Unspeakable famine
Commentary
Object:
During some of the years that I was doing youth ministry, my wife was providing child care for several families' babies and toddlers. It was an interesting juxtaposition of parents-and-kids that we saw each week.
On the weekdays, we saw parents interacting with their precious little ones. The contact was all sweetness and love. The children were completely dependent upon their parents, and their parents were tenderly devoted to their young children.
On the weekends, meanwhile, we observed parents interacting with their teenagers and that relationship often had a very different dynamic. The contact was often tense and combative. The kids were not so dependent upon their parents anymore -- and wanted to be even more independent than they already were. Their faces no longer lit up when their parents walked in the room, and the parents were no longer so reliably tender with their kids.
We didn't have any children of our own yet, but we were troubled by the contrast that we witnessed. How does the relationship unravel like that we wondered? What happens to all the love, sweetness, and light?
I'm thinking just now of a particular teenager who has developed an especially antagonistic attitude toward his parents. He shows no interest in their counsel. He ignores their rules, he scoffs at their wisdom, and he appears rudely indifferent each time they talk to him.
I wonder: What if they stopped talking to him? What if the rules disappeared, the counsel dried up, and the communication ended?
In a shortsighted moment, of course, the teen might be initially delighted by his parents' silence. "No more rules, no more nagging," he might declare, exulting in his newfound freedom.
After a short while, however, I suspect that his attitude would change. I imagine he would quickly discover that all their unwelcome reminders had spared him a lot of grief. He would come eventually to realize that their rules were for his good. Most importantly of all, he might recognize, in its absence, that all of their communication was actually love. That he would miss.
This week we ponder a bit how the Parent talks to his children.
Amos 8:1-12
Amos' basket of summer fruit is meant to be an object lesson. In a typical English translation of the text, however, it may be difficult for our people to recognize the connection between the object and the lesson.
The Hebrew words for "summer fruit" and "end" are spelled almost identically and pronounced very similarly. Hence, the original Hebrew featured a play on words that is not duplicated in the English. For us, perhaps the effect might be better captured if the Lord had shown Amos one end of a lime, followed by a warning that it was the end of the line for Israel.
Meanwhile, there is another possible meaning beyond the rhyming sound. The implication of summer fruit is fruit that is ripe. On the surface, that sounds like a good thing. When juxtaposed with the sinful nation in the midst of a judgment message and rhymed with "end," however, suddenly the image of ripe fruit suggests something due to be plucked, ready to be devoured.
That judgment message becomes more explicit, then, as the Lord paints a terrible picture of "the songs of the temple" becoming "wailings in that day." It is consistent with the larger message of Amos that the place of worship is targeted, though the theme may be an unsettling one to us. We might list a great many other sites within our borders where we might expect the judgment of God to strike. But why paint a bull's eye on the place of worship?
The biblical truth, of course, is that while we may make a "sacred or secular" distinction, God does not divorce our worship from the rest of our lives. And if the worshiper's life is displeasing to God, then his worship becomes repugnant to God. So we are presented with this terrifying image that hits close to home -- all the praise songs, the grand hymns, the choir's anthems, and the Christmas carols within our walls turned into loud wailing and desperate cries.
Meanwhile, the cited impatience of the people for the new moon and the sabbath to be over illustrates a particular brand of hypocrisy. These occasions were set aside as holy, and therefore ordinary commerce was forbidden on those days. Now we discover elsewhere that the people of Nehemiah's day were in the habit of business-as-usual on the sabbath (see Nehemiah 13:15-22). It was wrong, to be sure, but at least it was honest. The people of Amos' day, by contrast, exercised a counterfeit obedience. Unlike Nehemiah's generation, they obliged the sabbath restrictions. Yet in their hearts, they were impatient for the holy day to pass so that they might return to their dealings -- and crooked dealings, at that! How much is God honored by such clock-watching? How well is the day hallowed by such distraction?
Amos' condemnation of those people's crooked dealings is reminiscent of the Proverbs' identification of what things please and displease God in our commerce (cf. Proverbs 11:1; 16:11; 20:10, 23). The cynical world may be content to say, "Buyer beware." But God says, "No, seller beware, and merchant be careful!" The buyer may not see or know what goes on behind the scenes, but the Lord does. The customer may not always recognize when he is being cheated, but the judge of all the world knows.
Meanwhile, in the course of the judgment message comes a portrait of a certain day. It was unquestionably meant, in its original context, as a terrifying description: a picture of doom and grief for the wicked targets of God's righteous judgment. For us, however, it is difficult not to see in the description of that day a second layer of meaning.
Details like the sun going down at noon, darkness in broad daylight, a feast that turns into mourning, and specifically "the mourning for an only son," are powerful images of the trouble and sorrow that come with God's judgment. Yet they also bear a striking resemblance to the gospel accounts of Good Friday. So, on this side of the cross, we see in Amos' judgment message a profound truth: that God's ultimate judgment on sin came against his own Son. In the end, the grief, the trouble, the sorrow, and the loss were his, not ours. What reads like a judgment message in the eighth-century BC, therefore, reads like the good news of Jesus Christ for us today.
Finally, our Old Testament lection includes one more word of judgment. And we will devote singular attention to it as part of our larger theme for the week.
Colossians 1:15-28
As with so many of the epistles, we only get to overhear one-half of the phone conversation. We are left to deduce from what we hear Paul say, therefore, what the situation is on the other end of the line -- in this case, among the believers in Colossae.
Based on the content of this brief epistle, scholars generally assume that Paul was writing to address a deficiency in the church's Christology. We can't say with certainty what heresy was nibbling around the edges of their congregation, but we can be grateful for it, for it prompted the apostle Paul to write this magnificent statement about the person and work of Jesus Christ.
During a telecast at the end of 2009, veteran newsman Brit Hume made a brief profession of Christian faith on the air. It resulted in a strong negative reaction from many people who felt, in one respect or another, that what he had said was inappropriate or out-of-place. Commenting on the experience later, Hume observed, "The most controversial two words in the English language are 'Jesus Christ.' "
We have experienced that reality, haven't we? In a culture that is hell-bent on its pluralism and relativism, there is a kind of gag reflex to the name of Jesus. People sense that when you start talking about him, you are introducing a divisive particularity into the conversation. A "both-and" culture resists "either-or" choices.
Our culture would certainly resist the no-nonsense affirmation of Paul in this passage. These verses represent a vein that a preacher could mine for weeks and months. In order to give it a one-week treatment, we shall need to paint with broad strokes. Even at that, the task is daunting, but I would summarize the passage in terms of the following large categories: 1) Jesus' relationship to God; 2) Jesus' relationship to Creation; and 3) Jesus' relationship to us.
First, Paul poetically captures Jesus' relationship to God in this declaration: "He is the image of the invisible God." Reminiscent of Jesus' own statement that "whoever has seen me has seen the Father" (John 14:9), Paul the monotheistic Jew is making a bold claim about a human being who lived and died on earth. Unlike the great servants and saints of God in Israel's past -- Moses, Samuel, David, Elijah, Isaiah, and such -- Jesus is not just a chosen and anointed human instrument of God. No, he is the very image of God. That's a claim of a different order, and it is a part of what the present culture refuses to accept. Twenty-first century Americans -- including many in the church -- prefer to obfuscate the issue of Jesus, pretending to honor him by ranking him with other great teachers, philosophers, and religious leaders. But Paul does not identify Jesus with other men; he identifies Jesus with God.
Second, there is the matter of Jesus' relationship to God's creation. Paul understands that Jesus is preeminent in the whole created order. He came before it all -- again, making him quite distinct from all other servants and saints of God -- and that creation is both "through him" and "for him." The first phrase suggests agency, which we also recognize and affirm from John's prologue (John 1:1-4). The second phrase, meanwhile, suggests purpose -- that Jesus himself is central to the reason for the world around us. Note that he does not exist for the world's sake -- which is the unintended message of some teaching and preaching -- but rather the world exists for him.
Meanwhile, that creation has been become distant from its creator. Jesus, however, is the one by whom "God reconciles all things to himself." The same one who was central to the world's creation is also essential to its redemption.
Finally, that redemption and reconciliation brings us to the subject of Jesus' relationship to us. For "you who were once estranged … he has now reconciled." For Paul -- and implicitly for the whole church -- that reconciliation, which is meant for everyone, calls us into the service and the suffering of Christ. Furthermore, our corporate relationship to him is as his body, which is the church. And that body, with all its members, is to grow "so that we may present everyone mature in Christ."
This passage challenges us to go to very heart of the matter with our people this week. What does the Bible declare about Jesus? What do we believe about him? What do we proclaim about him? And what is our own relationship to him?
Luke 10:38-42
This household is unique in the gospel accounts. While we certainly see Jesus as a guest in a number of homes along the way (see, for example, Mark 14:3; Luke 14:1, 19:5-10), the home of Mary and Martha seems to be a recurring place of hospitality for Jesus. In addition to this occasion, we famously see Jesus at this family's home following the death of Lazarus (John 11:1-44). Shortly after that event, Jesus is a guest at their table again (John 12:1-8). Furthermore, Bible students often assume that Jesus and his disciples were guests at this home throughout the evenings of Holy Week. We have no indication in the text that he and his followers ever spent the night in Jerusalem. Instead, we are led to conclude that he crossed over the Mount of Olives between Bethany and Jerusalem each morning and each evening.
The famous brother Lazarus does not appear in this particular episode, but he is part of the family, and he is an interesting case. He is not the only person Jesus raises from the dead, but he is the only one whose name we know. Furthermore, we observe that Jesus only tells one parable in which he uses proper names, and he names the protagonist in that parable "Lazarus" (Luke 16:19-31). Mary and Martha refer to Lazarus as someone Jesus loved (John 11:3), and the narrator reports that Jesus loved all three of them (11:5).
Finally, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus may be the only recurring characters in the gospels who are favorable toward Jesus and yet not among his followers. The disciples are the characters we see most often throughout the gospels, but they are actively following Jesus. Meanwhile, his antagonists -- the Pharisees, scribes, and other Jewish religious leaders -- are also recurring figures, but they are mostly anonymous and they are decidedly not favorably disposed toward him. The crowds are enthusiastic about Jesus, and they are not technically among his followers, but we do not know any of their names to be able to identify them individually. Meanwhile, we see members of Jesus' own family appear off and on, and they are not counted among his followers, but neither are they always favorable toward him.
The fact is that this home and this family are special to Jesus and unique within the gospel accounts.
On this particular occasion, we observe the famous (and familiar) difference between the two sisters. Mary, it seems, is attentively seated at Jesus' feet in the living room, while Martha is slaving away in the kitchen. They are both sympathetic figures, but each of us probably has a natural prejudice in favor of one or the other.
When Martha finally appears in the living room, she is exasperated with her sister. I remember hearing a woman preacher observe that this was probably not the first time these two sisters had had this conversation. Most of our intra-family squabbles and complaints are rooted in well-established behavior patterns, and that familiarity makes our fuses a bit shorter with one another.
On this occasion, however, there is an objective outsider who can serve as a judge between them. Rather than letting her indignation fall on Mary's deaf ears one more time, therefore, Martha takes her case to Jesus. "Tell her to help me," she pleads, no doubt certain that the Lord will see the justice of her cause.
Instead, however, Jesus replies with a word of commendation for Mary, plus a gentle rebuke of Martha. Jesus' words to her should not be misunderstood as harsh, even if somewhat surprising. I believe that the double vocative ("Martha! Martha!") conveys a certain mood that a single calling of her name would not. We see the same grammatical pattern in other places (e.g., Matthew 23:37; Luke 22:31-32), and in each case it has the quality of compassionate lament. So, here, Jesus does not condemn Martha for her misplaced emphasis; he laments and gently corrects it. And whether our natural preoccupation is the same as Martha's or is something else, that's good news for us.
Application
The grand recurring theme of this week's lections is the word of the Lord. Mary chose to sit and listen to his words, while Martha was unhappily busy about many things. The word of the Lord was, for Paul, a saving word, which he was called to proclaim. And Amos warned his audience about a shortage of that word.
This was not a conventional famine -- "not a famine of bread, or a thirst for water." Rather, the great want will be for "hearing the words of the Lord."
Now to a people -- whether in Amos' day or ours -- that are indifferent to his word, we wonder how bad such a famine could be. After all, if a person never desires or eats, say, sweet potatoes, then how injured would he be by a sweet potato shortage?
Yet we recall Jesus' emphatic quote of Moses' ancient word: "One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God" (Matthew 4:4; Deuteronomy 8:3). We remember the disastrous era in Israel from which young Samuel emerged: a time when "the word of the Lord was rare" (1 Samuel 3:1). We consider the Psalmist's appreciation of that word as a light to his path (Psalm 119:105), and we wonder what would become of us if that light were turned off for a time.
We imagine the predicament of that stubborn teenager if his parents gave up talking to him. So it is that the Lord envisions a desperate people, "run(ning) to and from, seeking the word of the Lord." How much better if we would heed it -- cherish it! -- while it is clear and abundant, lest it recede and we find ourselves panicking in the silence and the dark.
Alternative Application
Luke 10:38-42. "Martha! Martha!" May I say that I have known a number of Marthas. Indeed, I love some Marthas! And so I feel so sorry for Martha at this moment in this story. She is already frustrated and hurt by Mary. Now all of that is compounded, for she must feel frustrated and hurt by Jesus, as well.
Martha is so earnest, and she is working so hard. She is not a bad person doing bad things. Quite the contrary, she is a good person doing good things! Yet she gets corrected by Jesus.
No, she was not doing bad things, but she has missed the best thing, and that makes her potentially as tragic a figure. It also makes her a familiar figure.
The story of Mary and Martha is too often misunderstood as a story of two different personality types, and then we are offended or hurt that Jesus seems to condemn one of those personalities. This is not a condemnation of a personality type. This is a commendation of a choice.
Jesus told Martha that she was busy about many things, but only one thing was necessary.
Martha looked around, and she saw all the things that she needed to do. Mary looked, and she saw that there was really only one thing that she needed to do.
It does not take uncommon wisdom to see everything that needs to be done. It does take considerable wisdom, however, to see which things should be done first.
Do I secretly suppose that the difference between me and the great saints is that I have a longer list of things to do than they did? That you and I have more to do, while they had the time to sit at Jesus' feet?
Don't kid yourself. The difference between the average Christian and the great saint is not found in the length of their lists but at the top of their lists. Jesus gently tried to rescue Martha -- and me! -- from a well-meaning but tragic choice.
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 52
One of the grand illusions of life and culture is that of permanence. Patriots dream of lasting empires. Businessmen and oligarchs envision ongoing prosperity. And mere mortals who live their lives day to day rarely contemplate the arc of their lives as a whole. We think that nations last forever, and economic prosperity is our right. And few of us ever think that today is the day we might die.
The truth, however, is that all empires collapse. It's an uncomfortable reality to contemplate, but it is accurate. Indeed, it is not merely empires but all human institutions will ultimately fail and fall into the dust of history. And, as the psalm indicates, those who place their trust and hope in such things will come to the same end.
When we think something lasts forever, it becomes easy to slide into unconscious and unhelpful behaviors. This is why such horrors can be committed in the name of nation and patriotism. People become convinced that life is worth taking because the principle lifted up is lofty and, yes, permanent. But the untold millions of graves for soldiers who fought for empires long gone would argue otherwise.
As our own nation fights in two wars while simultaneously carrying on a so-called "Global War on Terror," what lasting principle is being sustained? Is it our own national obsession with being a super power? Is it a quest for hegemony or oil or is it to spread democracy? It's unclear whether anyone really knows why we're at war. But this much is true: In a thousand years it will not matter at all.
When we place our trust in "abundant riches," or more to the point, in things impermanent, we are unwise. Moreover, we miss out on the abundant life that emerges when we actually trust in God for our welfare. Our money and our weapons will not save us. Our grand global schemes will not protect us. Only God can save. Only God rules the nations. Only God can lift us up from the mire of our own recklessness and stupidity.
So let the praise of God ring forth! Let us come together in community as we withdraw our trust in nations and in riches and offer that trust to a wonderful, saving God.
On the weekdays, we saw parents interacting with their precious little ones. The contact was all sweetness and love. The children were completely dependent upon their parents, and their parents were tenderly devoted to their young children.
On the weekends, meanwhile, we observed parents interacting with their teenagers and that relationship often had a very different dynamic. The contact was often tense and combative. The kids were not so dependent upon their parents anymore -- and wanted to be even more independent than they already were. Their faces no longer lit up when their parents walked in the room, and the parents were no longer so reliably tender with their kids.
We didn't have any children of our own yet, but we were troubled by the contrast that we witnessed. How does the relationship unravel like that we wondered? What happens to all the love, sweetness, and light?
I'm thinking just now of a particular teenager who has developed an especially antagonistic attitude toward his parents. He shows no interest in their counsel. He ignores their rules, he scoffs at their wisdom, and he appears rudely indifferent each time they talk to him.
I wonder: What if they stopped talking to him? What if the rules disappeared, the counsel dried up, and the communication ended?
In a shortsighted moment, of course, the teen might be initially delighted by his parents' silence. "No more rules, no more nagging," he might declare, exulting in his newfound freedom.
After a short while, however, I suspect that his attitude would change. I imagine he would quickly discover that all their unwelcome reminders had spared him a lot of grief. He would come eventually to realize that their rules were for his good. Most importantly of all, he might recognize, in its absence, that all of their communication was actually love. That he would miss.
This week we ponder a bit how the Parent talks to his children.
Amos 8:1-12
Amos' basket of summer fruit is meant to be an object lesson. In a typical English translation of the text, however, it may be difficult for our people to recognize the connection between the object and the lesson.
The Hebrew words for "summer fruit" and "end" are spelled almost identically and pronounced very similarly. Hence, the original Hebrew featured a play on words that is not duplicated in the English. For us, perhaps the effect might be better captured if the Lord had shown Amos one end of a lime, followed by a warning that it was the end of the line for Israel.
Meanwhile, there is another possible meaning beyond the rhyming sound. The implication of summer fruit is fruit that is ripe. On the surface, that sounds like a good thing. When juxtaposed with the sinful nation in the midst of a judgment message and rhymed with "end," however, suddenly the image of ripe fruit suggests something due to be plucked, ready to be devoured.
That judgment message becomes more explicit, then, as the Lord paints a terrible picture of "the songs of the temple" becoming "wailings in that day." It is consistent with the larger message of Amos that the place of worship is targeted, though the theme may be an unsettling one to us. We might list a great many other sites within our borders where we might expect the judgment of God to strike. But why paint a bull's eye on the place of worship?
The biblical truth, of course, is that while we may make a "sacred or secular" distinction, God does not divorce our worship from the rest of our lives. And if the worshiper's life is displeasing to God, then his worship becomes repugnant to God. So we are presented with this terrifying image that hits close to home -- all the praise songs, the grand hymns, the choir's anthems, and the Christmas carols within our walls turned into loud wailing and desperate cries.
Meanwhile, the cited impatience of the people for the new moon and the sabbath to be over illustrates a particular brand of hypocrisy. These occasions were set aside as holy, and therefore ordinary commerce was forbidden on those days. Now we discover elsewhere that the people of Nehemiah's day were in the habit of business-as-usual on the sabbath (see Nehemiah 13:15-22). It was wrong, to be sure, but at least it was honest. The people of Amos' day, by contrast, exercised a counterfeit obedience. Unlike Nehemiah's generation, they obliged the sabbath restrictions. Yet in their hearts, they were impatient for the holy day to pass so that they might return to their dealings -- and crooked dealings, at that! How much is God honored by such clock-watching? How well is the day hallowed by such distraction?
Amos' condemnation of those people's crooked dealings is reminiscent of the Proverbs' identification of what things please and displease God in our commerce (cf. Proverbs 11:1; 16:11; 20:10, 23). The cynical world may be content to say, "Buyer beware." But God says, "No, seller beware, and merchant be careful!" The buyer may not see or know what goes on behind the scenes, but the Lord does. The customer may not always recognize when he is being cheated, but the judge of all the world knows.
Meanwhile, in the course of the judgment message comes a portrait of a certain day. It was unquestionably meant, in its original context, as a terrifying description: a picture of doom and grief for the wicked targets of God's righteous judgment. For us, however, it is difficult not to see in the description of that day a second layer of meaning.
Details like the sun going down at noon, darkness in broad daylight, a feast that turns into mourning, and specifically "the mourning for an only son," are powerful images of the trouble and sorrow that come with God's judgment. Yet they also bear a striking resemblance to the gospel accounts of Good Friday. So, on this side of the cross, we see in Amos' judgment message a profound truth: that God's ultimate judgment on sin came against his own Son. In the end, the grief, the trouble, the sorrow, and the loss were his, not ours. What reads like a judgment message in the eighth-century BC, therefore, reads like the good news of Jesus Christ for us today.
Finally, our Old Testament lection includes one more word of judgment. And we will devote singular attention to it as part of our larger theme for the week.
Colossians 1:15-28
As with so many of the epistles, we only get to overhear one-half of the phone conversation. We are left to deduce from what we hear Paul say, therefore, what the situation is on the other end of the line -- in this case, among the believers in Colossae.
Based on the content of this brief epistle, scholars generally assume that Paul was writing to address a deficiency in the church's Christology. We can't say with certainty what heresy was nibbling around the edges of their congregation, but we can be grateful for it, for it prompted the apostle Paul to write this magnificent statement about the person and work of Jesus Christ.
During a telecast at the end of 2009, veteran newsman Brit Hume made a brief profession of Christian faith on the air. It resulted in a strong negative reaction from many people who felt, in one respect or another, that what he had said was inappropriate or out-of-place. Commenting on the experience later, Hume observed, "The most controversial two words in the English language are 'Jesus Christ.' "
We have experienced that reality, haven't we? In a culture that is hell-bent on its pluralism and relativism, there is a kind of gag reflex to the name of Jesus. People sense that when you start talking about him, you are introducing a divisive particularity into the conversation. A "both-and" culture resists "either-or" choices.
Our culture would certainly resist the no-nonsense affirmation of Paul in this passage. These verses represent a vein that a preacher could mine for weeks and months. In order to give it a one-week treatment, we shall need to paint with broad strokes. Even at that, the task is daunting, but I would summarize the passage in terms of the following large categories: 1) Jesus' relationship to God; 2) Jesus' relationship to Creation; and 3) Jesus' relationship to us.
First, Paul poetically captures Jesus' relationship to God in this declaration: "He is the image of the invisible God." Reminiscent of Jesus' own statement that "whoever has seen me has seen the Father" (John 14:9), Paul the monotheistic Jew is making a bold claim about a human being who lived and died on earth. Unlike the great servants and saints of God in Israel's past -- Moses, Samuel, David, Elijah, Isaiah, and such -- Jesus is not just a chosen and anointed human instrument of God. No, he is the very image of God. That's a claim of a different order, and it is a part of what the present culture refuses to accept. Twenty-first century Americans -- including many in the church -- prefer to obfuscate the issue of Jesus, pretending to honor him by ranking him with other great teachers, philosophers, and religious leaders. But Paul does not identify Jesus with other men; he identifies Jesus with God.
Second, there is the matter of Jesus' relationship to God's creation. Paul understands that Jesus is preeminent in the whole created order. He came before it all -- again, making him quite distinct from all other servants and saints of God -- and that creation is both "through him" and "for him." The first phrase suggests agency, which we also recognize and affirm from John's prologue (John 1:1-4). The second phrase, meanwhile, suggests purpose -- that Jesus himself is central to the reason for the world around us. Note that he does not exist for the world's sake -- which is the unintended message of some teaching and preaching -- but rather the world exists for him.
Meanwhile, that creation has been become distant from its creator. Jesus, however, is the one by whom "God reconciles all things to himself." The same one who was central to the world's creation is also essential to its redemption.
Finally, that redemption and reconciliation brings us to the subject of Jesus' relationship to us. For "you who were once estranged … he has now reconciled." For Paul -- and implicitly for the whole church -- that reconciliation, which is meant for everyone, calls us into the service and the suffering of Christ. Furthermore, our corporate relationship to him is as his body, which is the church. And that body, with all its members, is to grow "so that we may present everyone mature in Christ."
This passage challenges us to go to very heart of the matter with our people this week. What does the Bible declare about Jesus? What do we believe about him? What do we proclaim about him? And what is our own relationship to him?
Luke 10:38-42
This household is unique in the gospel accounts. While we certainly see Jesus as a guest in a number of homes along the way (see, for example, Mark 14:3; Luke 14:1, 19:5-10), the home of Mary and Martha seems to be a recurring place of hospitality for Jesus. In addition to this occasion, we famously see Jesus at this family's home following the death of Lazarus (John 11:1-44). Shortly after that event, Jesus is a guest at their table again (John 12:1-8). Furthermore, Bible students often assume that Jesus and his disciples were guests at this home throughout the evenings of Holy Week. We have no indication in the text that he and his followers ever spent the night in Jerusalem. Instead, we are led to conclude that he crossed over the Mount of Olives between Bethany and Jerusalem each morning and each evening.
The famous brother Lazarus does not appear in this particular episode, but he is part of the family, and he is an interesting case. He is not the only person Jesus raises from the dead, but he is the only one whose name we know. Furthermore, we observe that Jesus only tells one parable in which he uses proper names, and he names the protagonist in that parable "Lazarus" (Luke 16:19-31). Mary and Martha refer to Lazarus as someone Jesus loved (John 11:3), and the narrator reports that Jesus loved all three of them (11:5).
Finally, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus may be the only recurring characters in the gospels who are favorable toward Jesus and yet not among his followers. The disciples are the characters we see most often throughout the gospels, but they are actively following Jesus. Meanwhile, his antagonists -- the Pharisees, scribes, and other Jewish religious leaders -- are also recurring figures, but they are mostly anonymous and they are decidedly not favorably disposed toward him. The crowds are enthusiastic about Jesus, and they are not technically among his followers, but we do not know any of their names to be able to identify them individually. Meanwhile, we see members of Jesus' own family appear off and on, and they are not counted among his followers, but neither are they always favorable toward him.
The fact is that this home and this family are special to Jesus and unique within the gospel accounts.
On this particular occasion, we observe the famous (and familiar) difference between the two sisters. Mary, it seems, is attentively seated at Jesus' feet in the living room, while Martha is slaving away in the kitchen. They are both sympathetic figures, but each of us probably has a natural prejudice in favor of one or the other.
When Martha finally appears in the living room, she is exasperated with her sister. I remember hearing a woman preacher observe that this was probably not the first time these two sisters had had this conversation. Most of our intra-family squabbles and complaints are rooted in well-established behavior patterns, and that familiarity makes our fuses a bit shorter with one another.
On this occasion, however, there is an objective outsider who can serve as a judge between them. Rather than letting her indignation fall on Mary's deaf ears one more time, therefore, Martha takes her case to Jesus. "Tell her to help me," she pleads, no doubt certain that the Lord will see the justice of her cause.
Instead, however, Jesus replies with a word of commendation for Mary, plus a gentle rebuke of Martha. Jesus' words to her should not be misunderstood as harsh, even if somewhat surprising. I believe that the double vocative ("Martha! Martha!") conveys a certain mood that a single calling of her name would not. We see the same grammatical pattern in other places (e.g., Matthew 23:37; Luke 22:31-32), and in each case it has the quality of compassionate lament. So, here, Jesus does not condemn Martha for her misplaced emphasis; he laments and gently corrects it. And whether our natural preoccupation is the same as Martha's or is something else, that's good news for us.
Application
The grand recurring theme of this week's lections is the word of the Lord. Mary chose to sit and listen to his words, while Martha was unhappily busy about many things. The word of the Lord was, for Paul, a saving word, which he was called to proclaim. And Amos warned his audience about a shortage of that word.
This was not a conventional famine -- "not a famine of bread, or a thirst for water." Rather, the great want will be for "hearing the words of the Lord."
Now to a people -- whether in Amos' day or ours -- that are indifferent to his word, we wonder how bad such a famine could be. After all, if a person never desires or eats, say, sweet potatoes, then how injured would he be by a sweet potato shortage?
Yet we recall Jesus' emphatic quote of Moses' ancient word: "One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God" (Matthew 4:4; Deuteronomy 8:3). We remember the disastrous era in Israel from which young Samuel emerged: a time when "the word of the Lord was rare" (1 Samuel 3:1). We consider the Psalmist's appreciation of that word as a light to his path (Psalm 119:105), and we wonder what would become of us if that light were turned off for a time.
We imagine the predicament of that stubborn teenager if his parents gave up talking to him. So it is that the Lord envisions a desperate people, "run(ning) to and from, seeking the word of the Lord." How much better if we would heed it -- cherish it! -- while it is clear and abundant, lest it recede and we find ourselves panicking in the silence and the dark.
Alternative Application
Luke 10:38-42. "Martha! Martha!" May I say that I have known a number of Marthas. Indeed, I love some Marthas! And so I feel so sorry for Martha at this moment in this story. She is already frustrated and hurt by Mary. Now all of that is compounded, for she must feel frustrated and hurt by Jesus, as well.
Martha is so earnest, and she is working so hard. She is not a bad person doing bad things. Quite the contrary, she is a good person doing good things! Yet she gets corrected by Jesus.
No, she was not doing bad things, but she has missed the best thing, and that makes her potentially as tragic a figure. It also makes her a familiar figure.
The story of Mary and Martha is too often misunderstood as a story of two different personality types, and then we are offended or hurt that Jesus seems to condemn one of those personalities. This is not a condemnation of a personality type. This is a commendation of a choice.
Jesus told Martha that she was busy about many things, but only one thing was necessary.
Martha looked around, and she saw all the things that she needed to do. Mary looked, and she saw that there was really only one thing that she needed to do.
It does not take uncommon wisdom to see everything that needs to be done. It does take considerable wisdom, however, to see which things should be done first.
Do I secretly suppose that the difference between me and the great saints is that I have a longer list of things to do than they did? That you and I have more to do, while they had the time to sit at Jesus' feet?
Don't kid yourself. The difference between the average Christian and the great saint is not found in the length of their lists but at the top of their lists. Jesus gently tried to rescue Martha -- and me! -- from a well-meaning but tragic choice.
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 52
One of the grand illusions of life and culture is that of permanence. Patriots dream of lasting empires. Businessmen and oligarchs envision ongoing prosperity. And mere mortals who live their lives day to day rarely contemplate the arc of their lives as a whole. We think that nations last forever, and economic prosperity is our right. And few of us ever think that today is the day we might die.
The truth, however, is that all empires collapse. It's an uncomfortable reality to contemplate, but it is accurate. Indeed, it is not merely empires but all human institutions will ultimately fail and fall into the dust of history. And, as the psalm indicates, those who place their trust and hope in such things will come to the same end.
When we think something lasts forever, it becomes easy to slide into unconscious and unhelpful behaviors. This is why such horrors can be committed in the name of nation and patriotism. People become convinced that life is worth taking because the principle lifted up is lofty and, yes, permanent. But the untold millions of graves for soldiers who fought for empires long gone would argue otherwise.
As our own nation fights in two wars while simultaneously carrying on a so-called "Global War on Terror," what lasting principle is being sustained? Is it our own national obsession with being a super power? Is it a quest for hegemony or oil or is it to spread democracy? It's unclear whether anyone really knows why we're at war. But this much is true: In a thousand years it will not matter at all.
When we place our trust in "abundant riches," or more to the point, in things impermanent, we are unwise. Moreover, we miss out on the abundant life that emerges when we actually trust in God for our welfare. Our money and our weapons will not save us. Our grand global schemes will not protect us. Only God can save. Only God rules the nations. Only God can lift us up from the mire of our own recklessness and stupidity.
So let the praise of God ring forth! Let us come together in community as we withdraw our trust in nations and in riches and offer that trust to a wonderful, saving God.
