Proper 11 C + Famine of the Word 7.20.25

 

M. Campbell-Langdell

All Santos, Oxnard

(Amos 8, Ps. 52, Colossians 1, Luke 10)

The time is surely coming, says the Lord God,
When I will send a famine on the land;

not a famine of bread, or a thirst for water,
But of hearing the words of the Lord.

(Amos 8:11)

There was a famine in the land. Not of food, although it could be scarce at times with these Roman occupiers, but of the Word of the Lord. Not that the people used those words for it, exactly. But they felt something gnawing at their center. Something that was not quite right. You see, so many religious leaders had gotten focused on the things of this world. They had become a little successful, in some cases by collaborating with Rome, and in other cases because the respect of the people often led to a comfortable lifestyle. They had a place in society. There was much searching for truth, but they were getting stuck on topics that divided them- on the resurrection of the dead, about which humans could only guess at the divine will. The temple was bustling, a marketplace, and sometimes felt less than holy. A few very wise rabbis tried their best to interpret the scriptures and be present for the people.

But through all this, something was simmering, a hunger was brewing. Too long the mighty had held the strings of the purses and cheated those who had less. Too long had mothers cried in their sleep at seeing their children go to work in unjust conditions. The mighty, it seemed, did not fear the Lord. Mainly because so many of those in power, the Romans, had a different sense of gods entirely, and almost thought the Jews quaint.

So, it was when the preacher came to town that Mary was struck upon seeing him enter her siblings’ and her house with his disciples. She knew not what overtook her, but something about him resonated with urgency. It was like an unseen bell ringing in the room. He was looking toward Jerusalem, and she knew something was about to happen. She did not know what. Barely had they entered and washed feet, been received and made comfortable with a small glass of wine, which was autumn fruit but had the hint of summer still in its aftertaste, when he began to share with them. Powerful words. Words that touched her heart.

And she could not help but sit down next to the disciples, childlike and unaware in her cross-legged pose on the floor, leaning up against a pillow as if to receive a story from her mother at bedtime, and listen. And oh, as he began to speak, something amazing happened. It was as if a hunger she didn’t know she had, something brewing not just in her belly but in the mind, heart, and soul of her mother, and her mother’s mother, and all the relatives before that, began to be sated. He was not replacing the truth of her ancestors, of what they had shared about the faith, but he seemed to complete it. Everything was safe in his presence and whole.

The fact that Mary was drawn to Jesus as a moth to a flame was not a surprise. She had loved the Lord with a passion since her childhood. As a child, she was drawn to the synagogue and would go to play her little games by the sun-warmed stones near the entrance. Even when winter brought cold, she would bundle up and sit near the entrance to play and hear the prayers inside, and sometimes the vigorous debates that sent a tingle up her spine! Her father would come and put her on his shoulders and bring her home for dinner, sometimes coming back himself to pray, at the end of a workday. Sometimes, her mother would have her sit with the women. Her sister Martha loved those times too. She loved the Lord and the scriptures. But what she loved most was to listen. And listening was what she was doing now.

As she listened, she was vaguely aware of her sister, Martha, across the living space, beginning to prepare for the guests – so many! In the kitchen. She was doing what their culture always told them to do. Guests come; you make them feel at home. Survival in a desert society had taught their culture, nestled amongst Bedouin tents, to provide for the stranger. To treat them as a friend because you never know when you might be a stranger, too. A person in a small town needs the kindness of strangers to make it through to the end of her journey. Martha was doing what needed to be done.

And suddenly, that passing awareness becomes the focus, as Martha asks Jesus to wake Mary up from her trance. Surely, she has forgotten that her job is not to be served now, but to serve? Jesus, please, she says, get her to help me. And at first, Mary is overcome by shame. Centuries of training condensed in her now young adult life should have moved her to serve already, not just sit and listen. Of course, her sister is right. But what Jesus says next takes her breath away. No, he says, Mary has chosen the better thing. It will not be taken away from her. At first, Mary almost feels bad for Martha, just trying to care for guests, and she gets put in her place. At the same time, this may be the first time anyone has stood up for Mary in front of Martha, which feels good. She feels vindicated and a bit proud. You think I am a dreamer, but I am the wiser one now!
But that pride lasts for a moment, as she stares into his eyes. The kindness there is perfect peace, and she somehow knows that he means these words not as a personal validation of her, nor as a rebuke to her sister, but instead he speaks to the whole room. Because he knows that there are Marthas and Marys in each of us, a side that must do, do, do, and it is good. We as humans are doers. But there is a Mary side that says, when we hear the Word of – dare she say it? – God – then we must listen. We must. There is a hunger in us waiting to be filled. As she takes another sip of summer-sweet wine, she looks into his eyes and feels fed. She, like we all, has a hunger, and it is satisfied by Jesus, and Jesus can do the same for us. She feels held and knows that no matter what happens, we are all held in God’s unchanging love.

Amen.