Introduction to Worship

We live today at breakneck speed, rushing here, there and everywhere, yet forever chasing our tails. Despite having labour-saving gadgets that our grandparents could only have dreamed of, we are part of a society ravaged by exhaustion and burn-out as we attempt to cram yet more activity into our already overcrowded lives. The material rewards are many, yet spiritually most of us are hopelessly impoverished. We need sometimes to pause and ask ourselves where we are going and why. We need to consider the deeper things of life and to reflect on what actually matters most. Unless we pause to think now, we may reach the end of our days only to discover that we have frittered our lives away on much that is ultimately empty and meaningless trivia. So now, let us pause to take time out of our busy lives to worship the God who gives us rest and meaning.

Sermon

It had been a rush; a truly frenetic day spent rushing around like a scalded cat as I attempted to get a hundred and one jobs done at once, but at last the end was in sight. Just one more job to do-an important letter that needed to catch the evening post - and then I could finally relax and take a well-earned breather. Frantically, I scrawled my signature across the bottom of the page, dashed off to find a stamp, scribbled the recipient's name and address on the envelope, sealed it and raced to the post box, just as the postman was pulling up in his van to empty it. Success! Only it wasn't, for when I got home and slumped wearily into a chair, the first thing I spotted was my letter lying on the table. In my haste. I'd posted an empty envelope!

I expect we can all recall moments when we've made similar mistakes. Perhaps we cooked a meal and forgot to salt the vegetables, or went shopping and forgot to take any money, or set off on a journey and forgot to fill up first with petrol. When we're rushed of our feet, preoccupied with concerns or simply feeling frazzled, such clangers are easy to make. All of which will cause us to have more than a little sympathy for Martha's situation in the incident related in our reading today. Not that she made the sort of helpless blunders I have spoken of. As far as we know, she was every inch the efficient and competent hostess, someone who knew exactly what she was about. An important guest had come to dine, and her overriding concern was to look after his needs, to ensure Jesus was as much at home and as well fed as possible, and I've no doubt she succeeded admirably in that aim. Never mind the fact there'd been no time to prepare in advance - the meal she rustled up that day would. I'm sure, have been fit for a prince. Yet beneath the unflustered facade, her mind was in turmoil, all kinds of thoughts rushing through her head. Look at the state of the house! If only she'd known in advance that Jesus might pass by. What would he think of her? What was he thinking now? Had he enough to drink? How was she going to keep lunch warm? Was there enough to go round? Had she dusted behind the chairs? Look at all the washing-up!

And all the time Mary was sitting there, moon-eyed, listening to Jesus as it she hadn't a care in the world. Had she no thought for her poor harassed sister? How could she just sit there without lifting a finger to help, and, equally galling, how could Jesus let her do so? It just didn't seem fair that one person should toil away in the kitchen while another was given all the attention, and suddenly her sense of injustice, resentment and anger boiled over. 'Lord, doesn't it matter to you that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to lend a hand'.

It's hard not to feel sorry for Martha, isn't it? We've probably all been in a situation similar enough to empathise with how she was feeling and to share something of her pique. Surely Mary could have done something to ease the load. If she'd only helped a little, it would have saved Martha running herself into the ground, and then the two of them could have sat down to listen to Jesus together. But would that actually have happened? If Mary had got up and done her bit, would Martha then have made time for Jesus? Would she ever have been satisfied that everything else had been seen to so that she could give him her undivided attention?

As I read it, the implication of this story is that she wouldn't; not because she didn't want to or didn't value Jesus, but because her priorities were muddled, her very concern not to forget something leading her to forget what mattered most. She failed to understand that whatever she might offer to Jesus, he had more to offer her; that he had come not simply to receive but to give, not to be fed but to feed. Above all, he wanted to meet her needs rather than have Martha meet his, and though he was no doubt grateful for her attentions, he was saddened equally by her inattentiveness to his message.

Mary stands in complete contrast. She may well have had a lazy streak in her - who can say? For all we know, she may have been glad of an excuse to take a few minutes' break, especially if, as seems possible, Martha was always on at her to do this or that. Yet such thinking wasn't what motivated Mary here. Rather, she realised that this was a special moment, a time so precious that other concerns paled into insignificance beside it. Whatever else needed doing, it could wait; this was her chance to listen to Jesus first-hand, to hear his words to her, to seek his guidance and advice, and she wasn't going to waste it, even if it meant a rollicking afterwards. So it is that Mary emerges from this story with a word of commendation, while Martha, for all her good intentions, ends up with a firm if gentle reprimand: 'Martha, Martha, you are fretting and distracted by many things; only one thing is really important. Mary has chosen that more important thing, and it will not be taken away from her'.

It is a wonderfully human story, in which both sides of the argument are plain to see, and perhaps that's why it appeals to so many, but, of course, it is not recorded simply for entertainment. Luke recounts this incident because he believes it presents an important challenge that Jesus wants us to reflect on in turn: namely, do we make sufficient time for the things that matter? On one level, this relates to the things of God, or, in other words, our spiritual well-being. Don't let your life become so cluttered, says Jesus, so busy, that God is squeezed out of it. Don't be so preoccupied with day-to-day pressures, responsibilities and concerns that you neglect the spiritual dimension to life. Such things may well be important, but they are not finally what count the most. Make time for worship, prayer and the study of God's word. Make time for seeking his will and discerning his guidance, for listening, reflecting and responding. Make time for him and you will find a proper time for everything. If that, though, is the chief message of this story, we can, I think, push it a little further, beyond what we might term our 'devotional life' to life in general. How often do we, like Martha, brood, fret and worry unnecessarily? How often do we become steamed up over things that, in the final analysis, are neither here nor there? All too easily, we spend our time rushing around, feeling that we should always be doing something, or chasing after illusory happiness.

We are part of a world in which many, perhaps ourselves included, have lost the ability to stop and stare, and in which more and more people find themselves sucked ever deeper into a spiral of anxiety and stress from which they find it impossible to escape. To find time to sort our priorities and focus on what really matters is not easy, but it is essential. Maybe we need more time for our friends or partner, perhaps for a neighbour or colleague, or perhaps for ourselves. Perhaps we need to pause and take stock, to consider where we're going and why. Perhaps we need to adapt our lifestyle, modify our ambitions or simply count our blessings. Unless we find time to do it, we will not find the contentment we crave.

Just what it was that Jesus said to Mary as she sat listening at his feet we are not told, but perhaps it was along the lines of the Sermon on the Mount: 'Do not fret about life, about the things you will eat or drink, or about how you will clothe your body. Do not brood about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own anxieties. Today's problems are quite enough for today'.

Or perhaps it was more like those equally lovely words: 'Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke on you and learn from me, for I am tender and lowly in heart and you will find rest for your souls - for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light'. Or perhaps, again, it was more akin to the promise he made to the Apostles in the Upper Room: 'Peace I leave with you. I give you my peace'. This is what Mary found that day Jesus came to dine. This is what Martha was still searching for, even though she had not begun to realise it. This is what Jesus offers us: a peace that passes understanding, quietness of spirit, rest for our souls. Whatever else you may forget, don't forget that!

Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ,
you have promised to all who love you
a peace that passes all understanding.
Forgive us that so often we fail to make that our own.
We rush about, our minds preoccupied by many things,
filling our days with frantic activity,
cramming ever more into every moment,
our lives dominated by a sense of the unforgiving minute.
We strive and banker after that which is finally unimportant,
unable to satisfy,
brooding and worrying over problems that we cannot change,
magnifying little things out of all proportion.
Forgive us that for all our busyness
we so often forget the one thing needful,
the one thing that really matters -
the knowledge of your love.
Help us to live each day,
each moment,
with that foremost in our minds,
and so may we find your peace,
the rest for our souls that you have promised.
In your name we ask it.
Amen.

This sermon was first preached in the Metropolitan Community Church of Manchester. Click here for further information.