Nancy E. Petty and Suzanne Britt

Pullen Memorial Baptist Church

July 22, 2007 – Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

Text: Luke 10:38-42

Who Is the Angel in the House?

Sermon presented by Nancy E. Petty and Suzanne Britt

(Nancy)

Ever since we were in the churches of our childhood, we have heard Luke’s tired story of Martha and Mary and their passive-aggressive conflict when Jesus is present. We know the script. We know the heroine. We know the very words Jesus speaks to Martha when Martha complains—shall we say, nags?—about Mary’s unwillingness to move from the feet of her lord and to help with the “distracting tasks” that have Martha on edge. Jesus’ praise is unmitigated by sympathies with Martha’s complaint. We know—as do conventional commentators—that Mary takes the better part and that what she takes will not be taken away from her. Why is it that this story is so conventionally interpreted, even today? And why is the story limited to a conflict between the prescribed roles of women? Jesus is in the story too, and he is a man, brought up in a patriarchal society, visionary, to be sure, full of surprises, but equally surprising in the conditioning that shapes him into the fully human male he becomes.

(Suzanne)

The story would appear to be about women and women’s roles. And Mary comes off very well. Virginia Woolf, from whom we borrowed the title of this sermon, says that men have done a magnificent job of writing about fictional women who loom large in our imaginations: Antigone, Cordelia, Hedda Gabler, Anna Karenina, Hester Prynne: the list goes on and on. But, in A Room of One’s Own, a series of lectures Woolf delivered at Newham and Girton Colleges, to an audience of young women, the author ponders why women (created by men) appear so prominently in our imaginations, but a search of the book shelves at Cambridge proves women to be, in history, politics, law, religion, virtually invisible, or if visible, then nameless. What’s wrong with this picture, and why have males traditionally been the shapers of female characters who display all the courage, independence of spirit, and intelligence we long to find in history books or in life itself? Mary is like that—she looms large, but her sister, Martha, comes off as being querulous, small-minded, petty, and Jesus rebukes Martha’s efforts to make her sister help. The house, after all, belongs to Martha. The guest, after all, is Martha’s. Why shouldn’t she be anxious that all be just right for this particular guest? And why, in the way of bickering sisters, should Martha not elicit Jesus’ help in bringing Mary to her senses—and to her obligations? This scene is played out in domestic life thousands, no millions, of times a day, and yet we do not stop to think of Martha’s plight, to empathize with the demands of the domestic life.

(Nancy)

Listen now, as Martha and Mary have a conversation about their unspoken feelings.

Martha (Suzanne):

Mary, let me explain why I’m feeling so upset with you. Jesus arrived early, and I was frantic because the house wasn’t tidied up, the food wasn’t ready, and you seemed determined not to stop listening to Jesus long enough to help me. I didn’t even bother to ask you directly for help because I know how you are. You’ve always been lazy. And you think you’re smarter than I am. I ask Jesus to help me out with you because I knew you’d listen to a man. You certainly won’t listen to me. In fact, you never listen to me. You just come to my house, take center stage, and leave me to do all the preparations alone. I guess I’m sorry I spoke to Jesus instead of speaking to you, but I figured talking to you is hopeless. It’s always been that way. You like to think you have all the answers, but you really aren’t very practical. There’s work to be done, Mary. Don’t you know that? After all these years, you should know that. I would have appreciated getting to hear a little of what Jesus said. I would have appreciated having both of you offer to help me prepare a meal. Or maybe we three could have talked together and then worked to prepare the meal. I think you see me as being the caretaker and servant and yourself as being the wise disciple. What about me? What about how I feel?

Women seem always to have been in this role, always waiting on people, serving people. I want something else, something deeper. Obviously Jesus was impressed with your decision to stay close to him and to listen to him. But remember how angry I was when our mother summoned you and me to help while our brothers and father simply sat cross-legged on the floor, waiting to be served. That used to make us both so angry, and we were powerless to do anything about it. I used to be as angry as you were, but over time I think I understood the pressure our mother was under, how tired she was, and I simply surrendered and gave up trying to fight what seemed to be inevitable. I’m even a little envious of you for not being willing to help when such a man as Jesus is present. I wish I could change, but I don’t know how. I wish I could stop fretting about trivial things and stay close to Jesus, take in his divine wisdom. And I wish he could have found it in his heart to praise me for the hard work I do every day. 

Mary (Nancy):

My dear sister, Martha. How grateful I am for all that you’ve taught me about service, attention to detail, and making a guest feel welcome. I admire your selflessness and willingness to do what needs to be done so others can indulge in their pleasures. It was hard to sit and watch you as you struggled to create a comfortable and gracious space for others to enjoy. There was a part of me that wanted to get up, to ease your tasks, and to do what I knew was my responsibility in welcoming our guest. But I must say that I felt compelled to step outside the roles you and I always endured, to take my place at the table among our brothers and fathers. You may have perceived me as enjoying my new place at the feet of Jesus, but I can tell you that I was anxious, uncomfortable, and, if the truth be told, a little scared. Did I have a right to be sitting there? Would I feel regret for having broken the bounds of convention because we all know how hard it is to go back once we have known freedom and choice? Did I have anything to offer at that table where wisdom is dispensed? Or was I just being stubborn and selfish—even arrogant—to think that I could claim the freedom and power as my own. But in that internal struggle, I thought about our daughter and our daughters’ daughters and even our sons, and their sons, and I knew I had to stay right where I was.

I’ve learned over time that unless those who are oppressed risk stepping outside that oppression nothing changes. Our friend, Jesus, is always reminding us that we are all equal, and yet, when we perpetuate roles that treat us as un-equals, we fail to live out Jesus’ vision for us all. I wanted and I waited for our friend to invite you to sit down, and I wonder why he didn’t. And I also wonder if you would have sat down had he invited you. I don’t believe that your attention to the details of this day is simply a distraction. I know from our late-night conversations how much you too long for that still, quiet space where you can grow spiritually. And had I not had the privilege of sitting at your feet so many times, I wouldn’t have had the courage to sit at Jesus’ feet. So, my dear sister, I understand your pain, your resentment, and your reason for not speaking directly to me. I hope you can understand the motives for my choice. 

(Suzanne)

We’ve explored the feelings that these women have from their very different perspectives on this conflict. How can we take what seems obvious about this familiar scene and provide space for all people to sit at Jesus’ feet and still have the work be done? From our point of view, we are all pieces of both of these women: we are called to work and to listen and to worship. We do both ourselves and the community harm when we do not acknowledge that within our individual selves, we are called to be both Martha and Mary. There are things that we have to do to make something happen, and we must be busy about those tasks and even, at times, distracted by them. We are also called to contemplation, silence, listening, and spiritual paths. Every church has worker bees and contemplatives, but we are not whole people until and unless we are both do-ers and hearers of the Word. How can we now move from the traditional approach—that of a focus solely on women—and bring all—men, women, and children into the circle gathered at Jesus’ feet, whether literally or metaphorically?

(Nancy)

There is the danger in over-analyzing this story. Maybe it is a simple story about not letting our anxieties and trivial matters distract us from our larger purposes. But we all know that life is never that simple—that when our lives meet, the confrontation is much more complex than simple aphorisms, simple rules, that reduce our life experiences to a prescribed formula or plan. Mary and Martha supply us with the opportunity and the gift to reflect on the internal struggle we encounter when our faith calls us to risk a different response, attitude, or role. Their story also invites us to examine closely where we are failing to respond in helping those who are welcoming the stranger, feeling compassion for the stranger, and creating safe places for all God’s children to gather around the table. Their story reminds us—men and women—that to be faithful we must possess within the courage of Mary to take our places at the table and the wisdom of Martha to know when to leave the table because there is work to be done.

Martha (Suzanne):

My sister Mary, I will acknowledge and respect the gift you have brought to this moment—a talent for listening, an ability to be still and worship, and the courage to take your rightful place at the table. And I will nurture within myself that which you’ve taught me.       

Mary (Nancy):

And for my part, I have come to a better understanding of what you require, what matters to you, and the next time we have a guest in our house, I’ll remember that the comforts of home and hearth, the care for the guest, will require my participation and help. And I will nurture within myself that which you’ve taught me.

Jesus (Nathan):

I have heard your struggles, and I acknowledge my part in the conflict. The truth is, you have both chosen a better way. And I will nurture within myself that which you’ve taught me, that which cannot be taken away from me.