Father Steve White’s sermon for the the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost (Year C), July, 21, 2019.
So, here's the thing. I really like the prophet Amos. And I like him for a really weird reason. He offers absolutely no hope!
Here's this shepherd dude from out of nowhere. God picks him to show up at the court of the King of Israel and prophesy. And prophesy he does. King Jeroboam of Israel has been busy strengthening his borders. His country is relatively at peace and it is amazingly prosperous. Money is flowing, power is centralizing, and all the kings around Israel come a-calling.
I imagine them all standing around in a great royal hall, all of them drinking and laughing and talking about pretty women and scoffing about their lessers and plotting this and conspiring that. And here this prophet, Amos, sheep herder and sycamore grower, probably unkempt and stinky and calloused. Here is this prophet, Amos, and I imagine him walking into the middle of this crowd. And he starts to let 'em have it. All those foreigners – princes of Damascus and Gaza and Tyre and Edom and the Ammonites and even the king of Judah. He let's them have it.
Their kingdoms are doomed. God is withdrawing favor. And there is no hope.
And I imagine King Jeroboam, sitting on his throne, hiding his smile behind his hand, thinking, “Atta boy, Amos. Give it to 'em, and give it to 'em good!”
And Amos stops, draws a breath, then slowly turns around and looks at Jeroboam. “Oh,” he says. “I'm just getting started.”
And he pronounces doom on Israel herself. And I imagine Jeroboam saying, “Oh, come on, Amos, surely there's something we can do. There's always something we can do.” And Amos says, “Nope.” “Can I revisit some policy?” asks Jeroboam. “Some new law. Revisit an old one?” And Amos says, “Nope.”
Doomed. The Northern Kingdom will be history. Amos looks around sees a society in which people are seeking their own interests–where religion, politics, and economics all have blended together and turned into self-seeking and self-congratulatory mess. Those at the margins of society–Amos mentions the poor and needy, those who are victims of injustice, xenophobia, oppression of the alien, oppression of the poor, and just flat-out self-centeredness–those at the margins are trampled on by those at the center.
Israel was a basket of summer fruit. Beautiful to behold, but coming at the end of its season and quick to rot in the heat. And all because she chose to leave so many behind while the those at the top enjoyed their success and power.
Now here's the deal. Even with Amos – even when he's pronouncing no hope – there's hope. Not for those who are in power and abuse it, no. But even with Amos, there will be a remnant. Those who survive because surviving is what they do best. Those who have been trampled and survived. Those who have been mistreated and survived. Those who have been maligned and survived. Those who have been shunted aside and survived. That's how it is in the realm of prophets.
These prophets in our scripture, they aren't in the business of fortune-telling. They are ancient pundits, commenting on the society they saw. And the society they saw was one that sacrificed so much of their humanity when they turned from God. Or at least when they put God way down on the list of priorities of things that make a person successful.
And the question they keep asking is this: If those in power won't love and honor the marginalized, then who will?
And three and a half centuries after the last prophet, Malachi, did his thing, an obscure man wandering between Galilee and Jerusalem answered that question. He would. He would care for the sick and dying; he would love those deemed unlovable; he would bring hope and salvation to the world. And he would turn that world upside down.
Jesus has been hard at work by now, and he has built up quite a following. And the love he's shown has been catching on. And the crowds press in and want to know if they, too, are worthy of love. And Jesus needs to get away, needs some time to relax, so he goes to visit his friends.
A lot has been made of this story of Martha and Mary. And we so often take sides, pitting one woman against another. I mean, here was Martha, the head of the house, and running a household is no easy chore. She loved Jesus, surely she did, but every time he stopped by he brought all his friends, and that meant there was a list a mile long of things to get done. And Mary is just sitting there, not doing a thing to help. But then, isn't sitting at the feet of Jesus, at the feet of God, the highest end we can imagine? Who do we choose?
But having read Amos, I've come to think that this story is not an invitation to decide who is better. To pit one expression of belief, of discipleship, of service, of vocation, against the other. If we go in this direction, we miss something else entirely. This story cannot be about who is better or what is better, but rather about acknowledging that, yes, even a woman can be a disciple -- can sit at the feet of Jesus and learn.
It cannot be about Mary versus Martha. Because service and loving are both hallmarks of following Jesus. Instead it’s a story about pointing out what is possible -- what God wants to be possible. It's a story that teaches that those that society deems unworthy for the role of disciple (in Jesus' time it was people like women, tax collectors, Gentiles) – it's a story that teaches that all them are those that Jesus insists are more than qualified to be disciples. Our measurement of worth is something that Jesus upends. This is a story about the fact that even those on the margins of society, those that our world determines are outside of God’s grace can be worthy of being disciples, can be worthy of the love of God.
Just like the prophets, just like Amos, our Gospel makes it clear that Jesus tears down the borders we build up. Jesus erases the lines we draw, the distinctions of power and success that we establish. And the funny thing is that when we look to those we deem to be a success by society's standards, Jesus seems always to be with someone else.
The story of Mary and Martha cannot be about what makes a better person. This is not a story about comparison but completion. It is not a contest. It is not about status.
It is about who is welcome in God's kingdom, in God's country. Not about who is better, but why it is better to welcome all persons in. Not about what is better, but why it is better to welcome them because God just always seems to love those that so many others want to hate. And perhaps if more of us allow for a more gracious view of the Kingdom of God, we might be able to imagine more of the world as part of it – maybe even ourselves. And when we imagine ourselves as part of God’s Kingdom, we are instantly called, like prophets, to proclaim its presence here and now.
So sit at Jesus' feet, or get to work in the kitchen. Either one. But make room for those others, because God called them to dinner, too.
Amen.