Luke 10:38-42

Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted be her many tasks; so she came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” Jesus said to 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.”

I was inspired by a Mary Oliver quotation this week while I was stewing about this morning’s sermon. Maybe you saw my hint about it on social media yesterday. The quotation is short and sweet:

“It is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”

Her name, Mary, of course, and her namesake in this morning’s Gospel seemed like something worth paying attention to. And many of us have heard this bit about Mary and Martha…

Jesus has been pretty busy at this point in Luke’s version of the story, as we’ve heard in the last few weeks. He’s been working hard to prep his disciples to go out into the world to cure the sick, proclaim the good news, cast out demons – all of which they have done. Jesus, himself, has been casting out demons, preaching and teaching, healing and traveling from town to town and from place to place for all of the above, as well.

And today he gets to “a certain village,” which we assume is a place called Bethany because we know, from John’s Gospel, that that’s where Mary and Martha lived with their brother Lazarus. And since John’s Gospel also lets us know what good friends they all were – Jesus, Lazarus, Mary and Martha – I like to think Jesus showed up at Bethany and was welcomed, warmly, by Martha because it was a safe place for him to rest; that maybe it was a home away from home; that, at least, it was a place where he was among friends and away from the strangers and strange places he’d been visiting until then.

And Martha’s working hard to welcome her friend. Probably preparing food. Maybe making up the guest bed. Perhaps fetching water, wrangling the kids, filling lamps with oil, borrowing things from the neighbors, and whatever else a First Century homemaker did to make a guest feel at home.

And all of this while her sister Mary is just hanging out with Jesus in the living room. So Martha asks for some help from Jesus to get Mary off her butt and to help a sister out. But Jesus surprises Martha – and maybe Mary – and probably whoever else was listening, because Mary wasn’t doing what she was supposed to be doing according – not just to Martha – but according, too, to the social standards of the day. While Martha was filling her First Century shoes as a servant to the men, Mary was bucking the system, hanging out with Jesus, spending time with the guys, presumably, and NOT serving, but sitting; NOT doing, but being; NOT distracted by a litany of tasks, but dedicated to listening to her teacher.

And that was perfectly fine with Jesus – and as it should be, as far as he was concerned.

So I appreciate this reminder from Mary, of Bethany. And I appreciate the one from Mary Oliver, too, that “it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.” And I’d like to be a little bit more like them both, because sometimes I take the ‘serious’ bit too seriously – especially as your Pastor and as a preacher in this place a lot of the time.

Don’t get me wrong, this is serious business, following Jesus and living lives of faith in this world, broken as it is. And I think this might have been some of Mary Oliver’s point. But paying so much attention to the broken parts of it all are – and have been – tiresome in recent days, months, and years. And I suspect you’ve felt that, too.

I’ve been banging the drum of anti-racism a whole heck of a lot around here – and I worry sometimes that that gets old. I’ve been waving a proverbial rainbow flag of acceptance, welcome and inclusion for our LGBTQ+ brothers and sisters too, and I realize that’s more work for some of us than it is for others. And we are bombarded with the horrifying reality of school shootings, abortion debates, wars, insurrections, and political divisions, too.

I’m always working to encourage generosity and sacrifice where our financial resources are concerned. I’m forever looking to engage more and more of us in opportunities to get our hands dirty around here and out in the world. And so much of what I feel called to preach and teach from one week to the next is set up as a “holy challenge.” I realize I use that phrase a lot. I’m not apologizing for it. I think it’s faithful. I believe it’s what Jesus calls us to. I’m certain it makes us better and that it makes the world look a little bit more like the Kingdom of God.

But it can be tiresome, like I said… overwhelming… exhausting...

So, I wonder – and worry sometimes – that you might leave here feeling tired … or like there’s always more – or too much – to do … or like you, or we, will never be able to do enough or to get it right or to meet the many needs of this broken world.

In other words, our spiritual lives can feel and be a lot like Martha – racing around, distracted, worried, busying ourselves with everything there is to do and pointing fingers at anyone and everyone who’s not playing along or helping out or doing their part.

So this morning, I feel like the Marys – Mary Oliver and Mary, from Bethany – and Jesus, too, might be telling me to sit down and shut up.

“It is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”

It is a serious thing – and it’s enough – just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world. And to acknowledge the gift of that.

Just sit down, shut up, and be still. Just be here and be quiet. Just hear these words. Just take this sacrament. Just listen to God’s promise and hope. Just accept this forgiveness, receive this mercy, and relish this grace, in all of its glory.

And just know that God is God – even and especially of the broken parts. And trust that God’s promise to redeem it all is a sure, certain, serious thing – for your sake, for mine, and for the sake of the world.

Amen

Luke 10:25-37

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while travelling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, “Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.”

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

So, the parable of the Good Samaritan is an oldie and a goody. The gist of it is so well known it can be referenced in most places out there in the world and the average bear knows something about its message. I heard it casually mentioned by a news anchor just this week in reference to something someone did during the shooting at Highland Park, outside of Chicago, on the 4th of July.

So, it’s one of those parables most of us have heard so often it may have lost its punch over the years. I feel like we’ve learned to serve it up sweet and good and nice for the kids on Sunday morning and at Vacation Bible School but, like so much else in Scripture, we forget to dig more deeply into it all, too much of the time, once we’ve grown up and moved on from our Sunday school days and VBS.

So, when I stumbled across Thursday’s White House ceremony where President Biden awarded the Presidential Medals of Freedom to a handful of American civilians, some of them got me thinking about what it means to be a “Good Samaritan” and how we might wonder differently and more deeply about that this morning.

There were 17 Medals of Freedom given and all of them were impressive for many reasons. But a few stood out to me.

There was Simone Biles, the most decorated American gymnast ever, who is also an advocate for athletes’ mental health and safety, for kids in foster care, and for victims of sexual assault – all of which she has accomplished as a 4 foot, 8 inch, 103 pound example of Black girl magic, from Columbus, Ohio, who has survived and thrived in the face of her experience with all of the above: her own mental health struggles, some time in the foster care system herself, and as a victim of sexual assault along with so many other gymnasts, just like her.

And there was Khizr Khan, the Pakistani-American father, whose son, Humayun Khan, was killed in the Iraq war defending his fellow Americans from a car bomb attack. But Khizr Khan, a Muslim himself, got the Medal of Freedom for speaking out against an immigration ban targeting people from Muslim-majority countries, and reminding whoever would listen to him that heroes and patriots like his own Muslim son would have been kept from citizenship under such discriminatory policies.

And there was Megan Rapinoe, too, the queer soccer player for the US Women’s National Team. She accepted her award – pink and purple hair and all – not just for her Olympic gold medals and Women’s World Cup championships, but for her advocacy work for gender pay equality in women’s sports, racial justice, and LGBTQ+ rights.

Which brings me back to the holy questions raised by today’s Gospel and Jesus’ parable of the original “good” Samaritan. All of this begins and ends with questions, after all, and that lawyer gets the ball rolling when he asks: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” And Jesus asks him a couple of questions in return: “What is written in the law? What do you read there?”

The lawyer answers correctly – “love the Lord with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength…and love your neighbor as yourself” – but then he asks another question: “But who is my neighbor?” And after that tale about the sad sack who gets robbed, beaten, left for dead, and all the rest; the story about the priest and the Levite who pass him by and the Samaritan who finally stops to help; Jesus wraps it all up with still another question. Not a moral. Not a sermon. Not a lecture. But a seemingly rhetorical question: “Which one was a neighbor?”

See, in Jesus’ day Samaritans weren’t necessarily considered to be “good” or “neighbors” by those who would have been listening to Jesus. They were outsiders to those who considered themselves to be good, faithful Jews, descendants of Abraham and rightful, faithful heirs of God’s promises. To hear that a Samaritan would do a kind and gracious, loving thing for anyone, would have been a surprise – and maybe even an offensive surprise, at that. By that I mean some of Jesus’ listeners might have rather died on the side of that road than have to admit they had been saved by a Samaritan.

I learned that from Amy Jill-Levine, the brilliant Jewish, New Testament scholar – yes, you heard that correctly. She’s a Jewish, New Testament scholar, some of us have studied around here. She goes so far as to propose the notion that the Jewish lawyer in Jesus’ story couldn’t even bring himself to say “Samaritan” – that he can’t even admit that a Samaritan was the hero of the parable. Because when Jesus asks that final question, “Who was a neighbor?,” the lawyer can only answer, perhaps begrudgingly, “the one who showed him mercy.”

And I learned something else from Amy Jill-Levine about this parable, too – something that is lost on so many 21st Century readers of Jesus’ parable. Nowhere in the Biblical text do we read the phrase “Good Samaritan.” That’s a title we’ve added to the mix over the course of the last 2,000 years, but it’s not something Jesus, or the Gospel writer ever says – “Good Samaritan.” This guy, this Samaritan, was just kind and merciful and loving and compassionate – and a neighbor. Like a Samaritan is wont to be, presumably. And this would have been hard, holy, surprising news for Jesus’ listeners to acknowledge.

Likewise, Simone Biles is a “good” young Black woman, for sure. She’s strong, brave, compassionate and tremendously hard-working – as young Black women are wont to be. She’s exceptional, not in spite of her Blackness, but because she’s a child of God.

Kzhir Khan, and his son Humayun, are not and were not “good” or “exceptional” in spite of the fact that they are Muslim. They are and were faithful, wise, brave and patriotic children of God – as Muslims in this country and around the world are wont to be.

And the same goes for Megan Rapinoe, lesbian activist for women’s rights, racial justice and more. She’s not “good” in spite of herself. She is kind, compassionate, fair-minded and on a quest for equality because her life’s experience – like so many queer people like her – has shown her what it’s like to live on the margins in a world that still doesn’t accept her fully – as a woman, as a gay person, and as an elite athlete who is both of those things, and a child of God, too.

So let’s start asking better questions. And let’s “go and do likewise” – looking for and loving our neighbor in surprising people and places – as Jesus invites us to do. Let’s wonder, more often, about “the other,” “the outsider,” “the hurting,” “the broken,” “the lost,” “the whatever.” Let’s see them each – and all – as our neighbors and as God’s children.

And let’s learn from them, listen to them, and respect them with humility, compassion and openness – not because it’s exceptional, but because it’s expected – as a natural, grateful, faithful response from anyone who has received the same kind of grace, and more, from the God we know in Jesus.

Amen

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