to read them in a way that lends justification to our desires, righteousness to our actions. It’s not hard to delude ourselves.

We need a plumb line, because the naked eye is prone to distorting things. We think we have that picture hung straight. But later we stand back and look at it, we see our mistakes from a different vantage point. 

We think we were fully justified in our action, but later when we are telling a friend about it, we see the look in their eyes that tells us, no, we were not justified.

A plumb line might save us from ourselves sometimes. If we could just check ourselves against it we might see the right way before we go off and do something stupid, possibly even dangerous. A plumb line might make us pause, think. And, a plumb line might stir us to action when action is needed.

We have always struggled with the conflict of wanting to do right and wanting what we want. As much as the young lawyer who approached Jesus on that day, struggling with his desires. He wanted to inherit eternal life. Which was something he felt deserving of, it went without saying. In his own estimation he had lived a life without blemish. He had crossed all the T’s and dotted all the I’s. He was just taking this opportunity to do a final check, to have the rabbi confirm for him what he already knew.

Then Jesus dropped a plumb line.

There was a man who fell into the hands of bandits, who robbed him and left him half-dead on the road. A good priest came upon him – but he quickly crossed over to the other side. A good Levite came upon him, and he too quickly crossed over to the other side. Then a lousy Samaritan came along. This worthless soul picked the man up, dressed his wounds, and took him to a place where he could receive medical attention – and he paid for the man’s medical care. That miserable, good-for-nothing villain did this.

The clever young lawyer saw what Jesus did there, and this was a life-changing opportunity for him. He could become a new man, even better than he was before! Less self-satisfied. More compassionate. He could even become a man who carries the word out to the world: this is not the way it is supposed to be. But let me show you the way it should be.

Like Amos.

A person can be changed when the plumb line drops. When you see just how off-course things are, you can’t go back to seeing things the way you did before.

I called my aunt last week to see how she was doing after the July 4 shootings. And she said to me, “This is a life-changing experience for us. But you know what? Just as many people died of gun violence that day in the city of Chicago and no one seems to care. How horrible is that?”

My prayer today is that we will see the plumb lines around us clearly and recognize what they show us about the way things are, and the way things should be. That we will no longer shrug our shoulders in the face of tragedies, saying that’s just the way it is, nothing you can do. And that we all might be plumb lines for others in the world, showing others the way things might, and should, be.

Picture: ChurchArt.Com

Overwhelmed

 Luke 10:1-11,16-20    

It was about 25 years ago and I was working as a Director of Christian Education in a Presbyterian congregation. I was in my late thirties. And I was in conversation with another member, Marilyn, who was interested in teaching an adult class in the church. She had never taught in the church before. She was a clinical psychologist. She had been a member of the church for years, although not much involved. But now she was interested in becoming more involved and teaching seemed like a good avenue to her. Her reason, she told me, was that she was getting older – in her seventies, I think. And, she said, the closer she came to the end of life, the more interested she became in matters of faith.

I don’t know offhand what the average age is in our congregation, or any congregation for that matter. But I do know that I hear often about the “graying” of the church. We have more retired than working people here. We know this is largely because older folks are members of generations in which churchgoing was the norm, while younger folks are part of generations that are less likely to see the value in church attendance. But there’s more to it than that. It is also true that even older folks who have not been life-long active church members have a tendency to find their way to a church as the years go by. Maybe we all, like Marilyn, find our priorities shifting as we see heaven drawing nearer.

In the gospel of Luke, we are in a section in which, as Luke tells us, Jesus has set his face toward Jerusalem. We know what this meant for him – in Jerusalem was his death, so this means he was beginning to look beyond this world. This seemed to be a bit off-putting for some people, but for Jesus it was essential.

To prepare his disciples, he began sending them out on their own, to try their hand at ministry. First, he sent out the 12, the inner circle. Their mission was to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal. Later, in this passage, he sends out a much larger group to go in pairs to all the places he, himself, intends to visit. He sends them with instructions to bring peace with them and virtually nothing else – no purse, no bag, no sandals. Just peace. And healing. And the message that the kingdom of God has come near.

The kingdom of God is near. And just as it was a bit off-putting for some of the people Jesus approached, it probably had the same effect on some towns and villages the disciples entered. Jesus gave them instructions about what to do when their message is rejected. I suppose that some people didn’t understand what the kingdom of God had to do with the world in which they lived.

I don’t blame them. Sometimes, it can seem like the peace of Christ is just a temporary escape from the world in which we live.

I heard a sermon this past week that was just posted online. The preacher described hiking in the redwoods of California with his wife. It was such a peaceful experience; it felt like nothing else mattered but just being there in that moment. But then it was time to leave, and they got in their car to drive home. They turned on the radio and heard the news of the day: a mass murder. The war in Ukraine. Leaked reports from the Supreme Court. Toxic politics in primaries of one state after another. And just like that, their peace was gone.

When they went back into the world, their peace evaporated, and they wondered if what they felt was really peace at all. Or maybe just an illusion.

I know that there have always been hard times, but it does seem as though we have had more than our share of bad news in recent years. The COVID-19 pandemic, a once in a lifetime experience (I hope), has been very hard. But if it were only COVID it would be so much easier.

Instead, we raise the temperature by politicizing everything – masks, vaccines, providing help to those in need. And, instead of supporting one another as we go through a hardship together, we attack one another. Our distrust of one another grows. Our distrust of our institutions grows. Conspiracy theories, accusations, and attacks are constantly in the air. It feels like our whole system is broken. And there is no peace.

The preacher went on to say that he was growing to understand that true peace is a whole lot more than just the nice feeling you get when you’re not fighting with anyone; true peace is the presence of real justice. And it seems like justice is in short supply in our world.

There are so many kinds of injustice, which are all interconnected. Martin Luther King said that injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere; that we are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality. That is to say, we are all in this together. If we try to separate ourselves from the needs of the world, we do harm to ourselves as much as to the needy. Justice is complicated. The need is overwhelming.

And so, the preacher I was listening to said, when we feel overwhelmed we might just decide to pull back. We feel inadequate to the task. Let someone else, someone better equipped, try. And when we pull back, we leave a vacuum that might be filled by more injustice, more hate, more violence. The answer, this preacher said, is for each of us to take back our moral autonomy and be a force for what is right, for justice. And in this work, we may find that ever-elusive peace.

He said a lot more, which I won’t go into, but I will tell you it was inspiring. This was not a Presbyterian preacher, though. This was not a preacher from any church, actually, or even any other religion. This was a sermon delivered at a gathering called Civic Saturday, where you find people who may not have an affinity for religion have a hunger for meaning. They come together for community, for healing, and then they go out into the world to make a difference.

They are a lot like church – without Jesus. But there may be another important difference: They are not looking for heaven somewhere down the road, pie in the sky in the sweet by and by. They are looking for that kind of peace and love right here in this world.

I’m not going to join Civic Saturday, as appealing as certain aspects are, because I would miss Jesus too much. I need church. But I also need the church to say loud and clear, “The kingdom of God is near.” And to do our very best to bridge the gap between this world and God’s kingdom, to bring the kingdom to more of this world.

I cannot think of a time when our nation has been more needful of Christians who will do this: bring healing, bring justice, bring peace.

I once asked a group of church people how they felt about the notion of being sent out into the world as Jesus sent out the 70 disciples. They all said they felt inadequate. And it’s true, we are inadequate. We are easily overwhelmed with the needs as we see them – the fighting, the toxic politics, the gross inequality, the ways we see our civic norms breaking down and raw power taking their place. It’s enough to make you withdraw into your prayer closet.

But let us remember that Jesus sent his disciples out. He sent them with instructions to heal. He sent them with peace to share. He sent them with a little bit of the kingdom of heaven, which was more than adequate.

In these days of fear and distrust and polarization, may we know that the kingdom of heaven is not for some time later. It is not for our escape. The kingdom of heaven is for here and now, and it is given to us. When you are overwhelmed, remember this: the kingdom of heaven is here. May we share it.

Photo by أخٌ‌في‌الله on Unsplash

Those Who Pick Up the Mantle

2 Kings 2:1-2,6-14      

Last week we were with Elijah on Mount Horeb listening to the Lord in the silence…when Elijah came to know that he was not actually alone as he had thought. There were thousands more doing the same work he was doing.

He heard from the Lord that he should find a man called Elisha, son of Shaphat of Abel-mehola, and anoint him prophet. Elisha would be the one to take Elijah’s place.

So Elijah went off in search of Elisha. He found him out plowing a field. Elijah walked by the other man and threw his mantle over him. Elisha stepped away from the plow and followed him. And from that point on they were a pair – teacher and disciple.

Until the day when Elijah’s time was up. It seems they both knew it. In fact, it seems like everyone knew; the company of prophets followed them to bear witness to this particular ending and what new beginning there might then be.

They journeyed on together. As they approached the Jordan River, Elijah rolled up his mantle and used it to strike the water. The waters parted for them to cross – a demonstration of the power of God at work in him.

After they crossed, Elijah paused and asked Elisha, “what parting gift may I give to you?” Elisha didn’t hesitate; he knew what he wanted: a double share of his teacher’s spirit. A double share is the inheritance given to the first-born son. Elisha was claiming this relationship with Elijah and wanted nothing more than to carry on his legacy.

When the time came, he watched Elijah being taken up to heaven – a chariot of fire ascending into a whirlwind, very dramatic. Then, when he could no longer see him, Elisha looked down at the ground and saw Elijah’s mantle –

The mantle he had laid over Elisha’s shoulders the first time he saw him. The mantle he had used to part the Jordan. Elisha picked up Elijah’s mantle. He struck the mantle against the river and watched the waters part.

The time of Elisha had begun. He would serve as a prophet of Israel for the rest of his years. He would remain close to the word of God and the work of this world. Elisha, like Elijah before him, would do the hard work of his ministry, the work of bearing the word of God into the world. This is our work as well, those of us who claim the name of Christ Jesus.

Just as Elijah sought out a disciple, Jesus sought out his disciples, who would stay close to him and learn from him by watching, listening, and doing. And when the time came for him to be taken from them, they too picked up his mantle. They carried on in his name, the work they had learned at his side, bearing the word of God into the world.

In every age the work continues, thanks be to God. There are the teachers and the disciples. Eventually the disciples take up the mantle and lead. They become the teachers to more disciples. Each one of us here has been the disciple, and most of us have, in some way large or small, been asked to lead.

Today we celebrate this beautiful rhythm of life: the passing of the mantle from one to another, down through the ages.

It begins with the children. We provide for them, giving them what they need: to learn the stories of Jesus, to participate in worship with us and service to others. and then, when the time comes, we hand over the mantle to them. We let them see what the power of God can do.

It begins with baptism, where we all find our beginning.

Today is Lena May’s turn. She will be baptized at this font that has baptized countless children of God over many, many years. If the day ever comes when this church falls, I think the font will still be here, standing among the ruins, because it is solid. Immovable. A fitting sign of the steadfast and immovable love of God.

Baptism is a simple thing. Nothing more than walking into the river of life, getting dunked in the water of community and love and forgiveness, and being given a new name: Beloved. That’s it.

And confirmation is a simple thing as well. It is the moment when those who have been baptized stand up and say in the congregation, “Here I am. Send me.”

What beautiful things will God do through them? What gifts is God providing to Kate and Jenna that will enable them to bring more love, more grace, more peace to this world?

O what delight we have ahead of us, to wait and see.

 Photo by Melissa Askew on Unsplash

Photo by Melissa Askew on Unsplash