Proper 11/Pentecost 9/Ordinary Time 16
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VII, Cycle C
Object:
Theme For The Day
The antidote to anxious worry is to focus on the one thing that's needful: our relationship with Jesus Christ.
Old Testament Lesson
Amos 8:1-12
Fruit Basket Upset
In this passage, Amos unveils a second compelling prophetic image, to complement that of the plumb line he used in last week's lesson: a basket of summer fruit. The relevance of the image is based on a bit of Hebrew word play: qayitz, or "summer fruit," is similar to qetz, or "end." Amos is predicting the imminent end of Israel, unless the people reform their evil ways. Verses 4-6 detail the offenses of the people. They include oppressing the needy (v. 4), dealing in false weights and measures (v. 5), and greedily going after excessive profits while failing to provide for the needs of the poor through the right of gleaning and other means (v. 6). Verses 9-12 forecast a coming day of judgment, which shall include a darkening of the sun, sackcloth and mourning, famine and homelessness.
New Testament Lesson
Colossians 1:15-28
Christ In You, The Hope Of Glory
Picking up where last week's passage left off, Paul launches into a Christological hymn, which was possibly already well known among the Colossians (vv. 15-20). Christ, "the image of the invisible God," dwelt with God before creation, and even now holds all creation together. He is the head of the church, and "the firstborn of the dead." "In him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things." Those who were once estranged by sin he has welcomed home and reconciled (vv. 21-23). Paul writes of his eagerness to continue sharing the once-mysterious truth about God that has now been revealed: "Christ in you, the hope of glory" (v. 27). Paul assures his readers that he proclaims only Christ, with a goal toward leading everyone toward the goal of mature faith (v. 28).
The Gospel
Luke 10:38-42
Mary And Martha
Jesus visits in the home of a woman named Martha, who lives there with her younger sister, Mary (John identifies these two as sisters of Lazarus, and the location of the town as Bethany, although Luke provides no such detail). Mary sits in rapt attention at Jesus' feet, while Martha is slaving in the kitchen to prepare the meal. The phrase "sat at the Lord's feet" indicates that Mary is a serious student, a disciple of Jesus. When Martha comes out to complain to Jesus that Mary is not helping, Jesus gently rebukes her: "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her" (vv. 41-42). Jesus is not criticizing either woman for the choices she has made, but he is observing that Martha is unfocused, her attention dispersed in pursuing a multitude of tasks. Mary is demonstrating a single-minded focus on the one thing that is most important.
Preaching Possibilities
Distractions. They can be maddening. Sometimes life can sling so many obligations, so much sensory stimulation, in our direction that we simply want to close down and get away from it all.
There's nothing particularly new about distractions. While we may tend to think they belong only to the era of cell phones and the internet, in truth there have always been things that conspire to deflect our attention away from the truly important. We can read in the New Testament about a woman who struggled with distractions. Martha's her name; Luke tells us she's "distracted by her many tasks."
Martha, it seems, is one of a circle of women whom Jesus esteemed very highly. A couple of chapters earlier, Luke shares a few of those names: Mary Magdalene, Joanna the wife of Herod's steward, and Susanna. These women, he tells us -- these leaders of the early church -- "provided for [Jesus and his disciples] out of their resources."
That's what Martha is doing this particular night. It's not just Jesus dropping over for a quick bite; he's there with all his disciples, the twelve, certainly, and possibly a number of others. The visit was very likely preplanned. Surely Jesus has chosen Martha's home for this stop on his itinerary because it's large, capable of accommodating many visitors.
Luke doesn't mention any husband of Martha. She seems to be the householder. The Aramaic name "Martha" literally means "lady" or "mistress" -- it's the female version of "lord." She's a woman of substance, this Martha, and of some personal authority, too, even in that land where women are often subordinate to men.
Despite sermons we may have heard about Martha clanging pots around in the kitchen, she was probably in a managerial role that day, overseeing the whole operation. She was greeting guests in the front courtyard one minute; checking with the wine-steward the next; then dashing into the kitchen to supervise the cooks. She was more like a maître d´ than a housewife warming up a tuna casserole.
Martha has opened her home to offer hospitality to this traveling rabbi and his entourage. She's doing it as a public sign of her religious commitment. In welcoming Jesus and his followers, she is following a carefully prescribed Middle-Eastern ritual: the ritual of hospitality. In this ritual, the most important thing of all is to make your guests feel comfortable and welcome.
That Middle-Eastern tradition of hospitality is centuries old, even in Martha's day. It goes back to the time when the Hebrew people lived as desert nomads. Back then, if you were a traveler in the wilderness, receiving hospitality in a stranger's tent could literally be a matter of life and death. Coming upon a stranger's tent, you expected to receive food, water, and a place to sleep. In that harsh climate, there was never any question of that. If, on the other hand, you were the host, to refuse hospitality to a visitor was simply unheard of. Even your enemies you had to welcome. (And, for their part, your enemies were absolutely forbidden to draw a weapon against you, during the time they shared your tent.)
But then something happens that makes Martha stop dead in her tracks. She rubs her eyes and looks again, to make sure she's seeing rightly. There is her sister, Mary, sitting at Jesus' feet, hanging on his every word.
Doesn't Mary know she has work to do? Doesn't she know that, as the youngest sister, she's beholden to carry out Martha's wishes? With so many guests under her roof, Martha surely has the evening planned out with military precision. Like everyone else in the household, Mary has her own "to-do" list -- what's gotten into her, that she would cast her responsibilities aside, and go join the guests?
In that moment, everything comes crashing in on Martha: her nervousness, her worry, her stress. She turns to Jesus and says in annoyance, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me."
The words are already out of her mouth before Martha can take them back. With a horrible, sinking feeling, she realizes she has just broken one of the paramount laws of Middle-Eastern hospitality. To put that law in modern terms: "Never let them see you sweat." Receiving guests into your home, and meeting their needs, is meant to be carried off without visible effort. Everyone knows it's hard work, but you're not supposed to show it. Everything you do is supposed to make your guests feel welcome, so as long as they're under your roof, they shouldn't have a care in the world.
With Martha's impatient words, the room falls silent. It's an awkward moment: what she's said could even be construed as an insult to the guest of honor. Martha, of course, means no such thing. She's simply forgotten her role for a moment, forgotten her place as host. She has allowed worry to get the better of her.
The awkward silence lasts for but the briefest of moments. Jesus turns to her, and when he speaks, his voice is kind. "Martha, Martha," he says -- as one might speak to an upset child -- "you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her."
With his gracious response, Jesus frees Martha from any embarrassment she's feeling. It was her faux pas; he didn't have to rescue her. Yet Jesus sees right into Martha's inner self: into that part, deep within, that's like a frightened child. The world rarely sees that side of confident, take-charge Martha. But Jesus sees all. He reads her heart, and he tells her -- and the whole company -- that everything's all right.
Plenty of sermons on this passage have been built on a harsh judgment of Martha: a judgment that labels Mary as good, and Martha as bad. Building, perhaps, on the great Reformation doctrine of justification by faith, too many preachers have made Martha into the icon of works-righteousness, and Mary into the icon of true faith.
But that's not accurate. Jesus is not angry at Martha. He's not telling her to let the dinner burn, and go sit down beside Mary, gazing up at him with schoolgirl adoration. Someone's got to handle the logistics, if that company of travelers is to eat. Martha's the host; she's expected to work hard. Jesus knows her devotion to him is just as great her sister's. It's just that she's gotten distracted. She's lost her perspective: her ability to focus on the most important thing. All her good intentions have fallen victim to worry.
It's been pointed out that worry can function as a form of addiction. Some of us are addicted to worry, as surely as others are addicted to nicotine or alcohol. Worry is at least familiar. Because it's familiar, it feels so much safer than real life. Some of us believe that if we punish ourselves with worry severely enough, if we chastise ourselves often enough for all the things that could happen, then somehow those things never will happen. By this twisted logic, we come to believe the pain of failure will pass us by because we've already brought an equivalent pain down upon ourselves.
Jesus commends Mary for her attentiveness, her ability to center herself on the "one thing" that's needful. As for Martha, he gently points her in that same direction, away from her worry and her stress and toward a single-minded focus on following him.
Prayer For The Day
Lord Jesus,
when pressures mount, help us to remember:
one thing is needful.
When responsibilities seem overwhelming, help us to remember:
one thing is needful.
When worries overtake us, help us to remember:
one thing is needful.
Most of all, help us the remember what that "one thing" is:
our relationship with you. Amen.
To Illustrate
This story of a person who was distracted has made the rounds in several different versions. One of these versions takes place in a tiny, picture-postcard New England village -- a town where the actor Paul Newman is said to have been fond of vacationing.
A Michigan woman and her family were vacationing in this seaside town. Late one Saturday morning, the woman felt a craving for a double dip, chocolate ice cream cone, so she stopped by the local cafe and general store. As she walked in, she noticed there was only one other customer in the place: a man in jeans and a T-shirt, sitting at the counter having a donut and coffee. Idly, the woman glanced his way, then she did a double take. One further look at those baby-blue eyes confirmed it: her fellow customer was none other than Paul Newman.
Newman noticed her presence, and nodded graciously in her direction. Then he went back to his coffee. "He just wants his privacy," the woman thought to herself. So she resolved not to make any sort of fuss just to simply order her ice cream, and pretend there wasn't a famous movie star sitting a few feet away.
That's exactly what she did (although, as she later told the tale, her heart was thumping the whole time, and her hands felt clammy). Calmly, she watched the clerk scoop out her ice cream and pack it into the cone, never looking once in Newman's direction. Then she handed over the money, accepted the ice cream cone and the change, and headed out the door without even a sideward glance. As the screen door slammed shut, she congratulated herself on how coolly she'd handled the whole situation -- as though running into a movie star were an everyday occurrence in her life.
When the woman reached her car, she realized something was not right. Something was missing. In one hand she held her change, but her other hand was empty. "Now where's my double dip, chocolate ice cream cone?" she asked herself. "Could I have left it in the store?"
Feeling a bit embarrassed, she went back in, hoping she'd see the cone still in the clerk's hand, or maybe in one of those holders on the counter. But, no. She looked to the left, and she looked to the right: no sign of the ice cream cone. She was just about to ask the clerk if he remembered handing it to her, when she happened to glance over in Paul Newman's direction. This time, those blue eyes met hers; they sparkled with amusement.
He shot her his trademark pearly white grin, as he said, "You put it in your purse!"
***
There is a Zen Buddhist fable, of a woman who's seeking the meaning of life. So eager is this woman to find life's meaning that she sells all she has, and sets off on a worldwide spiritual quest.
In a distant land, she hears rumors of one who knows the answer: an old man who lives in the mountains. Finally, in a small hut in the Himalayas, she finds him. She knocks on the door of his hut. He opens it, and invites her in for tea.
"No, thank you," she says, "I haven't come for tea. I'm seeking the meaning of life."
"You must have tea," the teacher says, and motions her to sit down.
All the time the water is boiling, the woman talks. The words tumble out of her mouth, rapid-fire. Having sought the wise teacher for so long, she now wants him to know everything about her. She tells him all her worries and doubts and anxieties, all the troubling thoughts that have kept her from sleeping at night. All the while, the teacher sits quietly, making the tea.
When it has reached the proper strength, he begins to pour her a cup; but she's oblivious to what he's doing. He keeps pouring, until the cup is full, then he pours some more. The woman looks down. She notices her cup is overflowing, that the tea is running to the edge of the table and dripping onto the floor. "Stop!" she exclaims. "There's no more room!"
"Just so," says the teacher. "You come here wanting something from me, but what am I to do? There is no more room in your cup. Come back when it is empty, and then we will talk."
The woman never did have to return to the master. For in the simple act of pouring her a cup of tea, he had taught her all she needed to know.
***
Someone once asked a great man who had arisen out of humble beginnings, "What did your father teach you that was most important?"
The man thought for a moment, then replied, "He taught me that whatever he happened to be doing at the time, that was the most important."
***
The late Anthony de Mello, a native of India, was a Roman Catholic priest. In his short, but remarkable ministry as a teacher of spirituality, he brought together eastern and western thought, as few others have. In a series of taped lectures, he shared this ancient Chinese proverb:
When the archer shoots for nothing, he has all his skill.
When he shoots for a brass buckle, he is already nervous.
When he shoots for a prize of gold, he goes blind.
"The archer's skill," says de Mello, "has not changed: but the prize divides him. He cares. He thinks more of winning than of shooting."
The antidote to anxious worry is to focus on the one thing that's needful: our relationship with Jesus Christ.
Old Testament Lesson
Amos 8:1-12
Fruit Basket Upset
In this passage, Amos unveils a second compelling prophetic image, to complement that of the plumb line he used in last week's lesson: a basket of summer fruit. The relevance of the image is based on a bit of Hebrew word play: qayitz, or "summer fruit," is similar to qetz, or "end." Amos is predicting the imminent end of Israel, unless the people reform their evil ways. Verses 4-6 detail the offenses of the people. They include oppressing the needy (v. 4), dealing in false weights and measures (v. 5), and greedily going after excessive profits while failing to provide for the needs of the poor through the right of gleaning and other means (v. 6). Verses 9-12 forecast a coming day of judgment, which shall include a darkening of the sun, sackcloth and mourning, famine and homelessness.
New Testament Lesson
Colossians 1:15-28
Christ In You, The Hope Of Glory
Picking up where last week's passage left off, Paul launches into a Christological hymn, which was possibly already well known among the Colossians (vv. 15-20). Christ, "the image of the invisible God," dwelt with God before creation, and even now holds all creation together. He is the head of the church, and "the firstborn of the dead." "In him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things." Those who were once estranged by sin he has welcomed home and reconciled (vv. 21-23). Paul writes of his eagerness to continue sharing the once-mysterious truth about God that has now been revealed: "Christ in you, the hope of glory" (v. 27). Paul assures his readers that he proclaims only Christ, with a goal toward leading everyone toward the goal of mature faith (v. 28).
The Gospel
Luke 10:38-42
Mary And Martha
Jesus visits in the home of a woman named Martha, who lives there with her younger sister, Mary (John identifies these two as sisters of Lazarus, and the location of the town as Bethany, although Luke provides no such detail). Mary sits in rapt attention at Jesus' feet, while Martha is slaving in the kitchen to prepare the meal. The phrase "sat at the Lord's feet" indicates that Mary is a serious student, a disciple of Jesus. When Martha comes out to complain to Jesus that Mary is not helping, Jesus gently rebukes her: "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her" (vv. 41-42). Jesus is not criticizing either woman for the choices she has made, but he is observing that Martha is unfocused, her attention dispersed in pursuing a multitude of tasks. Mary is demonstrating a single-minded focus on the one thing that is most important.
Preaching Possibilities
Distractions. They can be maddening. Sometimes life can sling so many obligations, so much sensory stimulation, in our direction that we simply want to close down and get away from it all.
There's nothing particularly new about distractions. While we may tend to think they belong only to the era of cell phones and the internet, in truth there have always been things that conspire to deflect our attention away from the truly important. We can read in the New Testament about a woman who struggled with distractions. Martha's her name; Luke tells us she's "distracted by her many tasks."
Martha, it seems, is one of a circle of women whom Jesus esteemed very highly. A couple of chapters earlier, Luke shares a few of those names: Mary Magdalene, Joanna the wife of Herod's steward, and Susanna. These women, he tells us -- these leaders of the early church -- "provided for [Jesus and his disciples] out of their resources."
That's what Martha is doing this particular night. It's not just Jesus dropping over for a quick bite; he's there with all his disciples, the twelve, certainly, and possibly a number of others. The visit was very likely preplanned. Surely Jesus has chosen Martha's home for this stop on his itinerary because it's large, capable of accommodating many visitors.
Luke doesn't mention any husband of Martha. She seems to be the householder. The Aramaic name "Martha" literally means "lady" or "mistress" -- it's the female version of "lord." She's a woman of substance, this Martha, and of some personal authority, too, even in that land where women are often subordinate to men.
Despite sermons we may have heard about Martha clanging pots around in the kitchen, she was probably in a managerial role that day, overseeing the whole operation. She was greeting guests in the front courtyard one minute; checking with the wine-steward the next; then dashing into the kitchen to supervise the cooks. She was more like a maître d´ than a housewife warming up a tuna casserole.
Martha has opened her home to offer hospitality to this traveling rabbi and his entourage. She's doing it as a public sign of her religious commitment. In welcoming Jesus and his followers, she is following a carefully prescribed Middle-Eastern ritual: the ritual of hospitality. In this ritual, the most important thing of all is to make your guests feel comfortable and welcome.
That Middle-Eastern tradition of hospitality is centuries old, even in Martha's day. It goes back to the time when the Hebrew people lived as desert nomads. Back then, if you were a traveler in the wilderness, receiving hospitality in a stranger's tent could literally be a matter of life and death. Coming upon a stranger's tent, you expected to receive food, water, and a place to sleep. In that harsh climate, there was never any question of that. If, on the other hand, you were the host, to refuse hospitality to a visitor was simply unheard of. Even your enemies you had to welcome. (And, for their part, your enemies were absolutely forbidden to draw a weapon against you, during the time they shared your tent.)
But then something happens that makes Martha stop dead in her tracks. She rubs her eyes and looks again, to make sure she's seeing rightly. There is her sister, Mary, sitting at Jesus' feet, hanging on his every word.
Doesn't Mary know she has work to do? Doesn't she know that, as the youngest sister, she's beholden to carry out Martha's wishes? With so many guests under her roof, Martha surely has the evening planned out with military precision. Like everyone else in the household, Mary has her own "to-do" list -- what's gotten into her, that she would cast her responsibilities aside, and go join the guests?
In that moment, everything comes crashing in on Martha: her nervousness, her worry, her stress. She turns to Jesus and says in annoyance, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me."
The words are already out of her mouth before Martha can take them back. With a horrible, sinking feeling, she realizes she has just broken one of the paramount laws of Middle-Eastern hospitality. To put that law in modern terms: "Never let them see you sweat." Receiving guests into your home, and meeting their needs, is meant to be carried off without visible effort. Everyone knows it's hard work, but you're not supposed to show it. Everything you do is supposed to make your guests feel welcome, so as long as they're under your roof, they shouldn't have a care in the world.
With Martha's impatient words, the room falls silent. It's an awkward moment: what she's said could even be construed as an insult to the guest of honor. Martha, of course, means no such thing. She's simply forgotten her role for a moment, forgotten her place as host. She has allowed worry to get the better of her.
The awkward silence lasts for but the briefest of moments. Jesus turns to her, and when he speaks, his voice is kind. "Martha, Martha," he says -- as one might speak to an upset child -- "you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her."
With his gracious response, Jesus frees Martha from any embarrassment she's feeling. It was her faux pas; he didn't have to rescue her. Yet Jesus sees right into Martha's inner self: into that part, deep within, that's like a frightened child. The world rarely sees that side of confident, take-charge Martha. But Jesus sees all. He reads her heart, and he tells her -- and the whole company -- that everything's all right.
Plenty of sermons on this passage have been built on a harsh judgment of Martha: a judgment that labels Mary as good, and Martha as bad. Building, perhaps, on the great Reformation doctrine of justification by faith, too many preachers have made Martha into the icon of works-righteousness, and Mary into the icon of true faith.
But that's not accurate. Jesus is not angry at Martha. He's not telling her to let the dinner burn, and go sit down beside Mary, gazing up at him with schoolgirl adoration. Someone's got to handle the logistics, if that company of travelers is to eat. Martha's the host; she's expected to work hard. Jesus knows her devotion to him is just as great her sister's. It's just that she's gotten distracted. She's lost her perspective: her ability to focus on the most important thing. All her good intentions have fallen victim to worry.
It's been pointed out that worry can function as a form of addiction. Some of us are addicted to worry, as surely as others are addicted to nicotine or alcohol. Worry is at least familiar. Because it's familiar, it feels so much safer than real life. Some of us believe that if we punish ourselves with worry severely enough, if we chastise ourselves often enough for all the things that could happen, then somehow those things never will happen. By this twisted logic, we come to believe the pain of failure will pass us by because we've already brought an equivalent pain down upon ourselves.
Jesus commends Mary for her attentiveness, her ability to center herself on the "one thing" that's needful. As for Martha, he gently points her in that same direction, away from her worry and her stress and toward a single-minded focus on following him.
Prayer For The Day
Lord Jesus,
when pressures mount, help us to remember:
one thing is needful.
When responsibilities seem overwhelming, help us to remember:
one thing is needful.
When worries overtake us, help us to remember:
one thing is needful.
Most of all, help us the remember what that "one thing" is:
our relationship with you. Amen.
To Illustrate
This story of a person who was distracted has made the rounds in several different versions. One of these versions takes place in a tiny, picture-postcard New England village -- a town where the actor Paul Newman is said to have been fond of vacationing.
A Michigan woman and her family were vacationing in this seaside town. Late one Saturday morning, the woman felt a craving for a double dip, chocolate ice cream cone, so she stopped by the local cafe and general store. As she walked in, she noticed there was only one other customer in the place: a man in jeans and a T-shirt, sitting at the counter having a donut and coffee. Idly, the woman glanced his way, then she did a double take. One further look at those baby-blue eyes confirmed it: her fellow customer was none other than Paul Newman.
Newman noticed her presence, and nodded graciously in her direction. Then he went back to his coffee. "He just wants his privacy," the woman thought to herself. So she resolved not to make any sort of fuss just to simply order her ice cream, and pretend there wasn't a famous movie star sitting a few feet away.
That's exactly what she did (although, as she later told the tale, her heart was thumping the whole time, and her hands felt clammy). Calmly, she watched the clerk scoop out her ice cream and pack it into the cone, never looking once in Newman's direction. Then she handed over the money, accepted the ice cream cone and the change, and headed out the door without even a sideward glance. As the screen door slammed shut, she congratulated herself on how coolly she'd handled the whole situation -- as though running into a movie star were an everyday occurrence in her life.
When the woman reached her car, she realized something was not right. Something was missing. In one hand she held her change, but her other hand was empty. "Now where's my double dip, chocolate ice cream cone?" she asked herself. "Could I have left it in the store?"
Feeling a bit embarrassed, she went back in, hoping she'd see the cone still in the clerk's hand, or maybe in one of those holders on the counter. But, no. She looked to the left, and she looked to the right: no sign of the ice cream cone. She was just about to ask the clerk if he remembered handing it to her, when she happened to glance over in Paul Newman's direction. This time, those blue eyes met hers; they sparkled with amusement.
He shot her his trademark pearly white grin, as he said, "You put it in your purse!"
***
There is a Zen Buddhist fable, of a woman who's seeking the meaning of life. So eager is this woman to find life's meaning that she sells all she has, and sets off on a worldwide spiritual quest.
In a distant land, she hears rumors of one who knows the answer: an old man who lives in the mountains. Finally, in a small hut in the Himalayas, she finds him. She knocks on the door of his hut. He opens it, and invites her in for tea.
"No, thank you," she says, "I haven't come for tea. I'm seeking the meaning of life."
"You must have tea," the teacher says, and motions her to sit down.
All the time the water is boiling, the woman talks. The words tumble out of her mouth, rapid-fire. Having sought the wise teacher for so long, she now wants him to know everything about her. She tells him all her worries and doubts and anxieties, all the troubling thoughts that have kept her from sleeping at night. All the while, the teacher sits quietly, making the tea.
When it has reached the proper strength, he begins to pour her a cup; but she's oblivious to what he's doing. He keeps pouring, until the cup is full, then he pours some more. The woman looks down. She notices her cup is overflowing, that the tea is running to the edge of the table and dripping onto the floor. "Stop!" she exclaims. "There's no more room!"
"Just so," says the teacher. "You come here wanting something from me, but what am I to do? There is no more room in your cup. Come back when it is empty, and then we will talk."
The woman never did have to return to the master. For in the simple act of pouring her a cup of tea, he had taught her all she needed to know.
***
Someone once asked a great man who had arisen out of humble beginnings, "What did your father teach you that was most important?"
The man thought for a moment, then replied, "He taught me that whatever he happened to be doing at the time, that was the most important."
***
The late Anthony de Mello, a native of India, was a Roman Catholic priest. In his short, but remarkable ministry as a teacher of spirituality, he brought together eastern and western thought, as few others have. In a series of taped lectures, he shared this ancient Chinese proverb:
When the archer shoots for nothing, he has all his skill.
When he shoots for a brass buckle, he is already nervous.
When he shoots for a prize of gold, he goes blind.
"The archer's skill," says de Mello, "has not changed: but the prize divides him. He cares. He thinks more of winning than of shooting."
