As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

Luke 10:38-42

There are some nights when I go to bed, thinking I’m about to read a book for 10 or 15 minutes. I’m the type of person who always has a book I’m reading, a status made only more consistent because of how I can so quickly pull up a book from the library on my phone. Yet some nights, it’s not 10 or 15 minutes. Having made the wise choice to try to go to sleep at a reasonable time, to get my nine hours, I find myself instead awake in the early hours of the morning having instead just read an entire book. Hours and hours of reading. You might think, wow, good for you! Way to read! But I’d actually be a little more concerned, and have been, about how I’m stealing those hours of sleep just to have a little time to do what I love.

I’ve seen this phenomenon referenced. It’s these stolen nighttime hours. People aren’t always reading, mind you, but they’re certainly taking advantage of the time. There’s something about the freedom we feel late at night, after the work emails have gone quiet and the kids are sleeping, that suddenly, this is the uninterrupted time. People gleefully stay awake just to finally do what they want. This is the free time no one yet has commodified. And so there are people all over finally paying attention to what they want, watching that movie or reading that book or generally forgoing sleep just to have a focused moment, because who is going to call you at one in the morning?

I certainly know that feeling, to me which feels like the freedom to focus. Reading books is one of the great joys of my life and yet there often feels like little time in daylight hours to sit down and consume books in the way that I love. Instead, my daytime is about managing meal preparation, phone notifications, multiple jobs, and social and family connections.

There’s something a little depressing to think that my best reading is relegated to these midnight hours. I’ve often wondered if there was a way that I could use what is probably my best skill (reading quickly, joyfully, and broadly) to serve others. So far, that skill and attention surrounds the reality of what I actually do on a day to day. There’s just too much else. I’m distracted and busy.

It would be simple for me to think that this predicament is unique. Yet we can see the issues of attention and busyness in what is likely my favorite story in the bible, that of Mary and Martha.

At the heart of this story is the conflicting nature of attention and distraction. Mary, the one who is able to sit and listen. Martha, the one who simply cannot stand still. Jesus, who gently calls the sisters to their fullest, most attentive lives.

I wonder what that form of spirituality was creating in the lives of these sisters. Because there’s an interpretation of this story that falls in line with one of the traps of our current day. This is the lie of self-care. Here’s what I mean. We can look at unjust wages, or burnt out caregivers, or a world of inaccessibility and somehow think that the solution is on the individual. To just relax. To take a bubble bath or eat an indulgent meal. And suddenly all that stress would melt away. But of course that’s the lie of self-care, when what is so often needed is community care. To actually change the system that required so much work and burnout in the first place.

And so I find hopefulness in seeing that Jesus did not tell Martha to relax or just calm down. But instead he says this cryptic phrase, “Only one thing is needed.” This to me speaks more of attention, of focus, and moving from individual distraction to collective attention. For Martha to refuse labor perhaps then is less of a break for her to catch her individual breath, but to recognize what would be needed for the radical message of Jesus to actually take hold.

Think of it this way. We know that Jesus stood against much of the injustice of the Roman Empire. And yet, in his teaching, he did not simply organize a five step plan to take down the system (although I often wish he had). Instead he taught in parables! Parables! Long slow teaching that requires careful thought. He opened the door slowly but surely for people to find radical change through slowness, through one dinner, one story, one moment of patience at a time. Not to mention that he didn’t even really kick off his ministry until the age of 30! What was he even doing in the meantime? What was he cultivating? And yet somehow it was all at the right time.

There is a performance art piece called the Trainee by Pilvi Takala that I shared with you in the morning email–I invite you to take a look. In this delightfully subversive and honestly funny piece, Takala spent time integrating herself into a workplace, only after a month to cease acting in standard, productive ways. Instead, she did things like ride the elevator, up and down, up and down. Alternatively she sat in a single location just gazing off into space. How did she describe it to people when they would come up to her and ask what she was doing? Brain work. And unsurprisingly, her coworkers did not become cocospiritors, but instead panicked. In an inter-office email sent out about her behavior, a coworker described her actions as “weird and funny, but also scary to some extent.”

As it turns out, focused non action is weird, funny, and scary. There’s a power to stopping and focusing. Just ask anyone who has participated in a boycott or strike. Collective action is fundamentally about focus–about drawing attention away from individual distraction and constant movement and instead toward a singular focus. In recent years there have been many “die-ins”--moments of protesting police brutality. These often are large groups of people who find a public space and lie down on the ground, unmoving, blocking the typical movement of those who suddenly are drawn to focus, to pay attention.

This is not scrambling to find free time in the middle of the night. This is deliberate action, in the middle of what could be endless work.

To stop, focus, listen, redirect–in all of this is power. It’s more than a nice idea.

This simple story of two sisters reminds me of all these things. It reminds me of how to listen to Jesus’ voice, reminding, only one thing is needed. It is not a story, I believe, about shaming Martha. It is a story of rediscovering power.

Martha, too, can stop. And so can we.

Community Prayer:

Stop us, Lord, from what we are doing. Stop us from participating in unjust systems of hurry, where labor is exploited and workers are harmed. Stop us from believing the lie that the world needs our frenzy. Stop us from expecting unfair actions from others.

Call us instead to the attentiveness that the world needs. Time at your feet is not wasted, God.

Today I pray for each of those gathered in our community. You know all who gather by name. You can call each person gently, insistently, so that way they may know your teaching. Do so, Lord Jesus. Speak and be near to us. Let us hear your teaching so we are not guided only by our own wishes, but by your transformation of the worth.

Help us know you in this time of Holy Communion. Let it be for us an experience of the mystery beyond what we know, that we can taste the goodness of your Kingdom.

Challenge us to become your body, to know that there is no community unless we make it, unless we draw our attention to one another and your presence. Let us understand this sacred time as a chance to begin that practice anew.

Amen.

After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, ‘The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, “Peace to this house!” And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, “The kingdom of God has come near to you.” But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, “Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.” I tell you, on that day it will be more tolerable for Sodom than for that town.

The seventy returned with joy, saying, ‘Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!’ He said to them, ‘I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.’

Luke 10:1-12, 17-20

I wonder if Jesus asked the original twelve if he should expand this low-budget discipleship program.  They were the first ones to take on this bare bones approach to evangelism. Was it their feedback, their success, that expanded this endeavor?

“Oh yeah,” Peter would’ve said, “I loved not taking any extra clothes along.”

“I did like that power over demons and diseases!” Philip could’ve chimed in.

“Definitely enjoyed trusting complete strangers for food and a place to stay,” Thomas might have added, “It’s really my natural inclination to step out on faith.”

Feedback or no, Jesus took the original sending of the twelve disciples and like a mid-level marketing boss, expanded his team.  Why stop with twelve? Let’s have seventy! It’s a cheap mission if you don’t have to provide these newly commissioned disciples with food vouchers or hotel money.  Just go, taking nothing, and spread the word that the Kingdom of God has come near. 

I might personally be skeptical about the lack of investment in this mission, but it seems to have worked.  Even with the man himself, Jesus, around, Christianity has always been a movement of the people. It’s a message that’s meant to be carried beyond the one into the many.  Let me repeat, even with Jesus around, this wasn’t a one man show. Presumably he could’ve used some of his miracle-power to zoom around and do all of this himself, but he was a teacher.  He called disciples and students to share this message, too. As it turns out, sharing is a very effective tool. Even for Jesus, it’s best to not go it alone. 

So I’m not going to spend my time trying to convince you that you have a call from Jesus to go forth.  You likely have some sense of that in your identity as a Christian, a Christ-follower. Hanging out with Jesus has always required a high level of participation.  What I want to challenge us to do is look closer at what our personal callings might be like. Because let me tell you, if I were coming up with a discipleship program, it certainly wouldn’t look like this one that Jesus proposes here for the seventy.  

But this little model here, this strange purseless, bagless, sandleless model, teaches us something about how to discern our own personal call.  We may not have been part of that original seventy, but Jesus is still sending us out in some very specific ways. 

Because first, this model shows us that our calling can very quite vulnerable.  These early disciples were called not to welcome people to them, but to go into other’s homes.  They put themselves at the mercy of others. They didn’t wait for people to come to them.  

If you are an astute reader of our newsletter, The Grapevine, you may have read a devotional written by Mary Luti that talks about a similar thing.  Let me read part of it to you. It says:

I find only three instances in scripture when Jesus hosts a meal--the improvised feeding of the four (or five) thousand, the members-only Last Supper, and the post-resurrection breakfast for a handful of frustrated fishermen.  Other than that, Jesus doesn’t host anyone at his table. He doesn’t have a table. He’s always at someone else’s. Tax collectors like Levi and Zacchaeus throw him banquets. Pharisees, too. Peter’s wife feeds him. And Martha in Bethany.  Jesus doesn’t invite; he gets invited.  

It seems that Jesus practiced what he preached.  He sent the disciples out to go to people’s homes, to be vulnerable and at the mercy of others, because that’s what he was doing.  Which is so funny then, that so much of our evangelism and sense of what it means to be church and disciples now involves people coming to us.  

What might it look like if our calling was a little more vulnerable, involved us putting ourselves out there, and maybe even be rejected?  How might our discernment be open to this kind of vulnerable, difficult work?

Second, this model of disciple and ministry had depth. Did you notice how when they were finally invited into a home, they were to stay there for a while?  “Do not move about from house to house!” Jesus said. 

What an interesting barometer for success.  Because I can hardly do the same thing for an hour at at time, with the allure of Snapchat games and Netflix queues.  Just being honest--I have to work hard at cultivating the kind of attention span that allows for deep listening and paying attention.  

The disciples didn’t just give a quick knock, stuff a brochure in the door, and move on. They sat down to eat.  To listen. To form relationships.

Compared to the ways we can be buffeted about, this is quite focused and challenging.  How might it look if our discernment about our calling was looking for these places of depth?    

A colleague of mine from seminary, David Black, wrote the following this week: 

In America, we treat justice issues like consumable goods.  There are lots of options. We browse the racks, see which one fits us best, and then claim it and wear it until we abandon it for a new trend.

This resonated with me as I thought about the depth of our discipleship.  It’s easy to claim a bit of everything, it’s difficult to pursue and follow your specific calling.  There’s a pressure to be everything to everyone, when actually, Jesus called his disciples to go sit in one home at a time.  

Friends, we are called.  But not just to buzz around and do a little bit here and there, but to find places of vulnerability and depth.  This is why discernment is so important.  It’s about taking the time to wait and listen for where Jesus is sending you.  

Horrified about the treatment of children at the border?  Don’t just call your representative this week. Be the person calling them six weeks, be donating money to organizations monthly, be continually reading, showing up where and when you can.  

Interested in how South Haven can be a true haven for the LGBTQ community, including being a distinctively religious space for weddings?  Commit time to it! Set aside an hour every couple weeks to work on the space maintenance, the policies, the marketing that we might need to follow that call.  

For me, I’ve been seeking and discerning how I can be a more consistent and informed advocate for fair housing and finding ways to support people who are housing insecure or homeless.  I encounter many people who are without a safe place to sleep as a pastor, but I have realized I didn’t really know how to help. I started by signing up for some email newsletters, working on ordering a clergy shirt (you know, the ones with the collar) so I can show up for public advocacy, and by asking for sleeping bags for my birthday so I could donate them to the Northeast Ohio Coalition for the Homeless.  Which, by the way, if you’d like to give me a belated 29th birthday present, I will certainly accept a sleeping bag or five to pass along.  

I tell you this, well first to shamelessly ask for sleeping bag donations, but really to share how I’m trying to figure out this discernment thing along with you.  It’s overwhelming to figure out how to join in God’s mission. There’s so much trouble in the world. But Jesus knew this and still dared to send us out.  

We can find these holy moments of showing up, leaving our homes, trembling at a stranger’s doorstep.  Knowing that it’s risky. Knowing that we’re going to have to dig in. “God is near,” we might whisper to ourselves, “Peace to this house.”  And you take a deep breath, and you go.  

//

“We had to eat some really terrible food, but it was incredible to hear their story,” James might have recounted.  

“I was really nervous and some people slammed the door in my face, but I believed what I was saying from my head to my toes, so I could do it,” Andrew could’ve said. 

“Did you know it would be like this, Jesus?” John likely questioned.  “I can’t believe you trusted us. Did you really know that we could do this?  Did you know how much everything would change?”