The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost [Proper 18C] - September 5, 2010 (Deuteronomy 30:15-20 and Luke 14:25-33)

Eeeerrrk!

That’s the sound I believe you would hear if you were to hold this portion of Luke’s gospel up to your ear. It’s the sound of screeching tires from brakes being applied rather suddenly and forcefully, as when the road you are travelling takes a turn off to the side in another direction without warning.

Eeerrrrk!

It’s the sound of hundreds, perhaps thousands—no, make that millions of would-be disciples—stopping in their tracks to get their bearings and possibly re-calculate their route in Jesus’ footsteps. Like listening for the sound of the ocean inside a conch shell, if you hold this particular page of the New Testament—this specific admonition from Jesus--up to your ear, that’s the sound you can make out.

At least, I know I can hear myself hitting the brakes pretty hard when I hear these words about true discipleship. I don’t know about you, but I find myself almost instinctively backpedalling, my hand groping for some spiritual GPS device with which I could investigate possibilities for circumnavigating these unhappy obstacles.

It’s been a wild and interesting ride thus far. The demands of discipleship haven’t been too taxing, yet the rewards have been fairly attractive: the promise of a kingdom fulfilled, good news for the poor, the vision of a world released from captivity to sin! Discipleship has, for the most part, seemed relatively doable. That is, until now…until this point when our leader wheels around mid-step and seemingly lays it all on the line: following will mean, in fact, loving him above all else, carrying a cross, and—gasp!—giving up our possessions. Now it appears more might be asked of us than we originally thought, and if we are to re-prioritize and re-calibrate, it would be best to apply the brakes and think this through.

On the whole, we can’t blame Jesus’ for not letting his followers know what their in for. We can’t claim that this is a bait-and-switch approach to discipleship, and it’s good that honesty is the policy here. Yet, at the same time, doesn’t Jesus know that you attract more flies with honey than you do with vinegar? I mean, what kind of church growth campaign would this be, anyway? We hear stories about the decline of so many mainline churches in America, the dwindling membership numbers of our own denomination, and the rising statistics of those who say they’re unchurched. Wouldn’t it be better to highlight the fun aspects of following the Lord, if Jesus were to wheel around and remind us of the upcoming potluck dinners and the youth group Synod events? Does he really think being so blunt about the costs will make people sign up and follow?

Could you imagine, for instance, if this is how we introduced Henry Waller this morning to the waters of baptism? “Hal and Ally, do you realize what you’re getting Henry into? Do you know you’re signing him up for a good bit of suffering, introducing him to a way of thinking and living that will often have him at odds with the world? Are you prepared for him to learn to love Jesus even more than he will come to love you?? Happy baptism, everybody!”

Yes, perhaps better to downplay these aspects, Jesus, for fear we’ll all apply the brakes, and then never rev the engine up again! Like the Israelites in this morning’s passage from Deuteronomy who stand at the threshold of the Promised Land, looking over the Jordan, hopeful and yet chastened after forty years of wandering, the followers of Jesus face something like a decision at this point: Eeeerrrk! Life…or death. Prosperity…or adversity. Continue to Jerusalem with Jesus…or go back to whatever we were doing before.

Lutherans have long had something of an allergic reaction to anything that smacks of “decision theology”; that is, any understanding of Christian faith which suggests, in any way, that our salvation is dependent on our decision for God. Lutherans have typically chosen to proclaim all this the other way around: that salvation is ultimately based on God’s decision for us, that God never gives up on us, and his love is a free gift offered in the life and death of Jesus Christ who came to suffer and die so that sinners could be reconciled to God. In baptism, we have these promises, never to be revoked, and Christian life is about fashioning an authentic response to those promises. Yes, if there is a decision involved in securing our redemption, we would always choose to stress God’s decision for us so that the message of grace is loud and clear.

And yet, there is a sense in which some type of decision is expected from us at not one but at perhaps several points along the way. There is some need for an acknowledgement on our part, by the power of the Holy Spirit, that we will join our meager forces with this kingdom coming. We will, in fact, commence to building that tower that Jesus mentions in his mini-parable. We will commit our armies to the battle. We will submit, that is, to the suffering that comes when standing up for justice and peace, and we’ll strive to view the world and our relationships with Christ at the center.

That’s what Jesus is driving at in his short but direct speech here on the road to Jerusalem. Without mincing his words, Jesus urges anyone who has an interest in being a disciple to weigh first what that means. This discipleship endeavor is not, as it sometimes appears, just another social service organization that goes about doing good here and there. This movement is not, as it often comes across, a club for fellowship and networking, or a historical society that propagates a certain heritage. The community of Jesus’ followers isn’t even about a certain kind of worship, a gathering of people who like to do little religious things together. Rather, Jesus calls real people to a real journey that has real demands.

Incidentally, a book on this particular subject has recently been published which is causing quite a stir in certain Christian circles. A review of it was even run on CNN this week. Entitled Almost Christian, the book is researched and written by Princeton Theological Seminary professor Kenda Creasy Dean. In it she posits, rather controversially, that many of the youth in Christian churches these days are not really Christian, having instead developed a “watered-down faith that portrays God as a ‘divine therapist’ whose chief goal is to boost people’s self-esteem.” Furthermore, Dean argues that many “parents and pastors are unwittingly passing on this self-serving strain of Christianity.”

To draw her conclusions, Professor Dean undertook hundreds of interviews of active church youth across the country and asked them about their faith, their lives, and what was important to them. She discovered that while they could talk with considerable nuance about subjects like money, sex, and their family relationships, they were surprisingly incoherent when asked to talk about their beliefs. Interestingly, Dean hypothesizes that this watered-down version of Christian faith that youth are receiving and hearing from pastors and parents is largely why youth are drifting away from the mainline churches. They recognize, on some level, that no demand is really made on them, that no challenge is really offered from this type of distant god, just as such a god steers clear of teenagers’ tough questions about life.

I can’t say that I have experienced her findings to be true about the youth I’ve worked with at Epiphany. After all, one of our youth members freely donated the cash gifts she received from her sixteenth birthday party to fund part of the youth group’s servant trip to South Carolina last month. Another one spent the last week of her summer running a day camp for inner city children in her own backyard, without compensation. What I found most interesting about Dean’s conclusions is her answer for teaching about the God we encounter in the gospel today, the God who sends his Son to suffer for our sake. She says that parents “who perform one act of radical faith in front of their children convey more than a multitude of sermons and mission trips.” Such an act might include, for example, turning down a more lucrative job offer to stay at a struggling church or spending a summer abroad working on an agricultural renewal project and then verbally connecting that type of radical decision to the life of faith. ("Author: More teens becoming ‘fake’ Christians.” John Blake on CNN.) In other words, it involves taking to heart the words about the rigors of discipleship, and deciding to head forward, deciding to embark, time and again, on that path of grace that God lays out before us in Jesus.

And somewhere along the line, I would say, we learn that it is actually quite worthwhile to follow…that even after we’ve hit the brakes over and over again, we discover that the fun we might be looking for really is found in sharing all that we have with others, in dedicating all our worldly possessions—indeed, our very lives—to the cause of something far greater that our pastime or our own personal glory. Somewhere along the way—and as a Lutheran I would say at innumerable points along the way—we do decide that crossing over Jordan, for all its scariness and all its sacrifices, is still the only path worth taking, the only land worth occupying, for through it we truly enjoy the life God desires for us, a kingdom that is eternal.

And also along the way we discover, to our shock, that it isn’t vinegar Jesus has used to invite us into the life of discipleship. No, my friends, it isn’t vinegar at all, but its far sweeter cousin, wine. With bread and wine, placed out upon a table surrounded by the very fellows who slammed on the brakes in betrayal and denial, Jesus offers his own self and God’s own forgiveness as his eternal pledge of help and salvation. And this gift has been given, it turns out, as a part of a growth campaign: your growth…your growth into a life that is prosperity, a life of radical growth around every bend in the road. It has been given for you, Henry…and for all of us.

One question for us to ponder, as we sit there with our foot on the brake pedal: will we take it?

The Reverend Phillip W. Martin, Jr.

The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost [Proper 11C] - July 18, 2010 (Luke 10:38-42)

Any parent or grandparent or babysitter who has been faced with the task of equally dividing a remaining cookie, or piece of cake, a set of chores, between two (or more) siblings knows first-hand what a challenge it can be. I remember that my sister and I, as youngsters, could argue over any discrepancy in fairness that we perceived, however trivial. And, oh, how we would protest if my sister, for example, thought that I had received a larger portion of the last slice, or if I thought the piece she got contained more chocolate chips than mine did, or if we thought the list of chores was unevenly distributed. And to this day, I’m fairly certain my English-major sister, who always had the upper hand in argumentation skills would claim I got the better portion in most situations. As wise as King Solomon, and no doubt weary of our bellyaching (as she called it), my mother pretty quickly developed an ingenious method for splitting tasks or pizza, come what may. In her plan, one of us would be entrusted with dividing whatever portion or object we were fighting over, and the other one would get to choose. This tricky little system put the onus on the person entrusted with dividing the portions to make them as equal as possible so that the chooser had no one to blame but themselves for the portion they ended up with.


My point is we don’t know if Mary and Martha, the famous sister act of the New Testament, had a similar ingenious system for dividing their tasks and chores, but we catch a glimpse of a little tension in the lesson today. When Jesus comes to visit, Martha does all the work. Mary, on the other hand, sits around. Martha ostensibly makes him feel “at home,” busying herself with the domestic tasks of providing a fresh basin of water for washing, as well as food and drink. Mary pays no heed to what he might need. Martha chooses to tend to the many duties of good hospitality, working in the kitchen and the hearth, engaged with the expectations of decorum and service and protocol. Mary, meanwhile, chooses simply to listen to whatever their guest says, engaged in little more than conversation. And, after all this, after all Martha’s huffing and puffing, after all her hard work and dedication—after all her bellyaching—Jesus explains that Mary has chosen the better part.

I don’t know about you, but when Jesus utters something like a value judgment, my ears perk up a little bit, my back straightens a little more against the pew. I don’t know why that is. I suppose I expect Jesus to be supremely fair, bipartisan and impartial. I half expect him, the Prince of Peace, to stay out of such matters as choosing sides, and, if he must, I usually expect him to spin out a parable that completely disorients my take on the situation. But here, in this case, Jesus clearly sides with Mary. No matter how Martha looks at it, Jesus has stated that Mary’s choice of sitting and listening—and therefore all but ignoring the typical obligations of hospitality—is the slice of the pie that really is better. Not only that, but Mary’s choice of task reflects an attention to a necessary thing, a devotion to one particular thing that matters above anything that Martha is doing.

In the ancient Middle East, hospitality might have been considered the highest virtue. Its importance was tied partially to the unforgiving nature of the desert environment and the need—which everyone collectively comprehended—to tend to the fragility of human life. Hospitality was tied to honor, as well as the understanding that God and God’s messengers often masquerade as strangers in need of shelter and food.

In this case, Martha is simply enacting exactly what the best mores of her culture—indeed, her religious faith—would dictate. She is serving as hostess with the mostess, taking the proper steps to make sure that their guest is comfortable And it has nothing at all to do with gender roles. Notice that in the Old Testament lesson from Genesis that Abraham and Sarah both undertake the obligations of welcoming strangers into their camp. The event of someone entering your home was a chance to make that guest feel safe, well-fed, and honored. So what is so wrong with this part Martha has chosen? After all, doesn’t even Jesus himself says at one point, “The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve”?

Although Mary does seem to shirk her responsibility of showing good hospitality, she does display the attitude of a faithful disciple, one who listens attentively to the words of Jesus. Mary, in choosing to hear what her distinguished guest has to say, in letting the dishes and pans wait until later, exhibits undivided devotion to the kingdom of God. It’s not that Jesus slams housework, per se, or taking care of others’ needs, but when Martha emphasizes service and caretaking to the point that it becomes hers and everyone else’s priority—notice how she demands that Jesus get after Mary—Jesus must gently remind her that discipleship is not all about doing. In fact, the better part of discipleship, the one thing that is truly necessary, does not really involve doing anything at all, but, rather, being near enough to Jesus’ word that it can be heard. Martha’s error is not that she tends to these tasks of service, but that she has let them distract her from that one thing Mary chooses.

It is a dilemma that all people of faith struggle with, this pastor especially. Our culture has become far too preoccupied with being preoccupied. The demands on our schedules these days are intense. And when we’re not rushing off to one event, or preparing ourselves for the next show or practice, we are plugged into a cellphone or an iPod or an email, as noble as some of those causes may be. I wonder how much of this attitude has even infected our Sunday worship of God, where we think things must get done in a prescribed amount of time so that we can get on with the next item on our agendas. We run the risk of expecting to be preoccupied during worship, distracted into thinking that worship is somehow supposed to move us, that it should always be entertaining or uplifting or mentally provoking.

However, truth be told, we come to this gathering with a different motivation than to be preoccupied or distracted. Christians come to worship because we discover that God is in our midst, and therefore deserves undivided attention and praise. The focus, as Mary illutrates, is not on us or our tasks, but on Jesus.

Mark Allan Powell, a professor at one of our ELCA seminaries, tells the story in one of his books about once meeting a young man he describes as a Christian rock fan. Powell explains how he envied this young man, for his faith seemed to be so centered on the joy of living in Jesus. When Powell asks the young man where he goes to church, he almost brushes him off, explaining that he couldn’t find a church where he fit in. The young man then complains that the church where he’s a member is “like something out of an old black-and-white T.V. show.” The young man goes on to explain that everyone gets dressed up fancy, and that the music doesn’t sound like anything on the radio and the preacher never preaches anything exciting. “I don’t know,” he says, “it’s just…boring.”

Powell then goes on to ask the young man, “do you love Jesus?”

“Yes, I do,” responds the young man. “I love him with all my heart.”

“Would you die for him?” Powell inquires.

“Yes, I would,” replied the young man, after some reflection.

“You would die for him, but you won’t be bored for him?” countered Powell. Powell goes on to say that “we can waste our time in worship, and know that it was time well-spent.” Why? Because we have spent time like Mary, giving our unreserved attention to the things of God. Powell ends up encouraging the young man to go to church the next Sunday and be bored and see what happens (Loving Jesus. Mark Allan Powell, Augsburg Fortress, chapter 14).

I’m sure that, to a certain degree, Mary does sits at Jesus’ feet in order to receive wisdom, to be fed by what he says, but I reckon she largely pays close attention to him simply because he is there. Jesus has come into her midst, into her home, and that is reason enough to drop the distracting tasks and pay him attention, to focus on his words. In a day and age when we feel the weight of so many distractions, when we can easily come to equate faithfulness and devotion to how busy and preoccupied we are, the challenge for the disciple is always to remember that our faith and our truest life is grounded in what we hear about God and about ourselves. And that, my friends, starts with listening, first and foremost, to what Jesus says to us. Jesus’ interaction with Mary and Martha is not a moralism about slowing things down. Yet, as it turns out, there are some basic things we can learn only by listening to God.

I have a cousin who has spent the last four months of her life, more or less, waiting at the side of a hospital bed as her close friend fights for his life against a debilitating disease. He is in intensive care, unable to move because of all the machines and tubes that are hooked up to him. For the majority of these last few months, he has been under the clouding influence of heavy sedation and coma-inducing drugs so that his body can heal enough to start taking the medicine. My cousin, meanwhile, sits patiently at his side, with little responsibility other than to be there if he wakes up and remind him of where he is and what is happening and, foremost, that his loved ones are near. He wakes in such fits, fighting at the IV line and yanking at the ventilator tubes, and my cousin and this young man’s other relatives jump into action and say, “John, you’re in the hospital.” “John, you’re OK.” “John, settle down.”

It occurs to me that, in this hospital vigil scene, John is a lot like Mary, sitting at the feet of Jesus, my cousin, Amanda. You see, it is only when we’re in the presence of our Lord, that we can properly hear who we are, that we’re fine, that we’re loved. Because, let’s be honest, we’re all fighting for our lives, and we can all get distracted by so many things—the IV lines and ventilator tubes of our careers, our passions, the clouding effect of our diversions, our duties, our relationships with others. When we sit at the foot of Jesus and come-to…when we hear his word…when we take the bread and pass the cup…we are reminded who and, more importantly, whose we are. We come to know our Lord, once again, and our identity as his child forever is brought into focus again.

In the end, this is the one thing we really need.

In the end, this is God’s intensive care, and we are provided with grace to steady us for the tasks ahead. And yes, at the foot of Jesus is where we are prepared for service.

May we all, at long last, quit our bellyaching and come to see that this is the better part and that, no matter what, it will never be taken from us.



Thanks be to God!



The Reverend Phillip W. Martin, Jr.

painting: "Christ in the House of Mary and Martha" Jan Vermeer, 1654-55
photograph of church by Meredith Sizemore Photography: www.wix.com/MSizemore/Meredith-Sizemore-Photography/