Pray Devoutly, Hammer Stoutly
Sermon
Topsy-Turvy: Living In The Biblical World
Gospel Sermons For Sundays After Pentecost (Middle Third) Cycle C
They had not been married long -- three or four years -- when it started to unravel. The seamless cloth which he thought had been their marriage, the warp and woof of their two lives joined together, threatened to come undone.
He expected her to view the world the way he did. Whenever they would have a "discussion," he would marshal all the fact and figures to support his particular viewpoint, and he would lay them all out in good logical order.
And then he'd listen to her. After all, that's what marriage is about, isn't it, listening to each other? But he'd have to interrupt, "No, no, no, I don't want feelings. I don't want to know what your gut says. I just want your cold, hard facts. Lay out your argument logically and then I can understand." He thought he was listening, but really he only wanted to listen on his terms. Because he was so filled with expectations of his wife, he was not free to receive from her.
Two thousand years earlier a similar scenario played itself out in a certain village in Israel. Jesus was visiting his friends, Martha and Mary. Like the Martha Stewart we know today, this Martha is determined to be the perfect host. But she is distracted by her many tasks: the hors d'oeuvres aren't quite ready, the flowers still need to be arranged, and that special sauce needs her attention. But, look, her sister Mary is sitting at Jesus' feet, doing nothing, just listening to Jesus. "Lord, tell Mary to make herself useful; I could use an extra hand here."
Martha is measuring her own performance against the lack of performance she sees in Mary. Like the Pharisee in the temple who thanks God that he is not like the roguish tax collector. Like another character in one of Jesus' stories who gets all bent out of shape about the tiny speck of dust in his friend's eye, but is totally unaware of the big log in his own eye! Martha wants everybody to be like her!
Well, that would be the way to make the world conflict-free, wouldn't it? If all of you would be just like me? If all of you would look at the world the very same way that I do?
"Martha. Martha!" Jesus says to her. "You are distracted." Notice that Jesus is not criticizing her task orientation, her doing. After all, Jesus had just told the story of the Good Samaritan who mercifully aids the wounded victim in the ditch, concluding with the familiar words: "Go and do likewise." So don't turn this into a story which lifts up the life of contemplation over against a life of action.
Nor is this a criticism of housework and cleaning and cooking -- however much you and I might like it to be that! Martha could have been a middle manager at IBM shuffling papers at her desk and had the same problem.
No, the fault lies not in what Martha is doing, but in her attitude. She is distracted by her resentments and her expectations of Mary. Distraction: literally the word means "being drawn away." Later on in Christian literature it will become a technical term for the cares of the world which draw a person away from God.
Martha is distracted, all right. When Jesus calls to her, he has to call her name twice -- "Martha. Martha!"-- just to get her attention! Jesus is not calling Martha to exchange her life of action for a life of contemplation. Jesus is not calling her to park herself beside Mary on the floor at his feet. He is simply asking her to respond to the presence of God in her life.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, in his book The Brothers Karamazov, describes another woman who is similarly distracted by her expectations. A nineteenth-century society woman has come to the monastery to talk with Father Zosima, who has encouraged her to do acts of love. She tells him about her lifelong dream to give up everything and become a hospital nurse:
I close my eyes and let my imagination wander, and during those minutes I feel an irresistible strength within me. No wounds, no infected sores, however terrible, could frighten me away then. I would clean them with my own hands. I would look after those sufferers. I would be ready to kiss their sores....
But then she has second thoughts about such a life of service:
Yes, but how long do you think I could live such a life? ... What if a patient, whose sores you were cleaning, instead of being grateful to you, tormented you with his whims and had no appreciation whatsoever for your services to mankind, talked rudely to you, or even complained about you to your superiors, as people who are in pain so often do? What would happen then? Would you go on loving him or not? And I must tell you that, to my own dismay, I have come to this conclusion: if anything could dampen my "active love" for mankind, it is ingratitude. In other words, I'm willing to work if I'm paid for it. But I want to be paid at once. I mean I want to be praised and paid for love with love. Otherwise, I'm quite incapable of loving anyone.1
The expectations and resentments of this woman distracted her. She wanted to be in charge. She wanted to define the terms of her loving action. Like Martha, she was distracted by her expectations, by her wanting to be in control.
But how do you and I give up those controlling expectations? How do we keep ourselves from being distracted by those resentful expectations? After all, Martha failed! Dostoevsky's society woman failed!
But Mary somehow got it right, didn't she? Mary, unlike her sister Martha, realized that she was not the host. Even though it was her house, for goodness' sake, Mary was not the host, she was not in control. Mary realized that she was the guest -- that Jesus was the host.
That's the surprising grace that Martha missed. She fails to recognize the surprising grace of the presence of God in her house. Just the simple fact that Jesus, a single man, walked through the doorway into a house where two single women were living -- just that demolished all sorts of first-century Jewish taboos.
It is outrageous grace even for Mary to be sitting at Jesus' feet as a disciple. What did the rabbis say? "It is better to burn the Torah than to teach it to a woman." "It is better to teach your daughter to be a prostitute than to teach her the Torah."
Martha, you see, was distracted by her resentment-inducing duties in welcoming Jesus, failing to realize that it was really Jesus who was welcoming her, accepting her! Once again: this story does not pit the contemplative life over against the life of action. It's not an either/or. Rather, it's all about recognizing the gracious presence of God. It's all about contemplation in action, summarized well by the wood-cut engraving hanging on the wall of a pastor's study: "Pray devoutly, hammer stoutly."
Brother Lawrence is one who prayed and hammered both devoutly and stoutly. Brother Lawrence was a seventeenth-century monk who practiced well the presence of God. He was the monastery's cook and dishwasher, but he did even the most menial chores for the love of God:
It is not necessary to have great things to do. I turn my little omelette in the pan for the love of God; when it is finished, if I have nothing to do, I prostrate myself on the ground and adore my God, who gave me the grace to make it, after which I arise, more content than a king. When I cannot do anything else, it is enough for me to have lifted a straw from the earth for the love of God.
Unlike Martha, Brother Lawrence was described as doing the work that it usually took two to do. But he never gave the appearance of frantic bustling:
Rather, he gave each chore the time that it required, always preserving his modest and tranquil air, working neither slowly nor swiftly, dwelling in calmness of soul and unalterable peace.
Was he ever distracted?
My day-to-day life consists of giving God my simple, loving attention. If I'm distracted, He calls me back in tones that are supernaturally beautiful.2
Can't you almost hear God calling him out of his distraction? "Lawrence. Lawrence!" The same loving way that Jesus called Martha: "Martha. Martha!" The same gentle way that he calls me: "Tom. Tom!"
This story of Martha and Mary is a story about the gracious presence of God in our lives and how that gracious presence empowers our doing -- like our worship right now. Every Sunday we come together ... we proclaim the Word ... pass out bread and wine. Perhaps, like Martha, we think that we are the hosts, that we are the ones who are welcoming Jesus Christ into our midst.
But, of course, it's the other way around: we are the guests; Jesus is the gracious Host who welcomes us. He removes our resentments. He turns our expectations upside down. And then he sends us out in contemplative, loving action.
Pray devoutly. Hammer stoutly.
____________
1. Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (New York: Bantam Books, 1981), p. 65. Used by permission.
2. Brother Lawrence, The Practice Of The Presence Of God (New Kensington, Pennsylvania: Whitaker House, 1982), pp. 81-84. Used by permission.
He expected her to view the world the way he did. Whenever they would have a "discussion," he would marshal all the fact and figures to support his particular viewpoint, and he would lay them all out in good logical order.
And then he'd listen to her. After all, that's what marriage is about, isn't it, listening to each other? But he'd have to interrupt, "No, no, no, I don't want feelings. I don't want to know what your gut says. I just want your cold, hard facts. Lay out your argument logically and then I can understand." He thought he was listening, but really he only wanted to listen on his terms. Because he was so filled with expectations of his wife, he was not free to receive from her.
Two thousand years earlier a similar scenario played itself out in a certain village in Israel. Jesus was visiting his friends, Martha and Mary. Like the Martha Stewart we know today, this Martha is determined to be the perfect host. But she is distracted by her many tasks: the hors d'oeuvres aren't quite ready, the flowers still need to be arranged, and that special sauce needs her attention. But, look, her sister Mary is sitting at Jesus' feet, doing nothing, just listening to Jesus. "Lord, tell Mary to make herself useful; I could use an extra hand here."
Martha is measuring her own performance against the lack of performance she sees in Mary. Like the Pharisee in the temple who thanks God that he is not like the roguish tax collector. Like another character in one of Jesus' stories who gets all bent out of shape about the tiny speck of dust in his friend's eye, but is totally unaware of the big log in his own eye! Martha wants everybody to be like her!
Well, that would be the way to make the world conflict-free, wouldn't it? If all of you would be just like me? If all of you would look at the world the very same way that I do?
"Martha. Martha!" Jesus says to her. "You are distracted." Notice that Jesus is not criticizing her task orientation, her doing. After all, Jesus had just told the story of the Good Samaritan who mercifully aids the wounded victim in the ditch, concluding with the familiar words: "Go and do likewise." So don't turn this into a story which lifts up the life of contemplation over against a life of action.
Nor is this a criticism of housework and cleaning and cooking -- however much you and I might like it to be that! Martha could have been a middle manager at IBM shuffling papers at her desk and had the same problem.
No, the fault lies not in what Martha is doing, but in her attitude. She is distracted by her resentments and her expectations of Mary. Distraction: literally the word means "being drawn away." Later on in Christian literature it will become a technical term for the cares of the world which draw a person away from God.
Martha is distracted, all right. When Jesus calls to her, he has to call her name twice -- "Martha. Martha!"-- just to get her attention! Jesus is not calling Martha to exchange her life of action for a life of contemplation. Jesus is not calling her to park herself beside Mary on the floor at his feet. He is simply asking her to respond to the presence of God in her life.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, in his book The Brothers Karamazov, describes another woman who is similarly distracted by her expectations. A nineteenth-century society woman has come to the monastery to talk with Father Zosima, who has encouraged her to do acts of love. She tells him about her lifelong dream to give up everything and become a hospital nurse:
I close my eyes and let my imagination wander, and during those minutes I feel an irresistible strength within me. No wounds, no infected sores, however terrible, could frighten me away then. I would clean them with my own hands. I would look after those sufferers. I would be ready to kiss their sores....
But then she has second thoughts about such a life of service:
Yes, but how long do you think I could live such a life? ... What if a patient, whose sores you were cleaning, instead of being grateful to you, tormented you with his whims and had no appreciation whatsoever for your services to mankind, talked rudely to you, or even complained about you to your superiors, as people who are in pain so often do? What would happen then? Would you go on loving him or not? And I must tell you that, to my own dismay, I have come to this conclusion: if anything could dampen my "active love" for mankind, it is ingratitude. In other words, I'm willing to work if I'm paid for it. But I want to be paid at once. I mean I want to be praised and paid for love with love. Otherwise, I'm quite incapable of loving anyone.1
The expectations and resentments of this woman distracted her. She wanted to be in charge. She wanted to define the terms of her loving action. Like Martha, she was distracted by her expectations, by her wanting to be in control.
But how do you and I give up those controlling expectations? How do we keep ourselves from being distracted by those resentful expectations? After all, Martha failed! Dostoevsky's society woman failed!
But Mary somehow got it right, didn't she? Mary, unlike her sister Martha, realized that she was not the host. Even though it was her house, for goodness' sake, Mary was not the host, she was not in control. Mary realized that she was the guest -- that Jesus was the host.
That's the surprising grace that Martha missed. She fails to recognize the surprising grace of the presence of God in her house. Just the simple fact that Jesus, a single man, walked through the doorway into a house where two single women were living -- just that demolished all sorts of first-century Jewish taboos.
It is outrageous grace even for Mary to be sitting at Jesus' feet as a disciple. What did the rabbis say? "It is better to burn the Torah than to teach it to a woman." "It is better to teach your daughter to be a prostitute than to teach her the Torah."
Martha, you see, was distracted by her resentment-inducing duties in welcoming Jesus, failing to realize that it was really Jesus who was welcoming her, accepting her! Once again: this story does not pit the contemplative life over against the life of action. It's not an either/or. Rather, it's all about recognizing the gracious presence of God. It's all about contemplation in action, summarized well by the wood-cut engraving hanging on the wall of a pastor's study: "Pray devoutly, hammer stoutly."
Brother Lawrence is one who prayed and hammered both devoutly and stoutly. Brother Lawrence was a seventeenth-century monk who practiced well the presence of God. He was the monastery's cook and dishwasher, but he did even the most menial chores for the love of God:
It is not necessary to have great things to do. I turn my little omelette in the pan for the love of God; when it is finished, if I have nothing to do, I prostrate myself on the ground and adore my God, who gave me the grace to make it, after which I arise, more content than a king. When I cannot do anything else, it is enough for me to have lifted a straw from the earth for the love of God.
Unlike Martha, Brother Lawrence was described as doing the work that it usually took two to do. But he never gave the appearance of frantic bustling:
Rather, he gave each chore the time that it required, always preserving his modest and tranquil air, working neither slowly nor swiftly, dwelling in calmness of soul and unalterable peace.
Was he ever distracted?
My day-to-day life consists of giving God my simple, loving attention. If I'm distracted, He calls me back in tones that are supernaturally beautiful.2
Can't you almost hear God calling him out of his distraction? "Lawrence. Lawrence!" The same loving way that Jesus called Martha: "Martha. Martha!" The same gentle way that he calls me: "Tom. Tom!"
This story of Martha and Mary is a story about the gracious presence of God in our lives and how that gracious presence empowers our doing -- like our worship right now. Every Sunday we come together ... we proclaim the Word ... pass out bread and wine. Perhaps, like Martha, we think that we are the hosts, that we are the ones who are welcoming Jesus Christ into our midst.
But, of course, it's the other way around: we are the guests; Jesus is the gracious Host who welcomes us. He removes our resentments. He turns our expectations upside down. And then he sends us out in contemplative, loving action.
Pray devoutly. Hammer stoutly.
____________
1. Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (New York: Bantam Books, 1981), p. 65. Used by permission.
2. Brother Lawrence, The Practice Of The Presence Of God (New Kensington, Pennsylvania: Whitaker House, 1982), pp. 81-84. Used by permission.
