Sermon preached by the Reverend Louise Kalemkerian

St. Paul’s on the Green, Norwalk, Connecticut

8^th Sunday after Pentecost - July 22, 2007

In the name of our hospitable, embracing, welcoming God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. AMEN.

After I thought long and hard about today’s lessons, I decided that I’d make a sumptuous breakfast today for everyone, instead of preaching! But instead, if you insist on hanging in, I’ll try and offer some thoughts about today’s gospel.

I have always struggled with this lesson. I have heard it as a judgment, as a criticism from Jesus, as an “either/or”. Either you’re like Mary, you’re studious, you’re prayerful, you’re reflective, you’re thoughtful, you’re a real disciple, or you’re like Martha, a busy bee, a woman who can’t sit still, a model homemaker, a disciple wannabe. And you know who Jesus commended. The trouble was, I wasn’t Mary, nor was I Martha, either. I wasn’t the thoughtful, prayerful, studious one, nor was I the perfect homemaker person. For years, in fact I rebelled against that characterization of women, that understanding of women as “Marthas,” as perfect homemakers.

Maybe I understood the reading this way because this is the way it was interpreted for years. This is the way many in the Church have used this tale of the two sisters. Setting them up to be in competition with one another, to be snarling at one another. Setting them up in opposition to one another. Setting them up in an artificial conflict with one another.

But to tell you the truth, I really wanted to like this story of Jesus. It was one of the few stories in the Gospels where women were the main characters. For years I understood it as a story mainly about women. And I really wanted to be commended Jesus.

It took me years to see it another way.

For today’s Gospel is actually quite radical. Jesus, with his disciples, on the road to Jerusalem, headed to his Passion, stops at the home of these two unmarried women, his friends, for rest and refreshment. Scholars think this is the same Mary and Martha who appear in John’s Gospel, this time with their brother Lazarus. But this time Lazarus isn’t around, and these two women are entertaining him in their home. A huge boundary crossed, both for the sisters and for Jesus. Jesus regards them as his equals when he stops at their home. Remember that he invited himself, as he often did to people’s homes. But this is the only time he goes uninvited to the home of women. And most probably brought a dozen friends with him. (PS – if a friend showed up for dinner unexpectedly, I could deal. But if he brought another 12 people, I think I’d not be happy. And no doubt show my unhappiness.)

So Mary and Martha remind us that there is more than a little risk in hospitality. Hospitality requires exposure, the opening of the door into the inner sanctum of the home. Maybe that’s why not many people entertain in the home, and then, only one’s closest friends, because hospitality involves welcoming another, sometimes a stranger, into one’s home, into one’s life.

Israel was commanded to show hospitality, not only to fellow Jews, but to the “sojourner, the stranger in your gates.” Deuteronomy 10 says, “Remember, you were a stranger and a sojourner and God took you in.” You do the same.

One day Abraham and Sarah were awakened from their afternoon nap, opened their door and there were met by three strangers by the Oaks of Mamre. Sarah, like her sister Martha after her, made them dinner. Those strangers turned out to be angels in disguise, angels who blessed the old couple for their hospitality. Mary and Martha are thus being good Jews in continuing the hospitality among a people who have entertained angels unawares.

When it comes to hospitality, the Martha part of us is a necessity. As Mother Teresa once said, “If it were not for Martha, Jesus would have gone hungry.” At St. Paul’s, all of us are Marthas, for welcome and hospitality are our hallmarks, as Fr. Nicholas said last week. What has made St. Paul’s so welcoming is the tremendous effort so many people expend to help us be warm, friendly, open, accepting, hospitable. It’s not just the lavish coffee hour we offer which many make happen, but it’s the welcome we offer “from the steps to the Table,” the greeters, the nametag helpers, the ushers who are part of the intentional effort to welcome and invite all who come through our doors. Many in this place work hard, week in and week out, to make sure all is ready, and many times, like Martha, at a moment’s notice.

Today’s lesson is not about roles, not a story just about women, but about radical hospitality. It is a continuation of the story we read last week, of the story of the Good Samaritan. Last week we read of the Samaritan reaching out to his neighbor, a person he didn’t know, a person who was an “other” to him, and taking care of this wounded person, putting him on his own animal and taking him to an inn.

That story began with a lawyer, a religious figure in the community, asking Jesus about what was the most important command of God, and Jesus responding that we were to love God and our neighbor as ourselves. The story of the Good Samaritan becomes the illustration of how one loves one’s neighbor. The story of Mary and Martha becomes the illustration of how one loves God.

Luke is working to define discipleship for the early church, and these two stories begin to pave a way. The Samaritan loves his neighbor, and Mary loves Jesus – and to be a disciple requires that one love both. Both of these examples were scandalous for Luke’s readership, a Samaritan who loved his neighbor and a woman who sat at Jesus’ feet like a disciple. Luke opens the way for women to sit at the feet of Jesus and learn – not at Martha’s expense, but for Martha’s benefit. The dinner party is not about the attendees, not about their roles and responsibilities, but about the guest of honor himself. And the guest is demanding full attention.

And yet for Martha, as for many of us, there are real distractions. Whether it’s getting the food on the table when you weren’t expecting 13 more, whether it’s the urgent demands of life – work responsibilities, family obligations, children, aging parents, volunteer commitments, you name them, because each of them is real – any and all can overwhelm us and collide with the urgent demands of the Gospel.

Distractions abound, worries abound. And Jesus calls us to stop. Stop what we’re doing and listen. There is need of only one thing. Try and pay attention. Pay attention to who you are inviting to your table. Pay attention to the loving and welcoming God who breaks into your life when you’re least expecting. Pay attention to the angels who cross your path when you least expect.

A colleague of mine from many years ago, who was a Roman Catholic priest, shared a story about a letter he had received. It was sent to him, but was marked “Please give to Harry the usher.” It was handed over to Harry and this is what it said:

“Dear Harry. I’m sorry I don’t know your last name, but then you don’t know mine. I’m Gert, Gert at the 10:00 Mass every Sunday. I’m writing to ask a favor. I don’t know the priests that well, but somehow felt close to you. I don’t know how you got to know my name, but every Sunday morning you smile and greet me by name, and we exchange a few words – how bad the weather is, how much you like my hat, and how I am late on a particular Sunday. I just wanted to say thank you for taking the time to remember an old woman, for the smiles, for your consideration, for your thoughtfulness.

“Now for the favor. I am dying Harry. My husband has been dead for sixteen years, and the kids are scattered. It is very important to me that when they bring me to church for the last time, you will be there to say, ‘Hello, Gert. Good to see you.” If you are there, Harry, I will feel assured that your warm hospitality will be duplicated in my new home in heaven. With love and gratitude, Gert.”

This is the hospitality we’re called to create in our lives individually and our life together in community. To be present to all we meet, knowing that each is Jesus. To pay attention to all whom we meet, knowing each is Jesus . To be both Mary and Martha. All the time.