Genesis 18:1-10a
Psalm 15
Colossians 1:15-28
Luke 10:38-42

O, God. Open our hearts and minds to hear your word and demonstrate it in our lives. Amen.

For the last few weeks we have been following Jesus as he has been traveling toward Jerusalem in Luke’s gospel. Jesus has been teaching along the way, has sent his disciples ahead of him to overcome demons and spread Jesus’ message, and he has confronted a lawyer who tried to test him. There is much of the journey yet to come, but this week we encounter Jesus as he is taking a rest from his travels. He has been welcomed into the home of Martha and Mary, and we hear the familiar story of the two women’s different responses to Jesus in their home. I have often heard people, usually women, identify themselves as either a "Mary" or a "Martha," though I think it’s most common for people to claim they are like Martha--in fact, I would say I am one of those people. Marthas are the ones who do all the work, often behind the scenes, to try to make things just right. They are the ones who keep busy, whether at home or at work, and they often feel some resentment toward the Marys of the world--the ones who seem to have their heads in the clouds and we might consider, well…lazy. But, in this gospel lesson, it is Martha who is criticized by Jesus while Mary, who sits at Jesus’ feet while Martha is doing all the work, is praised. The description of Mary sitting around while Martha is preparing dinner may bring back memories of some of our own family dinners when some people did all the work while others seemed oblivious and parked themselves in front of the television. But what we might not realize is that, in this story, by sitting at Jesus’ feet, Mary is defying convention. In her time and place, it would have been the men who sat at a guest’s feet, and the women would have been expected to prepare and serve the meal for the guest. Just as the Good Samaritan did in last week’s lesson, Mary crosses boundaries; she does this in order to show her love and to welcome Jesus into her home. Martha, on the other hand, is doing what is expected of her, and, despite Jesus’ criticism of her, I think many of us secretly root for Martha and understand her frustration with Mary.

So, maybe this Mary-Martha thing doesn't always sit quite right with us. Now, to make things even more confusing, let’s take a look at today’s lesson from Genesis. In this story, Abraham sees three men--strangers--standing near him. The reader is told that in some way these are messengers of God, but Abraham has no such knowledge. However, in keeping with the typical Middle Eastern concept of hospitality, Abraham welcomes these men into his home. He seems, in fact, to even go a bit overboard in his preparations (going the extra mile, perhaps, just as the Good Samaritan did last week). Abraham seems almost frantic in his hospitality; he runs to meet the men and bows down to them, he runs to ask his wife Sarah to bake some bread, he runs to choose a calf for slaughter, and serves the feast with curds and milk, watching the guests while they enjoy the sumptuous food. But, wait, isn’t Abraham acting like Martha? He seems to busy himself with preparation, just as Martha did, but instead of being criticized, he is rewarded with the promise of a son!

So… what is the difference between Martha and Abraham? Why is one criticized and the other rewarded? It clearly has to do with the attitude with which they approach the preparations they are making to welcome their guests. In the gospel story, the text tells us that Martha is "distracted by her many tasks." Not only that, but she tries to get Jesus to criticize Mary for not helping out. Martha’s mistake, then, is that she is focused only on doing what is expected of her by convention; she does not seem genuine in her hospitality, seeing it as a burden and not a celebration of her guest. After all, she has Jesus in her home, yet seems so preoccupied that she doesn’t really hear what he has to say. Abraham, on the other hand, clearly seems to welcome his guests with joy. He runs around getting others to help him because he seems truly honored to serve his guests. Abraham has an open heart to the strangers in his midst, and I’m not sure we can really say the same about Martha. Clearly, as we look at these stories side by side, we realize that hospitality--welcoming others into our lives--is not about what we do, but how we do it.

These stories bring to mind a Christmas several years ago in which my hospitality, and the attitude with which I extended it, was put to the test. It was afternoon, nearing dinnertime. The roast was in the oven and the table was set just how I like it on Christmas--the china and silver were out, and my special Christmas runner was on the table. The doorbell rang unexpectedly; a friend of ours had stopped by for a visit, bringing her new boyfriend, whom we had never met. We happily invited them in and sat around talking while the girls showed off what Santa had brought them. I left a few times during the conversation to check on things in the kitchen. As time went on, it was obvious that they were in no hurry to leave, and I realized that the polite thing to do was to invite them to dinner. But…I really didn’t want to invite them. I had my idea of what Christmas dinner would be like, and it did not include surprise guests. I argued with myself, pulled my husband aside to talk it over, and we agreed that we really should extend the invitation. I’m sure that I expected they would politely decline--really, who would crash a family Christmas dinner?--but, of course they eagerly accepted. At that point, I peeled a couple more potatoes, set two more places at the table, and took a careful look at the roast to decide how to carve it in order to have enough for everyone. I was busying myself, just as Martha must have done when Jesus arrived, but I, too, was distracted. I was resentful, not of a lazy Mary, but of my guests themselves. After a few minutes, I gave myself a pep talk, trying to change my attitude. I told myself, "Think about it…the fact that these people had nothing else to do for dinner on Christmas day meant that they were probably thrilled to be with a family and to share a special meal." I’m not sure I quite made it out of my Martha resentment, but I gave it a good try. I didn’t jump up and down and run around with joy like Abraham did, but at least I made an attempt to accept the situation and make the most of it. And, just as Mary challenged the conventions of her culture, I had to step out of my own narrow view of what a Foster Christmas was like and challenge my self-imposed conventions.

In the end, it wasn’t the tenderness of the roast I served, the gleam of my silver or how much people liked my Christmas fudge that mattered. What mattered was whether or not I was willing to accept and welcome our surprise visitors with genuine hospitality and an open heart. This is what Mary does in our gospel story, and Abraham does the same. We are called by these stories to open our hearts to all kinds of people--travelers on the path, strangers at the door, or unexpected friends in need of love and acceptance on Christmas day. When Mary sat at Jesus’ feet, she unknowingly sat at the feet of God. When Abraham served a feast to three strangers, he was, in fact, serving God. When we provide aid for those affected by the oil spill in the Gulf, fill backpacks with school supplies for children we’ll never meet, help out a colleague at work, offer a sympathetic ear to a friend, or serve Christmas dinner to unexpected guests, we too are loving and serving God. As Sara Miles says in the introduction to her book Take This Bread, which many of us are reading this summer, Christianity "insists that by opening ourselves to strangers, the despised or frightening or unintelligible other, we will see more and more of the holy, since, without exception, all people are one body: God’s." Amen.