Neither Domestic not Dragon-tamer (Proper 11 C)

Neither Domestic nor Dragon-tamer
Homily delivered Eighth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 11C)
18 July 2010; 10:00 a.m. Said Eucharist
Congregation of the Good Shepherd
Beijing, China
Readings: Genesis 18:1-10a; Psalm 15
Colossians 1:15-28;  Luke 10:38-42

God, take away our hearts of stone
 and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

As Jesus and his disciples 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 by her many tasks; so she came to him 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." But the Lord answered 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." (Luke 10:38-42)

I have a very vivid memory of what it was that first attracted me to the woman who was to become my wife.  We met in college taking a full-time survey of world literature class.  As you know, she is petite, attractive, very well spoken and well read, and has a great sense of humor.  We share many interests and ways of thinking, and quickly became good friends.  But it was not any of these that caught my attention in a way that made me start thinking about dating and possibly marrying her.  I was really struck by how much joy she brought to her hard-working, quiet competence.  I heard her say in a class discussion that she really actually sympathized with Martha rather than Mary in today’s Gospel.  At that moment, my heart was hers, though it took a while for me to realize it. 

Luke’s story about Mary and Martha touches raw nerves.  I can’t think of any other single passage of the Gospels that over the years I have heard so many complaints about, almost all from women.  “Why is Jesus tolerating that lazy sister Mary?”  “Why does he come down so hard on Martha, the only responsible adult in the whole story?”

The early and medieval Church took the story to contrast the ministry of action and service, seen in Martha, with the ministry of contemplation and study, seen in Mary.  An early legend says that later in her life, Martha went to the south of France, where she confronted a dragon that had been ravaging the country.  Unlike St. George, the patron saint of soldiers and England, Martha does not slay the dragon with a sword.  She charms it with her hospitality and the word of God so that it can be chained and controlled.  That is why in medieval representations of St. Martha, she holds a cross and stands over a dragon. 

Modern sociological and feminist approaches to this story base their approach in the social customs behind the story.  Martha is fulfilling a very traditional role endorsed by the religion and culture of the time.  Mary, on the other hand, appears to abandon what was a woman’s work and role by opting for religious study and discussion, seen as the domain of men.  Martha honors her duty and behaves decently; Mary somewhat shamelessly crosses a gender barrier.    

Some commentators say that Jesus here endorses the sister engaged in inappropriate activity—the one crossing gender boundaries—and chastens the conventional sister who is behaving decently.  He thus favors liberation and rejects conventional roles.   Others are less sanguine:  they say Jesus, though indeed endorsing broader roles for women, values only the actions, roles, and perspectives that were traditionally seen as male and thus devalues traditional female ones.  He thus implicitly buys into the oppression of women and rejects autonomous womanhood. 

I disagree. 

It is clear that in this story, Jesus legitimates a woman taking on the role of a man in the ordering of the early Christian community.  He does so, however, not because he thinks man’s roles and perspectives are better.  It is because, as seen in so many other passages of the Gospels, he believes that God’s kingdom is breaking into our lives, and as a result, there is no place for oppression, no place for bondage.  Roles based on boundaries are thus suspect.  Roles that oppress are part of the evil world the kingdom of God will replace. 

Again and again we see in the New Testament Jesus lives out what Saint Paul later puts into words and doctrine.  Here the theme in part seems to be, “There is no longer Jew or Gentile, neither free or slave, or male or female, for all are one in Christ Jesus (Gal. 3:28).  

But today’s story is not just about that.  It addresses the theological reason that these divisions don’t matter.  God didn't create us so that we could fill a role. God made us for love -- to be loved by God, to love God, and then to love one another and show this love in service. 

The contrast Luke sets up in this story between Martha and Mary is not about the roles each plays, but rather about how each reacts to them. 

Martha is the home-owner and mistress, with no apparent husband around.  (Her name in Aramaic, in fact, means mistress of the house, Mar’etha.)  So Mary is not the only woman stepping out of traditional roles. 

The contrast is also not between the active and the contemplative life.  Mary her sister sits at Jesus’ feet, totally lost in his words.  This is the language of discipleship.  This describes a focused student of the master’s words.  Buddhists would say that she is “in the moment,” or “fully present.” 

Martha, however, is “worried, distracted by her many tasks” in being hospitable to Jesus.  The point here is not her service, but rather the distraction it has caused her. 

Martha’s complaint is perfectly reasonable.  Mary as family also has an obligation of hospitality to Jesus.  If anything, Martha is a little too gentle.  She doesn’t confront her sister and say bluntly “Sis, hate to break in on this, but you are not carrying your weight here, so get with the program, and get to work.  Let’s talk with Jesus while we set the table.” Martha realizes that Mary is totally absorbed listening to Jesus. 

So she asks Jesus to intervene.  She is pretty confident that he is a fair-minded fellow who will remedy the situation with no hurt feelings or loss of face to anyone.
  
Jesus’ answer, while totally unexpected from Martha’s viewpoint, is similarly kind-hearted.  The double use of the name, “Martha, Martha,” is a clear sign of gentle chiding, not harsh criticism. 

“You are busy with many things,” he says.  He is sensitive to Martha’s plight—she has planned just too grand a dinner, in the great Middle Eastern tradition of mezze, and forgotten how complicated it was to do so many dishes. 

But then he surprises her.  “You only really need one thing.”  Jesus seems to be telling the hostess how to do her business.  “Stressed from trying to serve too many dishes?   Well then simplify and only serve me one.”   

“Simplicity.” You see, Jesus anticipated Martha Stewart by 2,000 years!

But that’s not the kind of simplification Jesus is really talking about, as becomes clear in his next phrase.  “Mary has chosen the best bit. I won’t take that away from her.”  It’s not the number of mezze dishes at issue here. 

The point is not that Martha chose the bad part, or even the less good part.  The point is that being lost in hearing God’s word is what we were made for, and what gives our service and love direction and meaning. 

Jesus knows that such moments of hearing God have come and will come for Martha.  But he is not going to break the moment of communion with God that Mary is experiencing for the sake of a few more dishes on the table, especially when they are for him to eat. 

Seen in this light, Martha’s complaint brings to mind two of Jesus’ parables.   In one, an older brother gets angry at the mercy shown by his father to a wayward younger brother and bitterly complains (Luke 15:12-38).  In another, a group of laborers who have worked a hard, long day almost riot when latecomers are paid the same wage (Matthew (20:1-16).  

The two parables make the point that we shouldn’t begrudge the grace given to others.  And so it is here.  Martha’s desire for simply fair division of labor has stepped onto holy ground.   Jesus won’t criticize her complaint, but he won’t grant her request, either, and ruin the moment for Mary. 

There are many, many ways of begrudging the grace given to others.  We can belittle the grace, and say it isn’t God at work, despite the clear good we see before our eyes.  We can point out differences between it and how we received grace, as if to say that God can work with others only in the way he worked with us.  We can point out that the recipient is unworthy, as if grace were something that comes from deserving.  Especially if we feel that we have been unfairly treated in the process, there are many, many ways of begrudging the grace given to others. 

One gets the sense from Jesus’ reply to Martha that of the two, Martha was the stronger and less “needy.”

Martha and Mary also show up in the Gospel of John.  There too Martha is seen as a take-charge kind of woman who speaks her mind.  When Lazarus dies, Mary stays inside mourning quietly, while it is Martha who goes out to confront Jesus about his delay in coming, that in her mind caused her brother’s death.  “You can still do something,” she says.  Jesus replies Lazarus will come forth from the dead.  Martha replies, in effect, “Yeah, yeah, we’ll all be raised from the dead one day.  That’s not very satisfying right now, is it?”  It is at this moment that Jesus tells her, “I am the resurrection and the life,” and then proceeds to bring Lazarus back from the dead.  In that story of glorious mystery, Martha affirms her faith in Jesus, well before the miracle (John 11:17-44).
 
It is clear that Martha and Jesus had the kind of relationship where she felt she could tell him exactly what she was thinking and feeling, and not be afraid.  Jesus clearly felt the same way.  Oh that we could all have such a relationship with Jesus, and freely tell him what is really on our hearts and minds!

In closing, God did not create us for roles.  In creating Martha, God did not intend her to be a mere domestic, nor a dragon-tamer.  He intended a loved and a loving child, at peace with herself and others. It is clear from Luke’s portrayal that Martha loved Jesus, loved others, and served, and served, and served.   It is clear from that story in John that Martha herself at times had moments like the one of Mary that, because of distraction, she wanted Jesus to interrupt.  

Those moments, where we sit at Jesus’ feet, listen hard, and truly hear are rare enough that we need to treasure them, and value when they happen to others.  Let us not begrudge the grace that others experience, even when it seems unfair, or appears to put us at a disadvantage.   Grace is unwarranted, unbidden love.  And love, after all, is what ties all of us, and all things, together.

In the name of Christ, Amen. 

Perfume and Tears (Lent 5C)

“Perfume and Tears”

Fifth Sunday of Lent (Year C)
Homily Delivered at 10 a.m. Eucharist 

Congregation of the Good Shepherd 

21 March 2010
Beijing, China
Isaiah 43:16-21; Psalm 126; Philippians 3:4b-14; John 12:1-8

God, take away our hearts of stone
 and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

In the second century, there was a great churchman named Tatian.  He was converted to Christianity because he hated the messiness of paganism.   He wanted his new faith to be clean and orderly, and in an effort to help the Church, he took the four Gospels and digested them into a single reconciled account, the Diatesseron (the 4-fold story). It was wildly popular.  For over two centuries it was read as the Gospel in the Eastern Church.  As an older man,  Tatian veered into a weird sect that hated the human body and demanded celibacy from all.  When it came time in the fourth century to decide what books were accepted as the standard for faith, the Church in council decided that the Four Gospels themselves, and not Tatian’s Harmony, were to go in the Bible.   They had been uniquely authoritative from the start, and this was why Tatian had used them.  So the Church accepted Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John in all their messy disharmony and inconsistencies, and rejected Tatian’s consistent single Gospel.

Tatian the Syrian

Today’s Gospel reading is an example of the messiness that Tatian tried to clean up. It is a messy story, both in the scene that it describes and the various forms it has come down to us in the Four Gospels.  All four Gospels a story of a woman who anoints Jesus.  The story takes one form in Mark and Matthew and very different forms in Luke and John.

In Mark and Matthew the scene describes a prophetic act by an unnamed woman who anoints Jesus’ head with extremely expensive perfumed oil and thus proclaims him as the ‘Christ’ (or Anointed One).

In Luke, an unnamed prostitute in a very different setting performs an overwrought act of gratitude for being forgiven of her sins.  She weeps, the tears falling on Jesus’ feet.  She wipes his feet dry with her unbound hair, and anoints his feet (not his head) with the precious ointment.   

In John, the woman is named.  She is Mary, sister of Martha and Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead.  Humbly standing at Jesus’ feet, she anoints them with the precious perfume and then wipes off the excess with her hair:  the act of loving devotion by a true follower of Jesus. 

A little background-- 

The ointment at issue is worth about $30,000 U.S. by today’s standards.   So the complaint about the waste of money found in Mark, Matthew, and John is not trivial. 

The unbound hair has social significance—a proper woman just did not appear in public with her hair unbound.   Luke clearly means it to identify the woman as a “sinner”; in John, it may just show that Mary is lost in what she is doing.

Matthew and Mark both have Jesus saying that wherever the Gospel is proclaimed, this story will be told “in memory of her.”  A measure of the misogyny of the times is that neither actually preserves her name.

The Gospel of Luke doesn’t name the prostitute, but in the verses that follow the story he mentions one “Mary of Magdala from whom Jesus had cast out seven demons.”  This is why many people, whenever they hear any version of the story, think that the woman is “Mary Magdalene,”  even though the Mary in John is from Bethany, not Magdala. 

All these stories understand that this woman’s action is socially unacceptable, given women’s marginal status in that society.  This is true especially in Luke, where she is a publicly known sinner to boot.  Mark and Matthew see the woman as a prophet of the truth who sees what the so-called leading disciples (all men!) can’t yet see.  Luke sees her as a model for the penitent believer.  John sees her as a hero in faith.  But all describe her as expressing her emotions and devotion to Jesus in a totally over-the-top, socially inappropriate, and shockingly extravagant way.  That’s why in all the stories someone complains about her.  The disciples in Mark and Matthew complain about the waste of money that could have gone to the poor.  The Pharisee host in Luke complains that Jesus can’t be a prophet if he is so unaware of the woman’s past that he lets her come in and actually touch him.  And Judas in the Gospel of John complains about the loss of money for the poor while the narrator tells us that what he was really after was his own cut of the money.    In all four, the woman’s act is extravagant, out of proportion, embarrassing, and questionable morally. 

But in all these stories, Jesus defends the woman.  He does not criticize her extravagance, but loves her for it.  The woman is an example of the truth in several parables, “The kingdom of God is like the case of a laborer who having found a treasure in the field, in his joy goes and sells everything he has and buys the field; or like the merchant who having found a pearl of great price, goes and sells everything and buys the pearl” (Matthew 13:44-46).   In accepting Jesus’ love, no cost is too much, no expression of thanks too extravagant. 

That is the point I want us to take from the story today.  We stand at Jesus’ feet, not at his head.  Tears and extravagance are what each of us must give Jesus if we truly understand what he offers us.  The woman comes to Jesus and offers all she has, including her dignity.  Her ego and self seeking are dissolved in the wash of tears and the outpouring of the costly perfume.  She comes to Jesus just as she is, with no pretense to herself, to him, or to others.   And, being human, there is plenty for others to criticize in her "just as she is."  

But Jesus sees her heart.  He knows what she means to say, and what her actions point to, even if she does not.  And he loves her for honesty, her sincerity, for her desire.   In John, Mary anoints Jesus’ feet just days before he himself picks up a towel and scrubs the feet of his disciples the night he is to be betrayed by the very disciple who criticizes Mary’s extravagance.   Her action not only points to his burial, but to his service.   Her love reflects his love.  If it’s a waste of money, so be it.  If it’s inappropriate and morally dubious, tough.  If its extravagance reflects in its own little way the extravagance of God's love toward us, good.  What counts for Jesus is the woman’s intentions, as flawed as she or they might be. 

Now we musn’t take Jesus’ defense of her as an excuse to ignore the poor, or think that Jesus did.  After a ministry focused on the poor he says, “The poor are always with you, but I am not always with you.”  He answers the criticism on the same level at which it came.  The ethics of the period said that an act of mercy done for the dead (such as burying an abandoned body) had greater moral merit than an act of justice done for the living (such as giving alms to the poor).   Jesus is saying that caring for the poor is important, but mustn’t get in the way of greater things. 

The fact is, maybe we do not have to get everything just right before the Lord accepts us or looks at us with favor.  He loves us so much that, like the father in the parable in last week’s Gospel, he will come out running with arms outspread if we simply turn to him. 

Tears of gratitude warm Jesus’ heart and refresh the soul.  The fragrance of expensive perfume, extravagantly offered by a humble heart, can fill not only a house, but the whole world.  Accepting ourselves and offering our whole selves, including our disabilities and weaknesses, to God is necessary for this to happen. 

Contrast this with those who look on with hard hearts and calculators, and criticize, who whine about the failings of those who wash the feet of Jesus with their tears, and anoint him with expensive oil just because it feels right to do so.    Contrast it with Tatian, who preferred a clean, harmonized Gospel, to the messy ones that God saw fit to deliver to us, and who preferred an orderly world filled with ascetics rather than real human beings. 

Let us all try to be a little more honest with ourselves and with God as we pray.  Let us recognize our failings and not loathe ourselves for them, but love and thank God all the more for delivering us from the hopelessness of life without Jesus.  Let us be a little easier on ourselves and more comfortable in the presence of a loving God.  Let us be extravagant in showing our gratitude. 

In the name of God, Amen. 

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NOTE ON THE STORY:

All four of the Gospels contain a story of a woman who anoints Jesus.  The stories are similar enough to make many readers think that they may all refer to the same event, but different enough that others feel they probably refer to two different events in the life of Jesus: the one described in Luke and the one described in Mark and Matthew.  The scene in John would be a theologized combining of the two by the Fourth Gospel.   

Mark (14:3-9), followed by Matthew (26:6-13), sets the story at the home of Simon the Leper in Bethany near Jerusalem just days before his death.  A woman enters a dinner where Jesus is reclined with other guests on small couches around a dinner table.  She brings a precious flask of extremely expensive perfumed ointment worth 300 denarii, amost a year’s wages for a skilled laborer.  She breaks it, and pours it onto Jesus’ head.  Jesus’ followers, reclining with him, are outraged at the waste of money that could have been given to the poor.  But Jesus defends her, saying, “Let her alone.  She has done a beautiful thing for me.”  Using a common rabbinical distinction at the time that attributed more moral merit to works of mercy done for the dead than to works of social justice done for the living, Jesus adds, “You will always have the poor with you, but I am about to die.  She was just preparing my body for burial a little early.”  The story ends with Jesus saying that wherever the Gospel is preached, the story of what the woman did will be recounted “in memory of her.”  

The scene is one where a woman serves a prophetic role and through a symbolic act—anointing the head with oil, like the kings of ancient Israel—announces what Jesus’ men disciples, those styled as the leaders of the Church after his death, couldn’t see until after his death and reappearance:  that Jesus is the anointed one, the Messiah or Christ, awaited by Jews for the consolation of Israel and the bringing in of the righteous gentiles.  In these Gospels, Jesus’ burial after the crucifixion is done so hurriedly that his corpse cannot be properly prepared for burial.  So the prophetic action of the woman is seen as an anointing of the body of Jesus for burial before the fact.  A measure of the deep misogyny of the society in which the Church grew is that though Jesus in the story says that this prophetic act is so striking that would be told “in memory of her” forever more, her name has not been preserved. 

Luke, who like Matthew usually edits and adapts Mark, tells a very different story, one that is very close to the one told in John.  Luke probably has his own sources apart from Mark and the Sayings Source (Q) he shares with Matthew; this story probably comes from these sources specific to Luke (L).  Because it was so different from the story told in Mark, but apparently a doubled version of the story, Luke simply deleted the Mark story when he got to that part of the narrative (he often deletes such “doublets.”)   

Luke (7:36-50) places his version of the story very early in Jesus’ ministry, at the home of a Pharisee (rather than a Leper) named Simon in Galilee.  A woman “of the city, known to be a sinner” interrupts the dinner party.  She comes in behind Jesus as he reclines and begins to weep.  Her tears cover Jesus’ feet, which she then wipes dry with her hair, unbound in public in the style of prostitutes in that place and time advertising their availability.  She then kisses and anoints his feet (not his head) with the precious ointment.  The Pharisee host says to himself that if Jesus were a prophet, he would know what kind of sleazy person this was and wouldn’t allow her to touch him.  Jesus tells the parable of the two debtors explaining that the woman had been forgiven much sin and so has greater gratitude.  He contrasts his host’s cool reception to the care the woman has lavished on Jesus, pointedly noting “you did not anoint my head, but she has anointed my feet.”  

Immediately after the story, Luke tells of the early women disciples of Jesus, including one Mary of Magdala, from whom Jesus had cast seven demons.  Forever since, Christians have tended to identify the unnamed prostitute in Luke’s story with Mary Magdalen, and from there, with the woman in all four of the stories.  (This, despite the fact that Mary of Bethany in John’s story and a separate story in Luke almost certainly cannot be Mary of Magdala.)  The scene in Luke emphasizes the woman’s interior reasons for approaching Jesus—she is a sinner, an outcast, and she is grateful for the forgiveness and welcome Jesus offers.  This is contrasted in the story with the reaction of the nominal host, the Pharisee (one thinks of the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector for a similar contrast in a parable of Jesus).  Luke, however, draws it out by the inclusion of the Parable of the Two Debtors. 

John (12:1-8) says the scene takes place just before Jesus’ death (like Mark), but before Jesus enters Jerusalem.  It is still in the “Book of Signs” section of the Gospel, just before the “Book of Glory.”  Remember that for John, Jesus’ crucifixion is his elevation to glory, his triumph over evil, and the hour for which the Father sent him.  Thus the plot to kill Jesus and Lazarus actually works to fulfill God’s plan.  The dinner takes place  at an unnamed home in Bethany, but the main servers are Mary and Martha, sisters of Lazarus.  It looks like the dinner is to thank Jesus for raising Lazarus from the dead, an act that in John’s Gospel becomes the trigger for the plot to put Jesus to death.  This Mary is Mary of Bethany, not Mary of Magdala.  She, a devoted disciple, anoints the feet of Jesus with costly ointment and then wipes the excess off with her hair, “filling the house with the fragrance of the ointment.”  

 In John, the complaint is not made by the disciples generally and about the waste of money that could have been used for the poor (as in Mark and Matthew), or made by Simon the Pharisee and about Jesus' seeming ignorance of the woman's past  (as in Luke).  Rather, here it is about money and it is raised by Judas Iscariot, the treasurer of the disciples who Johns notes is about to betray Jesus, and the narrator says Judas was actually just concerned about lining his own pockets through embezzlement.  The personal invective against the apostle named Judas reflects in part the (regrettable) overall anti-Jewish tone of the Gospel of John (see esp. 8:44), a reaction of Jewish believers of Jesus having been “put out of the synagogue” (9:22; 12:42; 16:2).   In reaction to the complaint of Judas, Jesus simply defends Mary, “Let her alone, her purpose was to keep it for my burial day.  You will always have the poor, but you will not always have me with you.”  In John’s Gospel, there is time for Jesus’ body to be properly prepared for burial, including anointing and wrapping in linen. So here the reference to the anointing oil as for Jesus’ burial is not an interpretation of the woman’s action but rather as an explanation of her motives for keeping such an expensive item on hand.  

In John, the scene describes not a prophetic act by a woman proclaiming Jesus as Christ and hinting at his death (as in Mark and Matthew), nor an overwrought act of gratitude of a sinful woman in the presence of grace (as in Luke), but rather an act of loving devotion by follower of Jesus whose desires are focused on caring for Jesus, contrasted with the self-serving focus of one whose main concern is not the person of Jesus itself, but perhaps one or another of his teachings.  

Tatian harmonizes the three accounts (Mark/Matthew, Luke, and John) into two naratives.  The first is at the end of section 14 and the beginning of section 15 of the Diatesseron:  it is essentially the Luke 7 account in the original Luke setting.    The second is in section 39 of the Diatesseron, which combines the Mark/Matthew account with the John account, placing it in the Johannine textual setting before the triumphal entry into Jerusalem and during the plot to kill Jesus and Lazarus .   In Tatian, the scene takes place in Bethany at the home of Simon the Leper with Mary, Martha, and Lazarus in attendance.  Mary anoints both the head and feet of Jesus, and both Judas and several other unnamed disciples complain about the waste of money.  And the defense includes both the reason "she was keeping it for my burial" (John) and "she anointed my body for burial ahead of time" (Mark and Matthew).  It also includes the "the story will be told in memory of her" (Matthew and Mark), though in Tatian the woman is named as Mary of Bethany.  

Modern scholars are divided.  Some, like Raymond Brown, say that there were originally two events--a Galilean one with a penitent prostitute weeping onto Jesus' feet and one just before Passion Week with a prophetic woman anointing Jesus' head with expensive perfume.  The two events were confused in the oral tradition and the Gospel versions we now have is the result.  Other scholars, like Joseph Fitzmyer, believe that there was probably only one event that in the oral transmission of stories took on differing interpretations and narrative elements.  I am inclined here to follow Fitzmyer, since it is hard to see why two stories of two events would have evolved in a way that results in what we end up with in the Gospels.  On the other hand, it easy to see why a story of an event very much like Luke's could evolve into what all four Gospels have.  In that society, you washed feet, but anointed heads.  The embarrassing elements of the penitent's tearful foot-washing, especially if it involved an expensive perfume obtained through the wages of prostitution, could have morphed into a pious retelling of a virtuous woman prophet doing a prophetic act proclaiming Jesus Messiah.   It is not all that apparent to me that any of Jesus' disciples understood his status as a Messiah who had to die until after Good Friday and Easter.  Once understood in light of the bodily reappearance of Jesus after his death and transformed in the oral tradition, the story naturally gravitates to a setting near Holy Week and the "anointing before burial" interpretation of the anointing.