Luke 10:38-42

Friends together

Mary Patricia Trainor

Tomorrow—July 29–we are offered the ever-appealing story of sisters Martha and Mary. They live along the path to Jericho, in a town called Bethany.

Lazarus, their brother, lives with them in what the gospeler Luke describes as Martha’s house. All three siblings are friends of Jesus, though how the friendship began we are left to wonder.

As Martha begins to whip up a dinner for their special friend, Mary follows him into the living space, sits on the floor, and listens intently to everything he says.

Martha is annoyed. And probably overwhelmed by all that needs doing in order to have dinner. She appeals to Jesus to have Mary help her.

But, no. He notes that, by sitting and listening to him, Mary has chosen “the better part.” He will not take that from her.

I can understand both positions. Maybe you do, too: Being a good hostess versus being a good friend.

This story often leads to conversation in which people—male or female—clearly identify with a particular sister. I’m a Mary. I’m a Martha.

I once engaged in such conversation, too. Nowadays, I am much more content realizing that Jesus needs both types of people to carry his message into the world, to be him to the many who  suffer, who hunger and thirst, who crave even just a speck of hope, to know they are loved and are worthy of love. No matter what.

In the Garden

Tomorrow, the church remembers Mary Magdalene.

Some may identify her as Jesus’  closest confederate.

Others honor her as Apostle to the Apostles.

Still others perpetuate the falsehood that she was a prostitute prior to knowing Jesus.

And there even has been plenty of inter-century speculation that her relationship with Jesus was perhaps more  domestic, perhaps even marital.

A woman of mystery? Of intrigue? Here is a summary of research on the subject:

For nearly 1,500 years, Mary Magdalene has carried a reputation the Bible never gave her. She was not a prostitute. Scripture never says she was sexually immoral, only that Jesus healed her and that she became one of his most devoted followers. The label was the result of a sixth-century sermon that merged several different women of the Gospels into one person—a conflation the Eastern Church never accepted and that modern scholarship has long rejected.

The real Mary Magdalene needs no embellishment. She stood at the cross. She waited at the tomb. She was the first witness of the Resurrection and the first person commissioned to proclaim, “I have seen the Lord.” Far from diminishing her, the Gospels present her as one of the most courageous and faithful disciples of Jesus.

And, for me personally, I will always remember her as the woman in the garden, grieving for his loss, when he speaks her name, “Mary.”

Can you imagine the joy she felt? Let’s just say, it changed the world.

‘…and your neighbor as yourself.’ Luke10:25-28

Love God.

Love neighbor.

Change the world.

Sounds good—even easy—when you first hear Jesus answering the lawyer’s question about finding eternal life.

The lawyer knows the right answer. I know the right answer. Maybe you do, too.

And even if I could love God every moment, seeking to follow and share God’s love twenty-four-seven, I know I will fail on the “neighbor” half of the equation.

I want to be that person, but I’m just not. I try, over and over. Sometimes I get it right. But sometimes I turn my back because—why?—they’re on the wrong side of the street. Inconvenient.

My church is looking to start a food pantry. I’m not sure what the schedule will be. I’ll wait and see. But what about the people who are hungry today?

That guy on the street corner. He looks too clean, probably a fake, there to take advantage.

So, in the course of a day, a month, a year, I talk myself out of any responsibility for some of my neighbors.

And then I recall kindnesses done for me at a cost to the kindness-doer.

Fifty years ago, I ran out of gas on Interstate 10, heading to work. I was driving my new-to-me Fiat 124, and had yet to master the fuel reading. You know, when it’s on E, how much farther could I go?

As I pulled over to the side I wondered: Could I have found a more isolated spot to be stranded?

Wait, a car is pulling over. Praying it’s the Good Samaritan and not the Boston strangler, I held my hand out with a fuel can in it.

The man seemed nice. I gave him all my money—$2—and off he went.

Time slowed to a standstill. Was he coming back? Why was I so gullible? This guy could be miles down the highway.

I sat in the driver’s seat and waited.

Then, there he was. Pulling his car in behind mine, he opened the gas can and began to pour it into my thirsty little tank.

It was all so quick, then he was gone, and I was on my way to work.

But for fifty-plus years, I have carried this story with me, solid proof of the kindness of strangers, that good exists, and to try to be a blessing myself whenever I can. Oh, and to not let the needle even get close to E.

CreditChatGPT for artwork

Matthew 15:29-39

Not counting women and children…

Scripture offerings for today include Jesus’  feeding of the 4,000–not to be confused with the feeding of the 5,000.

Some of the takeaways from each are similar, for example, Jesus feeding stressed, burdened, forsaken people looking to catch a break.

We know these stories, right?

Well, I thought I did. Until, as a freshly minted priest in 2006, someone pointed out the “trick” in Matthew’s version of the feeding of the 4,000. 

A side note, Jesus affirms that there were, in fact, two mass feedings in the wilderness: The one for 5,000 occurred in Jewish territory; and the one for 4,000 occurring in Gentile territory.

The “trick” we see spelled out in the 4,000 miracle meals should also be assumed for the 5,000, as the data for estimating attendance was the same. For census and other official counts, they only counted the men. Not the women and children.

BUT that’s not how these crowd calculations were done. See it for yourself: 

“Those who had eaten were four thousand men, besides women and children.”*

So, my math says, for an all-inclusive household total calculated at 5 to 7 people, there were more like 24,000 to 30,000 human beings whose hunger was addressed in the two meals.

Mary Patricia Trainor

*Megan McKenna, Not Counting Women and Children: Neglected Stories from the Bible (Orbis Books, 1994).  

SACRED VERSE

Mark 8:34-38

Hardest when clearest?

I tend to agree with Mark Twain that it’s sometimes hardest to follow Jesus’ wishes the clearer they are stated.

We can struggle all over

the place with passages that are complex, their meaning obscure. I don’t feel any pressure to define it when better minds than mine haven’t been able to do so over the centuries.

But when it’s clear, such as today’s Gospel from Mark, I have little excuse. So let’s take a look.

Jesus says to follow him requires three things:

• Deny myself and place him above all;
• Pick up my cross—following Jesus costs me something; and,
• Prioritize his values over my own.

Now, of course, I realize the trap of clarity. If we don’t understand something, it’s no wonder we may miss something. Perhaps I can be excused for that.

It might be enjoyable to pick one of these for a study conversation. And “too hard” is not an acceptable answer!

This can make for a rousing conversation, especially if our guard is down. And, remember, that carrying a cross does include any burden associated with a mother-in-law’s visit!

Keep awake

Repetition is a great teacher. Repetition is how we learn things that are vital to our lives, but of themselves may not secure a place in our memory.

Repeat. The alphabet.

Repeat. The times tables.

Repeat. EGBDF.

So, if we want to remember something, repetition may be a good first step.

Jesus, we know, was a teacher who repeated things he wanted his people to recall. Stay awake. Be alert. Watch, for the day is surely coming. You will know when. The time is now.

The purpose is to keep key truths before us, within us, etched in minds, carried out by hands. Or, bad outcomes avoided because we are attentive.

It may be, also, that we use repetition as a way to keep certain important worldly things ever present in our minds.

ZIP code. Phone number. Numerical address. PINs. Birthdates, anniversaries. Last four digits of our SSN.

As we age, many things we committed to memory through repetition begin to elude our grasp.

At first, we fake it, change the topic, crack a joke. Oft times we lose many pieces of what once composed a life.

A dear friend of mine in California received the Alzheimer’s diagnosis this week. Those of us who loved her in brighter days, love her still. And long after she loses the memories of us, we will always love her.

Maybe there’s a lesson here. Love is passed along like the proverbial torch, from one of us to another, generation to generation. 

Remembering the details of our lives makes living them more efficient.

But the greatest meaning of our lives is not captured by remembering details. Rather, it is the measure of love that comes to us, carried along, shared with others, that softens the edges of who we might have been. Love makes us the best us we can be. And, hopefully, love lingers in our wake, free to all who follow along.

What is an idol?

Opinions on this seem to have softened over the years. Every once in a while, though, the idea of something being an “idol” can still kick up some dust.

You may recall the Old Testament story in Exodus 32.  Moses had gone up the mount to speak with God. The people thought his lengthened absence meant trouble for them.

Aaron, next in charge, suggested that the restless people melt their gold possessions. From the melted gold, they created the Golden Calf for sacrifice in worship.

Every once in a while the idea of idolatry kicks up some dust, and it pays to re-examine just exactly who or what it is we worship.

Money? Fame? Power? First place in line?

Another way to look at the question is this: What or who do I choose over God?

Taken seriously, such questions may lead to some squirming. Maybe that’s good for us.

It’s still in there

Years ago, as a newly ordained Episcopal priest, I received my share of pastoral calls to make.

Often, these calls involved visiting memory care clients.

Often, these calls involved people who wouldn’t know they didn’t know me. The staff called in a local pastor when they felt “something like that” might be helpful.

And I learned something I have held onto all these years.

Today’s Gospel reminds me of that truth. In a teaching moment with his disciples, Jesus taught them how to pray. 

If you’re a church regular, or maybe attended reliably as a child, the words Jesus offered a couple of thousand years ago are still in your heart. If someone starts them off, more than likely you find you can step into them as though it was yesterday.

Embedded in our souls as they are, these words can often come from memory care receivers—even when they cannot remember loved ones.

Old, familiar words, learned years ago through repetition, come rolling out of us as needed.

When my father was in the last days of a long cancer journey, he would say very vile things to my mother. Long, laborious recollections of her failures. Hurtful, biting things spewed forth from him. Sometimes things that were true, sometimes things that were not true, simply the result of a brain that was dying.

Sometimes she would call me in the middle of those tirades. Sometimes that helped, but I wasn’t always available. So, I asked what she does when she couldn’t get me by phone.

“I say the Lord’s Prayer, over and over. It calms me down.”

Over and over, written on hearts decades earlier, this prayer continues to console and protect:

Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy Name,
thy kingdom come,
thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those
who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom,
and the power, and the glory,
for ever and ever. Amen.

What keeps you going?

The late Trappist monk Thomas Merton was a prolific writer. And his writing has been a source of comfort to me no matter what is going on in the world, or simply to me in my life. Consider the following:

Speak words of hope.

Be human in this most inhuman of ages.

Guard the image of man,

for it is the image of God.

What I found novel and most helpful in this quote is the reminder that even the person who has harmed me the most—that person—deserves respect and care because there is more to him than his treatment of me. He, just as I am, just as you are, warrants guarding because we bear the image of God within us. It may be buried deep, crusted over, denied more than once, but it is there.

Here’s another Merton gift:

Our job is to love others without stopping to inquire whether or not they are worthy. That is not our business and, in fact, it is nobody’s business. What we are asked to do is to love, and this love itself will render both ourselves and our neighbors worthy.

Reminders such as these serve notice that each of us presents a bit of God to those whom we meet.

I hope that anyone looking at me can recognize, if only briefly, some resemblance to the source of any goodness they see.