Sermon Preached at Yaverland, Isle of Wight
Sunday 18th July 2004, 11.00am Eucharist
Readings:
Colossians 1:15-20
Luke 10:38-42
Every building has an atmosphere, whether it is new or old, or, like Yaverland Church, ancient. It would be impossible even to imagine the many different reasons why people have been coming here across the centuries. But it is not hard to divide those reasons into two categories. One category is about doing something; to prepare the flowers; get ready the sanctuary; prepare for a service or some event; repair something that’s broken, or which needs replacement, like an electric bulb; and you could push this kind of activity further to include those who’ve added different parts to this building, with its glorious mixture of Romanesque, and Gothic, and later bits; not forgetting the person who bought the communion flagon in 1733. It is all of a piece with the need to get things done, and, just as human beings vary in how they go about things, some slow, others in a bit of a hurry, it is not hard to think about the different ways in which all this has taken place.
Then there is another category, which is about when we come here for no apparent reason, except to receive, to take in to pray. Not as consumers, who have already made up their minds, and are determined, for example, to get the kind of apples that are in season right now, but on special offer - Sainsbury’s were selling strawberries at half-price in Fareham on Thursday evening. But as disciples, who are ready, or who are trying to be ready, to take in what God is trying to say to us this morning. This second kind of approach some find it easier to get into than others. For most of us, it can at times be quite difficult. For example, I can go up to my chapel, which is above my study, at the end of a long day in order to say evensong, and my head can be saturated with all the things I am supposed to have done; the people who need to be written to, or who are going to be offended if they don’t get softened up about something. On those occasions, I either work hard to sit and consciously exclude all those distractions, or else I give in, and offer my overpopulated mind to God for him to use as he thinks fit. I may well be resigned to the fact that he may not have much to say to me at all, except perhaps the simple message, ‘Kenneth, just be still, I’m in charge, not you, and it’s probably just as well.’
These two categories of people, or rather, not people so much as attitudes and contexts, lie behind this morning’s gospel-reading – which has, I think, caused more irritation to the traditional house-wife across the centuries than any other. Let’s look at it a bit more carefully. Martha is getting on with the housework, the traditional Jewish woman-about-the-home, whom Jesus with his background and upbringing really ought to be praising. But it’s not so much what she is doing: it is her attitude to the work, and to her sister, who is using the opportunity to listen to Jesus, which she may not have ever again. Martha complains – no doubt not just with words, but with vibes of disapproval and general huffiness; perhaps her behaviour even caused Jesus some amusement. However, it is not until the complaint has been put into words, and not just felt, or conveyed by the general atmosphere of the room, that Jesus rebukes her; why are you so busy with all that work, why are you drawing attention to it as the only thing that matters, when you could, actually, sit down and listen to what I am trying to say to you both – and not just to your sister.
God is not fair. He has not made us all exactly the same. For some people, being busy and getting things done comes second nature, and for others, sitting back and thinking, and taking deeper things in, is as easy as walking down the street. The point about life is that both priorities have their place. The Martha instinct gets food cooked, trains running on time (well, occasionally); whereas the Mary instinct stops, ponders, reads between the lines – and offers prayers that are about adoration and listening, rather than asking for this, that, or the other.
Both instincts are needed. Both have their place. It’s just that we tend to value Martha more than Mary – and that will make things happen, but the question then arises, are they the right things, and couldn’t a dose of Mary come along to place the great plan that we may think fixes everything quickly under some divine spotlight?
That Jesus should talk to women in this direct and personal way shows how radical he was for his age, and it is no coincidence that it is in Luke’s gospel that we find this scene, Luke, the one who gives a prominent place to women, starting with Elizabeth, John the Baptist’s mother, and going swiftly on to Mary, Mother of the Lord; and there are many other less prominent examples as well. But there is one, final twist. Today’s gospel reading concludes chapter 10, and what do we find Jesus doing at the start of chapter 11? He is praying, and his disciples watch him at prayer; they then ask him to teach them to pray. And teach them he certainly does, in words that have become perhaps too familiar for us – whatever the version - to soak in their profound meaning within their amazingly brief scope. Jesus moves from the Mary and Martha scene to give the disciples the ‘Our Father’ – as the basis of their whole faith, whether they are praying about the hallowing of the name and the coming of the kingdom, or asking for bread for today, forgiveness for yesterday, and protection in the future. Jesus not only teaches Mary and challenges Martha. He gives us all the right words with which to pray at all times.
+ Kenneth Portsmouth
