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Dorothy
Nickel was a Martha. More to the point, Dorothy is still a
Martha. Now living with her husband, Warren, in our Clark
United Methodist Home in Grand Rapids, I talked with her just
a few months ago. But the years when Dorothy and I crossed
paths weekly (if not daily) were my Dearborn years at the
beginning of my ministry, where Dorothy and Warren could not
have been any kinder to me, to Kris, or to anybody else for
that matter. Dorothy was the ultimate behind-the-scenes dispenser
of Christian charity and performer of good works. Casseroles
to the sick. Cards to the lonely. Flowers to the grieving.
Clothing collected here and recycled there. Need a driver
... need a donor ... need a server ... need a chief cook and
bottle washer ... Dorothy would do it, uncomplainingly and
well. She took me under her wing until my soft, downy ministerial
feathers hardened into a tough-enough skin to enable me to
survive ecclesiastical life in a local congregation.
Early
on in our relationship, Dorothy said to me ... in the church
kitchen, as I remember it ... "Bill, you don't know me
all that well. But when you get to know me better, you'll
learn that I'm a Martha." Which, when I thought about
it later, was not so much her way of telling me who she was,
but who she wasn't. She wasn't Mary. Meaning that while I
would see her in church, I shouldn't expect to see her in
front of the church. While I would see her reading, I should
never expect to see her teaching. And while her daily planner
would record the comings and goings of a life of lived-out
prayer, I shouldn't call upon her to pray in public or lead
a 24-hour prayer retreat. Organize it, maybe. Drive the van
to it, probably. Prepare and serve meals at it, likely. Whitewash
rocks for an outdoor meditation circle overlooking the lake,
certainly. Bake bread for the closing communion service, unquestionably.
Good things. Practical things. Needful things. Which, across
the years, have become identified as Martha-type things.
As to
whether First Church, Dearborn has ever been able to replace
her, I cannot say. Given the number of years she's been gone,
I am sure they have. But I wonder how many people it took.
More than one, I reckon.
All of
which comes to mind every time I read this little five-verse
story in Luke. The story is simple. Jesus is coming from north
to south ... from Galilee to Jerusalem ... when he pauses
in a small village and accepts an invitation from a woman
named Martha. It is entirely possible that the village is
Bethany (a mere seven miles from Jerusalem). And it is equally
possible that this is the same Martha of "Martha, Mary
and Lazarus" fame, who figure so prominently in the gospel
of John ... where they are identified as good friends of Jesus
at whose home he often stopped. But if this is true, Luke
does not say it. Nor does he seem to know it. Meaning that
Martha and Mary could be anybody to Jesus. Or they could be
prior friends.
No matter.
The story speaks for itself. What we've got is Jesus ... on
the road ... in a home ... along about mealtime ... with two
sisters (of different temperaments and inclinations). The
text doesn't tell us a whole lot. But it does tell us that
Mary sits at Jesus' feet, listening to his teachings, while
Martha busies herself with much serving. The text does not
say "with much cooking." But in the days before
carryout chicken and home-delivered pizza, one can safely
assume that serving implies cooking. The text also says that
Martha is "worried and distracted" ... dare we say
"irritated" ... and wonders aloud why she (Martha)
is on her feet, while her sister (Mary) is on her ... whatever.
Whereupon Jesus identifies Martha's problem not as overwork,
but as anxiety, and dares to suggest that Mary has something
that Martha could use a lot more of ... namely, himself.
Which
is, when you think about it, something of a put-down of Martha.
At least it feels like a put-down of Martha. And it is virtually
always preached as a put-down of Martha.
But I
have noticed something odd over the course of my ministry.
I have had any number of women identify themselves to me as
a "Martha." But I can't recall that anybody has
ever identified herself to me as a "Mary." Not that
I haven't known some. But none of the Marys of my acquaintance
have willingly owned their identity (at least out loud). Funny,
isn't it, that Martha, as the lesser character ... or as the
seemingly-lesser character ... is widely embraced, while Mary,
whose "part" Jesus said was the "greater part,"
is seldom embraced by women of the church. In other words,
why would church women identify more readily with the scolded
character than with the praised one? A feminist scholar could
have a field day with that one. But I will simply point it
out and leave it alone.
I do,
however, have some comments to make on the text. And it seems
that the best way to organize them is around the three characters
in the story, namely Martha, Jesus and Mary (in that order).
Martha first.
I do not
know everything Jesus feels about Martha. But I am here to
tell you that if she didn't exist, the church would have to
invent her. Which is why the church loves her. Because the
church desperately needs her. So it rewards her. Which, in
turn, puts out the welcome mat for more of her.
And not
just for her, but for her husband. I am talking about Mr.
Martha. Don't tell me she didn't have a husband. I know better.
Because I see her husbands over all this church. Martha was
a bigamist ... praise God. And I can't imagine life in the
local church without Martha's multiple offspring of either
gender.
Three
weeks ago, to this very day, I was trailing my wife through
an antique shop in Kennebunkport, Maine, when I came across
a dust-covered frame holding an artistically-embellished poem.
I quickly discerned that it was a poem about today's text.
And I secondarily discerned, upon locating the price tag,
that I was unwilling to purchase it (just so that I could
hold it before you as a sermon prop). So while my wife and
the proprietress were otherwise occupied ... buying and selling,
as it were ... I copied it so that I could read it to you
this morning.
Lord
of all pots and pans and things,
Since I've not time to be
A saint by doing lovely things
Or watching late with Thee,
Or dreaming in the dawning light,
Or storming heaven's gates,
Make me a saint by getting meals
And washing up the plates.
Warm
all the kitchen with thy love
And light it with thy peace.
Forgive me all my worrying
And make my grumbling cease.
Thou who didst love to give men food
In room, or by the sea;
Accept this service that I do,
I do it unto thee.
-- Klara Monkres
Quite
apart from the pedestrian quality of the poetry, it occurred
to me that many of you might like it. Just as many of you,
upon learning of her, readily identify with Martha. That's
because temperamentally, there are far more Marthas in the
world than Marys. Hear me out.
Many of
you have taken the Myers-Briggs Typology Inventory, if not
here at church with Dick Cheatham, then at the university
where you study or the industry where you work. You know whether
you are an INTJ, an ESFP, or any one of the 16 possible combinations
... I won't stop to explain them here. And you know that for
purposes of simplification, these 16 categories have been
boiled down into four basic temperaments labeled SP, SJ, NF
and NT. What you probably do not know is that in addition
to having enormous impacts on your marital, familial and workplace
interactions, much has been written about how each of these
four temperaments impact your life in a local church ... in
short, how you approach things like religion, worship and
prayer.
Focus
on the SPs of the world, often called the artisans. These
people are flexible, free-flowing, adaptable and easy to get
along with. They live in the present (rather than the past
or future) and prefer a life of action over contemplation.
They like their reality literal, not symbolic ... simple,
rather than complex. For them, work is prayer, and they love
to work with their hands or tools. They would find a liturgical
retreat boring, and a silent-contemplative retreat positively
stifling. In fact, they wouldn't sign up unless they were
given something to do (drive the bus ... bake the bread ...
or carve little communion cups from blocks of balsa wood).
Now throw
in the SJs. Unlike the SPs, SJs have a strong sense of tradition
and prize their continuity with the past. Which is why they
tend to appreciate liturgy. But they are also extremely practical
and are possessed of a strong work ethic. SJs desire to care
for those in need and have a desire to be useful. Religiously,
they would much rather give than receive.
Both groups
are filled, don't you see, with Marthas. And how many SPs
and SJs are there as a percentage of society? Over seventy
percent ... that's how many. Which means that seventy percent
of church members are temperamentally inclined to Martha-like
behavior. Which is why most church people, in confronting
a hard-to-resolve problem, are far more likely to respond
to suggestions of what they might do, than about how they
might pray. Or when I suggested to a man that he might "pray
about it," he answered: "And then what?"
Enough
about Martha. Let's turn to Jesus. Who, in his own life, needed
somebody to behave in a Martha-like fashion. I mean, somebody
had to cook, wash clothes, buy food and count money. As I
recall, someone was dispatched, by Jesus, to make dinner arrangements
... upstairs ... in Jerusalem ... on a Thursday. Just as someone
else was dispatched to borrow a colt ... four days previous
... to ride down a mountain ... on a Sunday. And it was Jesus
(in the story Luke told just before this one) who praised
a man who stumbled upon a mugging victim ... bandaged him
up ... lifted him up ... delivered him up ... and then anted
up ... leading Jesus to say: "You want to see what I
mean by `neighbor?' That guy is what I mean by `neighbor.'"
No, Jesus is not without a warm spot in his heart for Marthas.
So what
is this about? Well, part of it is about timing. Earlier,
I said that Jesus was on his way from Galilee to Jerusalem
... his last visit to Jerusalem ... his dying visit to Jerusalem.
Does he know that this is his "dying visit?" It
would seem that he senses it. Which certainly changes his
demeanor. And which certainly changes the tone of his encounters.
After all, don't most people suspend normal routines at such
moments? I certainly think they do.
It is
10:30 at night. Your daughter calls from the car phone to
tell you that the love of her life has just slipped an incredible
diamond on her finger. She wants to swing by and show you.
You don't say: "We'd love to see it. But tomorrow's a
work day. And when tomorrow is a work day, we are always in
bed by 10:30 and asleep by 10:45. Why don't you come by on
the weekend? That way, we'll have more time." You wouldn't
say that. Please tell me you wouldn't say that.
Or perhaps
a college friend calls from the airport. You haven't seen
him in 35 years. But he remembers that you live in the general
vicinity and tracks your name through the phone directory.
He has three hours before his connecting flight. What do you
do? You drop everything and go to the airport. That's what
you do.
Or your
son finishes basic training and has one day before shipping
out ... a Monday. But Monday is your wash day. And most Monday
afternoons you go to K-Mart. But you don't tell that to your
son. Of course you don't tell that to your son.
I was
talking this over with Dick Cheatham when he suddenly started
to sing an old World War II song. Not one that I remembered.
But I can see how Dick would. It was recorded by the Hoosier
Hotshots. Surely, you remember them. The song depicts a father
who hears a doorbell and opens the door to greet the surprise
arrival of their boy ... in full uniform ... home from Germany.
Whereupon dad turns in the general direction of the kitchen
and sings:
Leave
the dishes in the sink, Ma,
Leave the dishes in the sink.
Each dirty plate will have to wait,
Tonight we're gonna celebrate,
So leave the dishes in the sink.
Sometimes
you drop everything when the beloved makes an entrance, no
matter how unexpected or unannounced.
But enough
about Jesus. How about Mary? What makes hers "the better
part?" Well, that's harder to define. But it's not because
spiritual things always trump practical things. No, that's
not it at all. For I would contend that hands-on work ...
practical work ... Martha-type work ... can often be incredibly
spiritual, and that "serving" Jesus is a wonderful
way of attending Jesus (and as good a means of praying as
ever there was).
No, Mary's
part is "better," because it suggests an antidote
to the inevitable frustration experienced by those who serve.
Martha's sin ... if there is one ... is not the sin of dishing
plates or washing plates, but becoming anxious and irritated
that everyone else isn't doing it and applauding it.
I know
the feeling. I sometimes get frustrated, even with you ...
when you don't work as hard as I do ... go as far as I go
... care about the same issues ... put your shoulder to the
same plows ... or log the same number of hours. "Lord,"
I cry, "do something about this."
That's
one frustration. And the second flows from it. In addition
to sometimes feeling unsupported, preachers have a tendency
to feel that their labors are unrewarded. I'm not talking
"finances" here ... but something deeper. Everything
I want to fix, doesn't get fixed. Or stay fixed. People don't
stay fixed. Churches don't stay fixed. Society doesn't stay
fixed. Sin ... especially sin ... doesn't stay fixed. I have
learned that both dishes and people have a remarkable tendency
to re-dirty themselves. And you have no idea how few permanent
victories I really see. Which is why idealists sometimes turn
into pessimists ... and why youthful, bleeding-heart liberals
retire (if they're not careful) as 65-year-old cynics.
Which
can happen ... ever so easily ... if your focus is solely
on the work. If, however, you occasionally throw off your
apron, lay down your toolbox, and come out from behind your
plow (your desk, or even your pulpit) to sit at the feet of
him whose work it is you do ... cynicism, like fat, tends
to flake from your frame. And you'll arise leaner and lovelier
than you were before you assumed that Mary-like posture. So
much leaner and lovelier that you might even volunteer to
get up before the crack of dawn, put on the coffee, and make
biscuits from scratch for Jesus ... and whoever else happens
to come along.
*
* * * *
Notes:
To make sure I wasn't on the wrong track in my interpretation
of this narrative, I consulted the work of Lukan scholar Joseph
Fitzmyer (the Anchor Bible Commentary on Luke) who
writes: "To read this episode as a commendation of contemplative
life over against active life is to allegorize it beyond recognition
and to introduce a distinction that was born only of later
preoccupations. The episode is addressed to the Christian
who is expected to be contemplative in action."
As concerns
the relationship between the timing of Jesus' visit and the
gentle rebuke of Martha, I have taken instruction from Thomas
Cahill (in the book, Desire of the Everlasting Hills: The
World Before and After Jesus) who writes: "Rather,
we should read this anecdote in the context of Jesus' understanding
that his time is short and that his entire life is lived against
the horizon of apocalypse. Mary is one of the wedding guests
who rejoice while the bridegroom is yet among them, refusing
to deprive themselves of the joy of his presence for the sake
of some lesser goal. Whatever Martha is huffing and puffing
about can be put off till Jesus moves on."
For more
information about "prayer and temperament" with
reference to the Myers-Briggs Typology Indicator, see a book
entitled Prayer and Temperament: Different Prayer Forms
for Different Personality Types by Chester Michael and
Marie Norrisey.
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